I inhale sharply and let it go.
“I’m fostering some puppies until the animal shelter finds them homes.”
“Puppies? There are more than this one?”
The puppy keeps licking Milo’s arm as if he’s made of cotton candy or bacon.
“There are eight.” I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe, wishing my house wasn’t filled with incessant barking, my hair wasn’t tangled, and I was wearing something other than my pajamas.
His blue eyes widen. “Eight? That’s a bit ambitious. Need some help?”
“What are you doing here, Milo?” My words seem muffled.
“Look, I didn’t mean to startle you earlier,” he begins before he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a familiar popsicle. “A slightly melted lemonade popsicle as a . . . peace offering.”
I take it reluctantly, a flood of past Saturdays spent riding around in his truck while the sweet lemon flavor melted on my tongue filling my mind.
I swallow. “I’m not mad at you.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he says.
“You implied it.”
He shakes his head. “I just meant, can we start over? I’d like to catch up.”
“I’m not sure there’s much to catch up on. Seems I’m just thesame girlyou left in Dusty Hollow ten years ago.” I taste the bitterness as the words leave my mouth, like strong coffee brewed with an extra scoop.
“I didn’t mean—” He closes his lips, nods, and then his eyes trace the trail of blood running down my arm from the puppy with fangs. His hand moves toward it before I can retract.
He wipes at my blood, his touch electric and gentle, before helooks down at the puppy in his arms. “Did you do that? You little vampire.”
The barking inside grows louder. I reach for the puppy, taking him out of Milo’s arms.
“Listen, Milo. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy for”—I wave the popsicle between us—“whatever this is. And I think it’s best if you and I aren't seen together. I’m sure Patty”—I use my chin to point toward the house across the street—“has already called someone about you being here.”
“Patty McGee?” He turns to look at Patty’s house.
“The one and only.”
Patty McGee is a small woman with a pointy nose and a tongue that twists truths into tales that make the town talk. She tricks you with her soft smile and knitting addiction, bringing her needles and yarn to church to make baby blankets while Pastor Jeff preaches. But we all know if Patty seeks you out, she’s looking for more than a pleasant conversation.
“I’m surprised she’s still kicking,” he mutters. “Oh, yep. I think I just saw her curtains move.” He waves at her window with enthusiasm.
I shake my head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have eight puppies to take care of, and I need a bandage,” I say, backing into my house and using my foot to close the door, but Milo shoves his foot into the gap before I can close it.
“Sadie.” He says my name tenderly, causing a sudden ache within me.
He opens the door all the way, standing fully in the doorframe. If it were pouring rain right now, he’d look desperate in his black T-shirt and jeans, hair soaked and dripping like tears down his face. But we’re in a drought, and I blink away the rendering of Milo I sketched in my mind.
Instead he sighs, and his arm muscles tense as they press into the doorframe before he adds, “I’m sorry. I don’t have any right to come back here and assume you want to talk to me.”
I take a deep breath, looking everywhere except at Milo beforeI finally say, “You can’t just leave and come back thinking everything can be the same. Not after . . .”
The words are quiet, but the weight of them plummets between us.
“That’s fair, and that's why I want to talk.”
I hear a shrill yip from inside and then little claws running across the floor as another puppy scampers toward the open front door.
