“Is Lila?—”
“A designer,” I say. “Her style reminds me of Mom’s.”
I don’t say it to shut Tanner up, though it does. It’s not a deflection. Or it is, but it’s also the truth.
“Ah,” Tanner says, like that explains everything.
“That’s the whole story,” I continue. “Can we move on now?”
Rafe rides past me moving a steer and says, without looking over, “Doesn’t sound like the whole story.”
Fucker. I love this family, but I hate this family sometimes.
Tanner nods slowly, still watching the painters. “Mom’s style, huh? So this designer, she one of those nice old ladies who goes to the antique markets and stuff?”
“Something like that,” I say.
The conversation moves on. I let it, and turn my attention back to the cattle, and try not to think about rose-gold hair and the shimmer on her cheekbones and the way she looked standing in the middle of my empty house like she already knew what it needed.
I’m due to meet Lila at her office in a hour to go over something called a “moodboard” and take the dog back home withme. I saw her just this morning when I dropped off Lucky and I already can’t wait to see her again, like some overeager schoolboy.
It’s been a week now of me dropping off the dog at her boutique, along with a cup of her favorite coffee. I found out her drink order from the girl who works at her store, and now it’s all part of my regular route: Bison Brew for a maple latte for her and a black coffee for me. Occasionally, something called a puppacino that was foisted on me by the barista but that the dog seems to love gobbling up. Then I drop the dog off with Lila and go on with my day.
Just that simple routine is way more domesticity than I’m used to, but it feels natural. I just like putting that smile on Lila’s face and it’s no trouble to go out of my way a little to do it.
Every morning we spend a few minutes going over my home renovation project. She shows me fabric samples and paint colors and it turns out, I have opinions I didn’t know I had. Yesterday, I told her I didn’t like a certain shade of green and she looked at me like I’d said something interesting instead of difficult. She asked me why, and I had to actually think about it.
What came out was something about how it reminded me of a hospital waiting room.
Like the ones Mom spent so much time in that last year of her life.
But I didn’t tell Lila that part.
She just nodded and pulled out three other options and said these won’t remind you of that. Just like that. Like my opinion was the most important factor to consider.
I’m not used to that, whether in my career or in my personal life. Defensemen do the work nobody notices: take the hits, block the shots, keep the ice clear for the people who score the goals. I’ve been doing that on the ice for fifteen years, and offthe ice, I’ve been doing something like it my whole life. Fading into the background.
That’s what happens when you’re the middle child. It’s a cliche, but it’s true. I’m the quiet, overlooked one. Which is more than fine by me. Unlike my brothers, I don’t want the spotlight. Never liked attention.
But it turns out I like Lila’s attention.
I can see the dog through the boutique window before I even get out of the truck. She’s moving better every day, the prosthetic leg less foreign to her now, trotting between displays with her tail wagging. She looks like a different animal than the one I lifted out of that ditch. Now she’s a pampered shop dog with a stuffed hedgehog and a puppacino habit.
The bell jingles and she comes straight to me. I crouch down and scratch her ears and she leans into it hard.
Sarah’s face turns pink behind the counter. “Hi Slade. Lila’s in her office.”
“Thanks.”
The dog follows me down the hall. She does that now, follows me, waits by the door when I leave and watches the window until I come back, or so Lila tells me.
I really should be working on finding her a permanent home. I haven’t looked into it yet. Just haven’t gotten around to it. She’s sweet and easygoing and I don’t mind taking care of her.
There’s a muffled voice behind the closed door. Lila’s. I catch the wordsunnecessaryandinsulting. Hers is the tone of voice that suggests someone is trying hard to stay calm and not quite managing it. The voice on the other end, coming out the speakerphone, is a man’s voice. I can’t quite discern his words.
A fight with a boyfriend? She’s never mentioned one. And she did specifically saysinglevolunteers put themselves up for an auction date.
But I don’t actually know anything about her personal life. She could have someone.
