Page 44 of Housesitter

Kel took that in and took his hand off the side of the building. “Good to know,” he said. “...do you mean literally eat…OK, actually, that can wait. First things first. It’s time to show the HOA how I’ll be handling home ownership.”

Shepherd paused and cocked an eyebrow. He looked Kel up and down. It took a while, but at this point he couldn’t pretend he didn’t like the view.

“Is it by lying to them?” he asked.

Kel laughed and reached out to hook his fingers in the waistband of Shepherd’s jeans. He pulled him closer and leaned down, his breath coffee and smoke against Shepherd’s mouth.

“This is why our relationship works,” Kel said. “Mutual respect and understanding.”

Shepherd snorted. “I don’t do commitment,” he said. “I’ve been married once. I’m in no rush to do that again.”

A slow, wicked smile tucked one side of Kel’s mouth. It carved a long, deep dimple in his cheek and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Marriage?” he said. “Put the brakes on. I never mentioned romance. I meant our working relationship. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

The kiss was light and teasing as Kel brushed his mouth over Shepherd’s cheek. He straightened up, smirk still tucked in the corners of his mouth, and then, before Shepherd could muster a response, sighed.

“Fuck it,” he said and dipped back down to claim Shepherd’s mouth hungrily. The kiss was impatient, teeth sharp and lips hard. Kel’s breath was hot enough to sting the back of Shepherd’s throat, and Shepherd leaned into the contact before he could think better of it. When Kel pulled back again, Shepherd blinked up at him like an idiot. Kel brushed the side of his face with the backs of his fingers in a light caress as he smirked down at him. “For the record? That doesn’t count. You’re still the one that brought up making it a thing first.”

Bernie Cargill was a bony, lanky woman with eyebrows paler than her skin and a fondness for Hawaiian shirts. She was also one year retired and, based on the various write-ups in the HOA-produced gazette that Kel had pulled off their site, she’d redirected the drive and high-achieving streak that had made her a good forensic accountant into her new passion for gardening.

Competitive gardening.

Shepherd slapped his hands against the stack of burlap sacks piled up against Birdie’s fence. He leaned his weight on them as he gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about this. I don’t know how they got the address wrong. Dio has been ordering his mulch from them for years, but I guess they got a new driver.”

Bernie paused mid-slightly insincere assurance that it was fine. Her eyebrows twitched up.

“Oh,” she said as she pushed her Ray-Bans up on top of her head, salt and pepper curls sticking out around them. “You’re not telling me this is it? Dio Madden’s secret formula?”

“I don’t know how secret it is,” Shepherd said with a laugh as he grabbed one of the bags and hoisted it up onto his hip. “He gets it online.”

“Does he now?” Bernie said. “That’s not the impression he gave when he won Marble Falls Best in Bloom last year….Can I have a look?”

Shepherd hesitated as he glanced up and down the street. He didn’t know why. It just added a bit of drama.

“I mean, I guess,” he said. “It’s just potting compost.”

He set one of the bags up on its base and pulled his knife out of his pocket. The blade clicked out, and he sawed through the burlap. The frayed edges were rough against his fingers as he tugged the bag open for Bernie.

She reached in and took a pinch, rolling it between her fingers like a connoisseur with a cigar.

“So it’s just bonemeal and potting compost?” she asked.

Shepherd crouched down on the other side of her fence and extended his fingers to the big, white bull terrier. The dog ignored the option of a wary sniff and went straight to slamming her body against the slats to get scritches.

“That’s it,” Shepherd said as he dug his fingers into the dog’s shoulders and hips. Its tail battered against the fence as it leaned harder. “You know gardens. If you want them to grow, you need to throw them a corpse or two. He does get the premium package, though.”

Bernie licked the bit of dirt, grimaced at the taste, and then dusted her hands off on her thighs as she pursed her lips.

“Oh,” she said. “And what does that get you?”

Shepherd shrugged. “The quality of the bone,” he said. “And the percentage of exotic content.”

Bernie cracked a smile. “Now that sounds like a secret formula,” she said. “How about I make you a cup of tea, and you can tell me where Dio gets his deliveries from? He does owe me. The delivery company damaged my fence when they dropped those off.”

She pointed at the damage.

They had. Huh. It turns out they did read the delivery instructions.