“No.” Ivy shakes her head. “Leave it with me.”
“That was awkward as fuck.” Logan raises his hand. “Can I say something? I don’t understand wings.”
“As in chicken wings?” asks Ivy with her brows drawn tight. “Are you serious? They’re delicious. What’s there to understand?”
I cock my head. “Yeah. Me neither.”
“It’s just skin and bone,” says Logan. “There’s no meat, right?”
“No,” I say. “Never made sense to me.”
Ivy blinks at us. “Delicious skin that’s been marinated before being cooked to a golden crisp. How can you fail to appreciate that?”
“They’re just good.” Noah frowns down at me. You would think I insulted his firstborn or something. “Wings are good.”
“Okay,” I say.
“You’re saying that just to appease me, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Can I have that glass of wine?” I ask. “And please make it a large.”
His gaze skips to the door, reminded of the recent trials and tribulations. No sign of Jade and I highly doubt she’s coming back. Then he gives me the fakest smile in all of time and space and says, “You got it.”
CHAPTER NINE
Ihead home at ten. The neighborhood is quiet, as it usually is on Sunday nights. There’s an occasional hum from a car on the nearby road and the hoot of an owl perched high in a tree. Seven or so vehicles are parked on the street, care of the party. Though one, a dark sedan, is further down the way. Not that it actually matters. My brain would just rather think about random inconsequential shit as opposed to recent events.
Noah and I exchanged exactly a dozen words during the rest of the night. “Can I get you another drink?” “Is everything okay?” “See you later.”
I don’t need him to hover. But it feels like he was avoiding me and that sucks. Though maybe I’m overthinking it. I really hope I am.
The front door key is in my jeans pocket. My front porch isn’t a big space. Just a couple of steps, a short wooden bench seat, and a planter full of white daisies. A small attempt at fitting into the neighborhood and appearing welcoming. Apart from the light above the door and another inside above the dining table, my house sits alone in darkness.
Logan leaves the party next. Shouting and laughter follow him out the door. I see him raise his hand in farewell before climbing into a battered old Jeep. The sedan parked down the street comes to life as I slide the key in the lock. It cruises past with dark tinted windows. Which is when Auggie starts scratching at the door from inside.
“I’m coming,” I say, putting myself between him and freedom. “Hi there, my friend. How was your night?”
His butt wiggles and he gives me a big doggy grin as I lock us safely inside. As for the question about how his night went, theanswer would be great, apparently. What is not so great is the velvet throw pillow he viciously attacked and gutted. Fluffy balls of filling are spread across the living room floor.
“But I bought you toys,” I say, deeply aggrieved. “Why choose violence?”
Auggie wags his tail in a manner I can only describe as joyous or elated. Hard to be angry with someone who’s so damn happy to see you. Even if he does kill the décor for fun.
I take him out back and wait while he sniffs various places. He eventually settles for peeing on the base of the red maple. One of his favored spots. Then he trots back inside and curls up on his bed in the corner of the living room. Guess he doesn’t want to come up to my room tonight.
It’s good that he feels comfortable and doesn’t need to shadow me. I read a couple of articles on settling in a new dog. How to avoid causing them unnecessary anxiety. A calm and happy dog lives a longer life.
Having another heartbeat in the house has been nice. There’s a small chance I would be devastated if his previous owners showed up now.
When someone knocks on the door, he raises his head to bark exactly once before going back to sleep. I check the security camera on my phone and open the door. We just said good night not five minutes ago. Him being here makes me nervous. Same goes for the heavy frown on his face.
“Noah.”
“We need to talk,” he says in this gravelly voice. “Can I come in?”
I nod and step back.
He closes the door behind him, stares down at me, and says, “This isn’t working for me.”
