Gus
Early mornings in Maine were hard to beat. The air was still crisp and cool, but it wouldn’t be long before that changed. July in Maine was defined by two things: humidity and mosquitoes. And lately, I’d found myself rising earlier and earlier, desperate for the tranquil quiet of the early morning.
Usually, I did chores, read, or walked Clem, but today, I was plagued by the overwhelming need to go for a run. I wasn’t much of a runner, but I was full of anxious energy, and a good run was the best way to get it out of my system.
She was here.
I hated it.
Also, I loved it.
See? I was fucked up.
I’d spent years trying to extinguish every memory of Chloe and our brief marriage. But despite my best efforts, they’d never completely gone away.
Seeing her here, in my hometown? I liked it. I was a masochist, because as much as her proximity made me feel alive, the ensuing crash hurt even more.
When I’d run until my lungs gave out, I headed home. Inside, my dog, who didn’t bother to get off my couch to greet me, lifted her head and eyed me with suspicion.
“Morning, Clem.” My heart was still pounding as I headed to the pantry to get her breakfast.
Why was I drawn to women who hated me? Why hadn’t this wound ever fully healed? After decades, the sting of it was still acute.
She was here.
She’d purchased our company.
So many times over the years, I’d thought about her. I ran into her family pretty regularly. I saw her dad at quarterly meetings, and her siblings all lived in the area.
Here and there, I overheard news of her. She was always traveling and working, and she didn’t come back much, which was perfectly fine by me.
I’d always hoped she had found happiness. That she’d dealt with the grief that had almost drowned her after her mom passed away. And I’d hoped she’d found a way to move forward. She deserved that.
But that was before she’d become my boss.
I’d signed the contract. I was obligated to serve as operations manager for one year. During that meeting, it had seemed like a small price to pay in return for financial security for my family. I’d suck it up, grit my teeth, and push through, like I always did.
After my yearlong sentence was up, I’d head west. A new job, a new coast, and a fresh start.
If this was what having her in my orbit again did to me, how the hell was I going to survive the next year?
My central nervous system was in disarray.
All those years ago, when I was young and dumb? I could understand how she’d so easily gotten under my skin. Now, though, I was a grown man. I had my shit together.
For years, I thought I’d moved on. I was sure I’d buried all the hurt. But if one look at Chloe LeBlanc had sent me so close to cardiac arrest, then I obviously had a lot more work to do.
She was brimming with maturity and confidence. She certainly carried herself with the composure of a person who could drop tens of millions of dollars on a lumber company.
The set of her jaw, the way she squared her shoulders as she spoke to me? Damn. She was more beautiful than I’d imagined possible. And I had no idea how to handle it.
As I turned, Clem click-clacked her way into the kitchen. She gave me the stink-eye as I placed her bowl on the floor.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you to work yesterday,” I said. “We have a new boss lady.”
She continued watching me, clearly unimpressed with my reasoning. But the attitude wasn’t new. She wasn’t a big fan of mine. We co-existed well, but it would be a cold day in hell before she was happy to see me.
I had always planned on getting a dog. I lived a solitary life, and I spent a lot of time in the woods. Jude’s dog was his best friend. Most of the time, my brother would rather hang out with her than humans. The idea of having my own bond like that had been tempting.
But I put it off. Always held back by work or the shitshow my dad had put us through or plans to move across the country.
Or maybe it was because I’d been stuck. The autopilot never switched off.
I’d been alone for so long. And after a while, I’d gotten used to it.
But recently, it had hit me. It was time.
When I visited the Lovewell animal shelter a few months ago, I went in with every intention of adopting a dog. I envisioned leaving with a loving and goofy lab I could throw a ball to and take for hikes.
Instead, I’d gone and fallen in love with a skittish, traumatized pit bull mix.
Did I mention she hated men?
She assessed me with a palpable wariness. Then she ignored me. Instead of moving along and finding another dog, one who was excited to see me, who’d let me pet them, I dug in. For weeks, I visited, working to earn her trust.
Clearly, I was a masochist.
She was perfect. I knew it the instant I set eyes on her. Her fur was a reddish brown, and she had the wide nose of a pit bull and the fluffy ears of a spaniel.
But it was her attitude that reeled me in. She wasn’t aggressive. Not at all. But she was cold, standoffish.
Unlike the other dogs that barked when I came in and begged for attention, she made me work for it.
I’d go every few days and sit on the floor outside her enclosure and offer her treats. The Milk Bones I’d brought at first didn’t cut it.
A few weeks in, I realized she liked grass-fed beef jerky, so I stocked up.
Eventually, she warmed up to me, taking food out of my hand and letting me take her for walks. But she was still wary.
“Fine,” I said, running a hand down her back. “You can come with me.”
She lifted her head and let me gently scratch her ear before tucking into her kibble. Taking that as acceptance, I stepped away to let her eat in peace.
With a roll of my shoulders, I turned on the coffee maker. While it brewed, I ran through all the tasks I needed to accomplish today.
I was bringing my mug to my lips, anticipating that first hit of caffeine, when I heard an engine outside.
A moment later, my mother was at the door, and before I made it halfway across the room, Clementine was hiding behind the couch. She hated visitors even more than I did.
“Morning, Mom.” I angled in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Her arms were loaded with Tupperware, like she’d gone on a baking spree. She strode past me with a smile and set it all on the counter, then produced a new squeaky toy.
“Where’s my sweet grandbaby?” she asked, squeaking the toy.
Clem poked her head around the arm of the couch, curious, but quickly pulled back again.
I poured Mom a cup of black coffee, knowing precisely why she was here at such an early hour.
“Are you gonna talk, or do I have to torture it out of you?” she asked, lifting her mug.
I said nothing.
“Okay.” She set the coffee down and clapped. “Torture it is.”
She took the lid off one container, shifted it on the counter, and cocked a brow at me.
“I made these peanut butter cookies last night.”
The smell hit me hard. My absolute favorite treat. Instantly, I was transported back to childhood. To days when a good report card meant my mom would make these for me as a reward.
Perhaps it was my love of cookies that made me, in the loving words of my mom, “the husky one.” But at 40, I’d long ago made peace with the fact that a six-pack would continue to elude me, so there was no sense in stopping now.
As I reached for one, she pulled the container back hard.
“I heard your new boss tried to hit you with her SUV yesterday.”
Keeping my expression flat, I shrugged. “Shocked you waited this long to ask me about it.”
“I thought you’d reach out after it happened,” she said. “I heard yesterday morning, obviously, but when I found out who the woman was, I thought I’d give you time to process.” She patted my cheek, then, miraculously, held a cookie out to me. “So I did some baking while I waited.”
My heart lifted as I took it from her. As I took a bite, savoring the soft and crumbly texture and the sprinkling of sugar on top, I had to fight back a moan. Shit, this was good.
“So start talking.”
Instantly, the lightness that had snuck in dissipated. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Your ex-wife bought your company. You’re working for her now. And she almost ran you over. I knew she was a passionate girl, but I didn’t take her for a homicidal maniac.”
“It was an accident.”
She huffed in amusement. “Sure.”
“It was.” I swiped at the crumbs that had scattered on the counter in front of me. “And it’s all fine.”
My mother put several containers of cookies in my freezer. Those wouldn’t last the weekend, but it was cute that she wanted to leave my house fully stocked.
Once they were put away and she’d reorganized some of the food in the freezer, she took her mug and headed over to the couch. She sat calmly, watching me with curiosity. I wasn’t sure whether she was waiting for me or Clementine to open up, but neither of us were particularly social.
She cooed softly at my dog, who’d come out from her hiding spot. “Hello, sweet girl. I came to see you again.”
Clementine lifted her head up off the floor. I’d purchased her a very expensive dog bed, but rather than enjoy it, she lay on the floor beside it, just to make it clear she didn’t want anything I had to give her.
“Skittish,” my mother observed. She gently put her coffee on the end table and sat on the ground a respectful distance away from Clem.
“Yes. My dog hates everyone.”
Mom shook her head. “Nonsense. You’ve just got to give her time and build trust. The best relationships take work.”
She patted the floor, gesturing for me to sit down with her. So I did. As I settled, Clementine watched us with curiosity.
Smiling softly, Mom patted my cheek. “You always want to rush. To do the thing, check the box, get the accomplishment and the gold star.”
I opened my mouth to protest but shut it quickly. She wasn’t wrong.
She shook her head and went back to offering Clementine the back of her hand. Slowly, my dog pushed forward on her belly, working her way closer to my mom. Inch by inch, she grew curious about the humans sitting on the floor.