I think I need to get out of the office. Everything is driving me crazy today. I tap Caleb’s phone number into my cell. My heart races as I wait for him to answer. It takes four rings.
“Charlotte?” he answers, sounding slightly out of breath. “What’s up?”
“Hey. I’m sorry to bother you?—”
“Never a bother to hear from you,” he interrupts. My chest tightens, not from annoyance but also not from… I don’t know… joy? Why does his voice make my chest feel so weird? I shrug it off and continue.
“I need to take some measurements of the barn and get a better feel of the layout. Would it be okay if I stopped by today?”
“Absolutely. Anytime.”
“Cool,” I say, scooping up my papers and shoving them into my oversized work bag. “I’ll be right over. Can you hide the terrifying fur beast?”
He chuckles. “For you, yes.”
Caleb stands in front of the barn when I drive up, hands in his front pockets and a smile on his face. He wears a snug-fitting dark gray t-shirt with the Alden Brothers K9 logo on it. At least, that’s what I assume the ABK9 means.
“Mornin’,” he calls out, closing my car door for me. Maybe it’s morning to him, but I’ve been working since seven. “It’s a little humid today so I set up the big ass fan in there to cool it off.”
He nods toward the open barn where one of those big metal fans that are taller than I am blows air through the room. “Cool,” I say, because “that’s very considerate of you to think of my comfort in the humidity” would give him way too much satisfaction.
“Is that your logo?” I ask, pointing to his chest.
“Yep. Well, one of them.” He turns around, revealing the bigger logo on the back of the shirt. This one says ALDEN BROTHERS K9 across the top of a circular crest with a dog silhouette on top of the shape of Texas. It’s screen-printed with a rugged, tactical look.
“That’s excellent branding,” I say. “You need to get this—” I tap his back—“professionally printed on a large sign that goes out front by the road.”
“Right.” He turns back around. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to do that.”
“It needs to happen now, definitely before the gala. It’s hard finding this place and your donors will want to see an actual sign for the organization they’re donating to. It makes you look legit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I’ll get right on it.”
The way he calls me ma’am is like it’s programmed into him and he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. I don’t feel like he’s calling me old, or like he’s patronizing me for being young. It just feels… respectful. That alone is weird coming from a man who loves to flirt.
“I set up a table and chair in the barn if you need some work space, and there’s also room in the admin building if you want to plug in your laptop or anything. Can I get you anything?”
“A tape measure?” I ask, digging through my bag. I totally forgot mine.
“Sure thing. This way.”
I follow him toward the big house and up the porch steps. This front porch wraps around the whole house. It’s so charming and cute and—ugh. An old pair of men’s underwear is tossed over a pair of boots near the worn out welcome mat.
“Ignore that,” Caleb says. “My baby brother Max says the only way to get a good shine on his car wax is to use cotton underwear.”
“Riiight.”
He opens the door, then quickly closes it. “I forgot—my dog is here. Do you want to wait outside and I’ll grab the tape measure?”
“What kind of dog is it?” I ask, while nodding quickly because yes, absolutely yes, I want to wait out here and not see another dog.
As if hearing my question, a big dog shoves aside the curtain and pops his head up in the window next to us. I stiffen.
“That’s Ranger. He was my K9 at LPD, but we quit together, so now he’s a retired lazy boy who lounges around the house all day.” Caleb waves at him through the window. “He’s very well behaved, but you don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t,” I say, moving to sit on the porch swing. “I’ll just wait here next to the old men’s underwear.”
Maybe a tiny little lap dog wouldn’t make my heart race, but I’m certainly not about to take any chances with these big ones. One muscle and flesh-ripping bite as a child is all it took for me to know I’m not a dog person.
