Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Faye
It’s around five o’clock when we arrive in Port Carling. Tristan parks the boat and struts around with no shirt on like he’s trying to catch my eye. It won’t work this time. The best he’ll get out of me is an eye roll. I’m done giving attention to guys like him. They don’t deserve it.
“We have a few errands to do,” Edward says as he helps Cassandra onto the public dock. “Let’s all meet at the restaurant in an hour.”
We’re all going to a seafood restaurant on the water. Edward keeps saying it’s the best restaurant in Muskoka. I’m not excited for the company, but I’m very excited for the food.
Tristan walks away without a word, not telling anyone where he’s going, and Amber heads over to see her friend who works at the ice cream shop.
“Let’s go check out that used bookstore,” I say when we’re alone.
Owen is looking very stylish tonight, wearing a soft gray linen shirt with his sleeves rolled up his forearms and white pants.
After five years of corporate bland quarter-zips and chinos in varying shades of beige, I’m digging this look.
He looks hot and I can tell all the women around us are thinking the exact same thing.
Feeling a little possessive, I hook my arm around his. I kind of like clinging onto him. He doesn’t flinch or recoil anymore, which I’m considering a win.
“I love bookstores,” he says.
I can’t help but smile as we peel away from the group and walk into town. I couldn’t pay Alex to walk into a bookstore with me. And on the few times I got him into one, he would head to the comics and then complain after five minutes that I was taking too long.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a boyfriend who enjoys wandering around a bookstore with me. It’s too surreal to even think of.
I have a big smile on my face as we walk down the cute sidewalks, passing adorable shops and fun restaurants.
Vacationers of all ages walk past us looking tanned and relaxed, talking and laughing and making memories.
A cute little girl munching on an ice cream cone smiles up at me.
She has cotton candy flavored ice cream all over her cheeks and hands. I give her a wink.
Owen isn’t as relaxed. He keeps fidgeting and looking around nervously. He’s acting like he’s a fugitive in the middle of a nationwide manhunt.
“You okay?”
“A lot of women around here,” he mumbles as he flinches at an eighty-year-old woman walking out of a puzzle store.
“You’re worried about her?” I ask with a laugh.
“I’m worried about everyone. I went to a house with two women and look what happened. Love Bot matched with both of them.”
“Fair enough,” I say with a shrug.
He squeezes my hand a little tighter with his bicep as we walk.
“You really can’t get rid of Love Bot?”
“I can’t open the app,” he says. “I can’t delete it. It’s like I’m battling against the Terminator, only it’s programmed to terminate my reputation.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I say, although I’m looking around more now too. The last thing we need is women showing up and making a scene.
“Hold up,” I say when we pass the moose sign—Keep a safe distance from wandering moose. “Let me take a picture.”
Owen stops and patiently waits for me. I grab his arm and push him toward the sign with a laugh. “With you in it!”
“Oh,” he says, looking reluctant. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes!”
He bites his bottom lip as he looks around at all the people wandering by.
“You have to,” I say, opening the camera on my phone. “It’s in my contract.”
He gives me a look.
“It was in the fine print,” I say. “You always have to read the fine print, Lavoie.”
He takes a deep breath and then walks over, standing under the sign with his arms crossed. “Not working for me. Do the moose antlers with your hands?”
“The what?”
I laugh as I put my phone down and show him. I place the tips of my thumbs on my temples and spread out both hands above my head. “Like this. Moose antlers.”
He huffs out a breath and looks around again. “Is that really necessary?”
“Fine print, Owen! Unless you want to get our lawyers involved, you’ll do it. Plus, it will make me really happy.”
He takes a deep breath and does it. I snap the photo before he changes his mind. It’s so cute. My favorite photo ever.
“What are you doing?” he asks as he looks over my shoulder while I make it my home screen. “Don’t do that.”
“It’s for the show,” I lie. “Of course, I’d have my hubby on my phone screen.”
He just shakes his head as I grab his arm and pull him toward the bookstore.
I knew this guy could be fun. He just needs someone to shake him up a little.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” I tell him softly. “About Temporary Ink. It is kind of cool. There’s definitely a place for that. You did a good thing, Owen.”
The smile he gives me reaches his beautiful eyes. It’s full of warmth and gratitude and something I can’t quite place. It gives me this tingly feeling all over.
“I still think there’s something kind of cool about doing it the old-fashioned way and committing to a piece of art—or a person.
A real tattoo represents a moment or a phase in your life that you carry with you forever.
It’s like a visual diary. A permanent scrapbook.
It becomes part of who you are. I guess I’m just kind of romantic like that. ”
He takes that in and thinks about it for a moment. “I’m curious,” he says. “Then, how come you don’t have any tattoos?”
My eyes drop to the cobblestone sidewalks as we walk. A heavy sadness comes out of nowhere and hits me so hard I have to fight back tears. “I guess I haven’t had a lot of good times I wish to remember.”
“Me neither,” Owen says softly.
I smile sadly at him, not caring that he’s seeing my eyes all glossy.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he says, fidgeting with a button on his shirt. “Is there something I can do to make you feel better?”
“I’ll take a hug if you’re offering.”
He hesitates for only a second before opening his arms. I step into them, resting my cheek against his chest as he wraps them carefully around me.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He pulls me a little closer. “You’re welcome.”
We continue up the street and pass a bakery that smells mouthwateringly delicious. A teenage girl is behind a table outside selling pies, artisanal bread, and all kinds of other yummy stuff, but it’s the butter tarts that catch my eye. Owen notices.
“Do you want one?” he asks.
“Only if you have one with me.”
“Deal.” He orders two from the girl and opens his wallet to pay. Something inside catches my eye.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the piece of cardboard sticking out. “Is that?”
He looks embarrassed. He shouldn’t. It’s the sweetest thing in the world.
“You saved it?”
I can tell he wants to put his wallet away, but he’s busted, so he reluctantly pulls it out.
It’s the four-leaf clover I drew for him on the coffee cup sleeve.
The one I gave him before he had his interview.
He kept it. I can’t believe he kept it. Not only did he keep it, he cut it out and put it in his wallet.
“Are you mad?” he asks.
I shake my head and feel my eyes tearing up again. “No, Owen. I think you’re very sweet.”
I hug his arm as he pays the girl and takes the butter tarts. We used to have these all the time when we came up here for vacation.
“At the same time,” I say as we hold them up. We both bite into them with a moan. Freaking delicious.
I’m in heaven while I chew, but I’m suddenly yanked right back down to reality when I spot something odd in the long-term parking lot across the street where we left Owen’s Lincoln Navigator.
“Um, Owen,” I say, staring at it with butterflies in my stomach. “Why is there a dog tied to your car?”
Owen’s mouth drops when he sees it. There’s a golden retriever sitting in the empty spot next to his truck. His leash is tied to the door handle. He’s looking pretty darn happy with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
We just stare at the odd scene in shock for a full minute.
“Why is there a dog there?” I ask again.
“I don’t know!” he snaps, in full panic mode. “I certainly didn’t leave one there!”
I look around to see if someone maybe tied him there for a minute while they ran into a store or something, but there’s no one around. And why would someone tie him to a car when there are lampposts and bike racks? It doesn’t make sense.
“Let’s just go,” Owen says, leaving for the bookstore.
“No way,” I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “We can’t just leave him there!”
“Yes, we can. It has nothing to do with us.”
“It’s your car.” I march across the road, pulling him along. “Let’s go see if he’s okay, at least.”
He’s adorable. He stands up and wags his tail as we get closer. His excited brown eyes are bouncing between us as he dips his head over and over, ecstatic to see us coming. He looks so thrilled that he’s about to make two new friends!
“Oh my god,” I whisper as I get to him, dropping to my knees and sinking my hands into his soft fur. He does a little tap dance on his paws and licks my wrist. “He’s so cute.”
“Yeah, he’s great,” Owen says flatly as he looks around.
“There’s a red bow on his collar,” I say, trying to find some other clue as to why he’s here. There’s a tag but all it says is Newton.
“Hey, Newton,” I say, kissing his soft head. “You’re a happy little scientist dog, aren’t you? How come you have a bow on your collar?”
“Faye,” Owen says bluntly, not giving Newton time to answer. “This dog is not our responsibility. We’ll just untie him and let someone else deal with him.”
I cling to the dog a little tighter. “And let him get hit by a car?”
“We’ll tell him to stay on the sidewalk.”
“He doesn’t speak English, Owen,” I snap. “It is our responsibility. This dog was put on your car as a gift from the universe, complete with a red bow and everything. It came to us. It’s our dog now.”
My fiery speech doesn’t have the effect I was hoping for. He’s not buying it.
“He has the name of a famous scientist,” I say, desperate for him to see why this dog appearing is both destiny and fate. “You’re a famous scientist! That has to mean something.”
Owen scrunches his face up. It’s not working.
“Newton was a famous scientist, right?” I ask, now unsure of my whole argument. My grasp of historical figures is a little shaky. “Or, was he like a banker who got hit in the head with an apple? Or, maybe this dog is named after a fig! You like figs, don’t you?”
He frowns. “I do like figs.”
“See? It was meant to be!”
He doesn’t seem too convinced.
“Try petting him,” I say, changing tactics. This adorable dog can do all the convincing himself. I’m already in love with him. “Please.”
Owen sighs and starts tapping the dog’s head like he’s dribbling a basketball. Even Newton looks confused.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I say, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his knees. “Come here. Like this.”
Newton gets all excited, whimpering and wagging his tail as I force Owen’s hand onto him.
“Stroke him,” I say, running his hand along Newton’s soft fur. “Scratch behind his ears. Grab his cheeks.”
Newton drops onto his back with his paws in the air. Owen laughs as he scratches his chest. He’s smiling and looking so beautiful and happy as he pets a dog properly for what I think is the first time in his life.
I just sit back and watch him. My heart starts beating a little harder.
When Newton licks his wrist, Owen looks up at me with a big surprised smile and I have an intense urge to kiss him. My mouth waters. My cheeks flush. I have to keep my hands pinned to my sides so I don’t grab his shirt and yank his mouth onto mine.
“Dog saliva is a remarkable substance,” he says as he examines the saliva glistening on his wrist. “Biochemically rich beyond belief. Although ninety-eight percent of it is water, the remaining two percent is a chemical miracle. It’s not sterile as most people believe, but it is hostile to many pathogens.
It contains all sorts of antimicrobial enzymes like peroxidases, lysozyme, and lactoferrin.
Did you know in ancient Egypt they kept dogs in their healing temples to lick wounds of the sick?
They’re essentially carrying a pharmaceutical compound in their mouths at all times. It’s incredible.”
“Con artist on four legs, eh?” I say with a grin. “One-sided relationship. Isn’t that what you said?”
He looks at me.
“Seems like dogs bring a lot to the relationship too.”
He continues looking at me for a long moment and then turns back to the dog, rubbing his neck.
I love how he looks at the world so differently.
What I see is a hand full of slobber, and what he sees is a complex masterpiece of biological engineering that the rest of us have been too busy wiping off our hands to appreciate.
He does appreciate dogs even if he doesn’t realize it.
He just appreciates them in his own unique, Owen way.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay, what?”
“We won’t leave him here.”
“Thank you,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. I would have been worried sick if we walked away from this dog. I wouldn’t have been able to do it.
“Is there a kennel around here where we can leave him?” Owen asks, looking around as if there’s a dog kennel beside the bakery we didn’t notice.
“This is Muskoka,” I say. “People put their dogs in kennels before they come here.”
“What if we leave him in the truck with the window cracked open?”
“We still have two more nights with these crazy people! So unless you have a giant bag of dog food and a toilet he can use in that car, we need to think of something else.”
“So, we can’t leave him here,” he says. “What does that mean? We bring him with us?”
Newton jumps to his paws and looks up at me with these big, beautiful brown eyes. My heart melts. I can’t leave him behind.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath as I look at my watch. “We’ll bring him with us. We have forty minutes to get our story straight.”