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“I’ll be there.”
Cameron whisked himself back to his beckoning brother, and Elliot stared at the ticket. Roberto Devereux, ossia Il conte di Essex.
Of course it was that opera.
His phone burst to life in his pocket and Elliot dropped the ticket to his lap as he scrambled to answer the call. It was a sign. It was provenance. It was—
Mary.
His shoulders slumped as he answered.
“Honey has been barking non-stop. The entire day yesterday, and this morning too. The neighbours keep calling me at work to take care of it. Why are there so many people who work from home? Can’t they get real jobs?”
“They have real jobs, Mary. Honey is young, he needs—”
“Honestly, it’s your fault he’s so upset.”
Elliot had to hold himself back. “Why do you think that is?”
“You spoil him! You take him in with you to work. Of course now he’s sad he’s been left at home.”
“He was like this before I started taking him into work. He wants attention and he wants companionship.”
“I’ll be home at five—scratch that, work drinks tonight—seven-thirty to take him out.”
Elliot closed his eyes. Poor pup.
“But if you could—”
“Mary, I’m not in town. You should have sorted out sufficient care for Honey.”
Elliot should have too. He should have known Mary wouldn’t. He’d gotten too caught up in his own dramas, he’d . . . he’d let Honey down.
“I don’t like strangers in my house, you know that. Aren’t you in Cubworthy? That’s only an hour’s drive out.”
“There and back and don’t forget I have to work.”
“I see. I get it.”
Elliot prickled at her tone. “Get what?”
“You don’t really want to look after him. Never mind, I can’t expect you to love him, to sacrifice for him.”
“Mary. I do not appreciate your emotional manipulation. I have shown my love for Honey every day. I would hazard to say, I have shown it more than yourself.”
“How dare you—”
“Do you regret getting him, Mary?”
“I . . .”
Elliot softened his tone. “I think you’re overwhelmed. I think you love the idea of a having a dog, but I don’t think you were prepared for the reality.”
“How dare you.” This time, a whisper.
“It’s okay to admit that.”
“But I love him. He’s so cute.”
“You can still love him and not feel able to do him justice as a parent.”
She was quiet a long time. When she spoke next, it was preceded by a sniff. “He has bad eyes. He was so sickly. No one wanted him. I had to bring him home.”
“He has eye issues, yes. He’s growing more robust by the day. You wanted to help him, that’s wonderful.” Elliot paused. His voice croaked. “I want to keep him.” He did. He loved Honey. Even if loving something so much would eventually hurt. Even though, in ten or fifteen years, he would have to say goodbye again to one he loved . . . “Let me offer him a home.”
“But . . .”
“I can look after him. I want to.”
“But . . .”
“You can visit when you have the capacity. You can walk with him when you want. But I would like to be Honey’s dad.”
“I . . .” She sighed, and Elliot heard something close to relief in it. “Prove you love him by picking him up?”
“I can’t leave set, Mary. But I will make sure Honey is looked after, okay?”
“Yes, okay.” She sniffed again. “I can visit him whenever it fits?”
“It’s an open adoption. And you can always dog-sit. Like this Saturday night for a few hours?”
“Oh, Elliot. Thank you. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for being such a good neighbour. Honey adores you. You’ll be a good dog daddy.” Something beeped. “Crap, our neighbour is trying to call again. Who’s picking him up?”
“Elliot,” Wentworth answered. “A call in the middle of the day? This is a nice surprise.”
“I told you I wanted these surprises to become a thing.”
“So you did.”
“Anyway, I called for a reason.”
A laugh. “Oh did you?”
“A favour, actually.”
Wentworth’s voice tipped from amused to serious in a heartbeat. “Why do you sound nervous? Are you in trouble? You’re not calling from a holding cell, are you?”
“For what nefarious deed have I been thrown into a cell?”
“Excessive haughtiness?”
Elliot laughed.
“Or you’ve abused your powers of persuasion.”
“And done, what, exactly?”
“Convinced suitors to fling themselves into the nearest body of water?”
“I don’t see how that gets me in jail.”
“You got the wrong person wet.”
“Well, if they can get wet, they probably are the wrong person.” Wentworth choked on something. Words, perhaps. “Back to this favour. Would you pick up my puppy and keep him with you at work? And maybe stay over at my house and dog-sit him until I get home on Saturday?”
“Go back a bit.”
“Could you dog-sit Honey until I get back from Cubworthy.”
“Back further.”
“Look after him at work?”
“A little further.”
“Would you pick up Honey, please?”
