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The dog looked at Krystal with pure adoration.
“This must be Clementine.” He smiled. He’d seen dozens of photos of Clementine on Instagram. One of the ugliest damn animals he’d ever seen. So ugly, she was cute. Mostly furless, she had a pom-pom on the top of her head and the tip of her tail, giving her an eighties-rock-star vibe. With her unsteady walk, she was an eighties rock star recovering from an all-nighter. Heather was a big fan of the three-legged Chinese crested. And Krystal.
Krystal looked up at him. “The one and only.” She stood. “Clem, this is Jace. Let me know what you think of him.”
Clementine sat, looking back and forth between the two of them. She seemed undecided so Jace squatted, holding out his hand toward the little dog. Clementine continued to sit, staring at his outstretched hand without interest.
“Come on, Clementine,” he coaxed. “Don’t leave me hanging here. You’re making me look bad.”
Krystal made an odd choking sound.
“Come on,” he tried again.
Clementine yawned, stood, and trotted his way. Her dainty nose sniffed up and down each finger and all along his hand and forearm before she whimpered and lay on her back, exposing her tummy.
“You hussy.” Krystal was outraged. “I can’t believe you.”
Jace chuckled, obliging the dog with a thorough tummy rub. “Heather is going to be jealous. She’s one of your biggest fans.”
“She is?” Krystal asked.
He nodded, standing.
“Here.” Krystal scooped up Clementine, thrust the dog into his arms, and pulled out her phone. “Hold her up and give me a smolder. Chicks dig that, big-time. Hot guy with cute dog? Oh yeah.” She held her phone up. “Come on, Clementine. Smile for Mommy.”
The baby voice she used on her dog had him grinning, too. Of course, the hot guy reference helped.
“Nice. Good one.” She held the phone out for his inspection. “I’ll post it.”
He shook his head; things like Internet fame and social media were things he was hoping to avoid. Krystal was the pro here. If she wanted to do it, he wasn’t going to stop her. “Whatever.”
“Uh-huh.” She typed away on her phone, then shoved it back in her pocket.
“You have a right to be happy. About today.” He cleared his throat, her green eyes meeting his. “I don’t know about the rest of it, it’s none of my business. But I do know that much.”
She stared up at him, arms crossed over her chest, blond hair over one shoulder, green eyes blazing.
What was she thinking? Did he want to know?
“You should leave the stubble.” Her voice was husky, her gaze traveling along his jaw to his mouth. It was pretty damn easy to figure out what she was thinking then. Her lips parted just enough to make him start thinking about all the things he shouldn’t be thinking when it came to her.
Dammit.
“Where’s the pie?” Hank King’s voice carried, only slightly muffled by the swinging kitchen door. Clementine barked in answer, planting two serious doggy kisses on Jace’s chin.
“Coming, Daddy,” Krystal called back. “He has a weakness for pie. Especially my pie.” She shook her head, nodding at Clementine. “She likes you.” She spun on her heel to pull a stack of small plates from a cabinet.
He rubbed Clementine’s head, doing his best to rein in the still-rapid beat of his heart. “She strikes me as a pretty friendly dog.”
The sugar-crusted flaky crust she placed on the counter made him wish he’d stopped at three biscuits instead of five. When she slid the piece from pie dish to plate, the apple cinnamon sweetness temptation was undeniable. “You made that?” he asked, stepping closer to inhale deeply. He groaned. “I’m beginni
ng to see why your dad might be partial to your pie.”
She pointed at his mouth. “There might be a little drool, right there.”
“Very funny.” This close, it was a toss-up between what was sweeter: the pie or Krystal.
She moved to the other side of the island. “Clementine is a good dog, for the most part. But she’d let you know if she didn’t like you.” She plated another piece of pie and glanced his way, smiling. “She peed on Mickey. All over his jeans and boots.”
