“It’s not blackmail. More like a performance request. A theatrical superstition if you will.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll blow you before each performance.”
A laugh bursts from me. “How’d you know I was going to say that?”
She blows on her fingernails. “Let’s just say I’m good too.”
“You sure are,” I say, then furrow my brow. “I’m not performing next week though.”
“Oh, you’re not?” She sounds so disappointed I almost want to tell Duke to add me to the schedule. But it’s not feasible.
“Can’t. I’m going to rest my voice that night. Gotta save it for this fundraiser I’m doing for a ball-busting piano accompanist.”
“She does drive a hard bargain,” she says.
“Speaking of hard bargains, I believe you owe me some duck juggling.”
After we straighten up and pull on clothes—boxer briefs for me and a loose T-shirt for her—we head into the living room where Captain’s curled up in his dog bed. He lifts his snout when we arrive in his domain.
“A show for a show,” she says, picking up some ducks.
“A coping skill for a coping skill,” I add, since that’s karaoke for me, juggling for her.
Captain cocks his head, his ears pricked. Chloe tosses the first duck, the second, the third, and then holy shit, she adds a fourth that I didn’t even know she was holding. A fifth now.
I can’t look away. My Chloe is juggling five rubber ducks in the living room, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier. It’s weird, this feeling. But not unwelcome at all.
It feels like…like Darling Springs is becoming home. And so is Chloe.
When she sets down the ducks, I clap loudly. She takes a bow, then I pat my thigh. “Come here, you multi-talented goddess.”
She parks her sweet ass on my lap.
Yes.Home.I nuzzle her neck, thinking about that word. “I’m going to adopt a dog this weekend. Want to come with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, then lets out a shriek of excitement that’s the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.
32
WHEN YOU KNOW
CHLOE
I always thought it was a lie in books—the idea that you have a spring in your step. Now I know where the spring comes from.
Great sex.
No surprise that I’m practically bouncing the next morning. After an early-morning rehearsal at the community theater—where Captain hung out in the auditorium like the goodest boy in the world (well, he is a theater dog, and he knows it well)—we leave and walk toward Dog Tails.
He’ll spend the day there. Why would I not take advantage of free dog daycare? It’s the best benefit ever. As I walk to work, I’m practically whistling a happy tune. I pass the gourmet market, waving to Salma, who is outside arranging a flower display.
“I just dropped off Dandelion at Dog Tails,” she says. “She’s so happy there.”
“It’s like a dog Fantasia,” I say.
Salma cracks a rare smile. “It certainly is.”
I continue past her. The Slippery Dipper is in my sights, and since my first appointment isn’t for fifteen minutes, I decide to pop in and say hello to Noah. I’ve heard from my mom that he’s already back on his feet and working with crutches. When I pop into the store, he’s sitting on a stool behind the counter, arranging a display of lotion bottles, his red hair falling over his forehead.
