“Is that a yes whatever, please hook me up with a yummy movie featuring the all-time best man sandwich in history? Or whatever, as in I will literally cut my own eyes out if I have to watch a romance?” I mean, I can’t read man grunt.
“It means whatever, as in whatever you want to watch,” he answers. He smiles at me. I’ve noticed his smile is coming out a little more frequently now and, damn, if it doesn’t make me melt a little bit every time. Stupid, sexy cowboy.
“I’ll make a deal with you. We watch this first, then we can watchDie Hard, the other best Christmas movie ever. Wait, let me guess?—”
“Whatever,” we say in unison.
I shake my head and turn back to the ancient DVD player. With the movie in, I return to snuggle under the blanket on the couch. He clears his throat when I scooch next to him so he can share my blanket. The open credits begin, and I grab the bag of pretzels I found in his pantry.
“You agreeDie Hardis a Christmas movie?” he asks quietly.
“If it has a Christmas tree in it, it’s a Christmas movie,” I answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him study me for a beat. Then with a barely perceptible nod, he turns back to the movie.
We watch the movie for the first half hour in silence. But I’d much rather talk to Beau.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Mmm,” he grunts. I’ll take that as permission to continue.
“Why Reacher?” I stroke the dog’s head. He hasn’t really left my side all afternoon.
“What do you mean?”
“Why that name when there are a lot of good dog names out there? He looks like a Bruno or a Duke, so why name him Reacher?”
“He’s big and blond. What else would I call him?”
“Okay, I get it now, I guess. What kind of dog is he?”
“I’d guess a mix of Great Dane and Lab. Travis dumped him here a couple of years ago. Claimed I was starting to talk to myself.”
“I don’t buy that,” I tease. “You don’t talk at all as far as I can tell, not even to yourself.”
“I talk,” he answers. From his tone, I would guess he’s a little hurt by my observation. Truth hurts.
“You grunt and growl. You do not talk.”
“So, I am Shrek then.”
“There you go comparing yourself to the sexiest ogre in the history of cinema again.” He tries to hide the smile that breaks across his face, but I see it plain as day. “What do you think, Reacher? Is he a closet conversationalist when no one is around?”
The dog barks in response.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Just watch the movie,” he says with exasperation. He can’t fool me, there’s still a hint of a smile on that handsome face. We sit in silence for another half hour.
“What are your thoughts on kissing?” I can’t stand it. It’s too easy to rile him up.
“What?” he says, sputtering.
“In movies. What are your thoughts on kissing in movies?”
“Jesus.” He runs a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know. It’s fine, I guess.” I let him settle back into the movie just long enough to drop his guard again.
“And sex?” I ask off-handedly.
“Harmony,” he growls in warning.
