More than enough.
Suddenly, the lyrics to “Me and Bobby McGee” came into my head, specifically, “I’d trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday.”
And I felt those words down to my bones.
“Shit,” I said out loud.
I had it bad.
I knew that, deep down, but now, with all that was happening, I knew it.
Jacques wiggled in and snuffled my neck.
I needed to walk my dog then feed him.
Then go feed Knox.
I turned and cuddled Jacques.
He licked my jaw.
“I’m an idiot,” I told my dog.
He didn’t think so and communicated this by licking my jaw again.
This was what dogs were good at. Because even if you were an idiot, they made you feel like you weren’t.
But since I had no choice—I had two boys to take care of—me and my dog got out of bed to face the day.
As I hit the doorbell by Knox’s front door, I realized I should have demanded a key from him last night.
Or I shouldn’t have returned the key he’d given me after we broke up.
Ahem.
But what if he was upstairs, still asleep?
My shift was seven to four. It was super early.
When we were together, I’d learned he was an early riser, like me.
But…
The door opened.
“Yo,” he greeted and shift-hobbled out of my way.
He was in pajama bottoms and nothing else.
Good God, that chest, even partially bandaged.
Oh, heck yeah.
I was such an idiot.
I walked in and smelled garlic.
Since most of his bottom floor was open plan (the only things that weren’t were a powder room, obvs, and an office), I could see he had scrambled eggs in a skillet, a stack of buttered toast, the jelly out and waiting, and a plate covered with a paper towel on top of which was a small mound of cooked bacon.
