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I lived alone and kept pretty tidy, but I forgot to do things like dust and vacuum.
Latte snoozed behind me, occasionally licking the back of my neck for me to reach around and give him a scratch. Other than that, he was content to just chill out while I took care of the domestic shit I’d neglected.
I set my pressure cooker up with a warm and hearty chicken stew. It was probably a little unfair to use my online Vee knowledge to impress her today. And dangerous because what the hell would I do if I screwed up and said something Fortress would know, but not me?
Lies, Masterson. All of it was lies, no matter how you sliced it.
Oh, speaking of slice. I rushed over to the bag of groceries I’d picked up on the way home. I took out the fresh loaf of French bread and sliced it, wrapped it, and put it in the oven to warm up.
I tucked the four-pack of mini cheesecakes I’d bought into the fridge—I should’ve gotten some of Veronica’s creations instead—then whipped up some fresh whipped cream while the pressure cooker did its thing.
One of the few things I could do was make a decent meal, thanks to my mama. She wouldn’t allow her boys to be useless in the kitchen. And having a cabin on the lake meant going to get fast food all the time was close to impossible.
So, I could cook. Passably anyway. I didn’t have Vee’s grace with the sugary end of the spectrum, but I could make a damn good whipped cream to add to some fruit toppings.
A little head peeked over my shoulder. “Like strawberries, Latte?”
I frowned. Was a dog allowed to have strawberries?
I Googled and fell down a rabbit hole of dog owner woes and scare tactics as Latte and I shared half a dozen strawberries. They were on the okay list for dogs, thank you.
Grapes, however, that was a hell no. Especially with the size of my dog.
Our dog? Huh. I didn’t know how to work that.
Pretty much like a baby would work with her current plan of attack. Joint custody if both of us were in agreement. Christ.
I didn’t want joint anything. Well, okay, that was a lie. I wanted us joined at the hip as much as humanly possible. What I didn’t want was just to be her babymaker. I already wanted more.
And that was where things were getting really murky.
I liked her too much and she didn’t even know who the hell I really was.
I collapsed into my desk chair with Latte burrowing back into his hood bed now that his insanely tiny belly was full. Man, should I have even gone with strawberries? The vet at the shelter wasn’t even sure how old the puppies were.
Barely weaned off their mama was all he could guess.
I guess I’d find out when he shits seeds like a machine gun or projectile vomited before digestion happened.
Fun.
I did a few more searches about what puppies should and shouldn’t eat between trying to formulate a response to my Sir Mix A Lot problem.
We all had our kinks, but that seemed especially precious for Veronica. She had a sense of whimsy to her, considering the multi-color hair she had going on. But a teddy bear that had to accompany her on date night?
Or whatever we wanted to call a hookup?
Hmm.
I started to reply, then wandered off when the pressure cooker beeped that it was ready and finished decompressing. I turned on some music while I made gravy and made sure the veggies weren’t mush.
My alarm buzzed on my watch reminding me I had fifteen minutes before she was due to arrive.
“Ready for some food, pal?”
My hood wiggled with Latte’s furious tail wag. I laughed and scooped him out of the hood to set him down with his puppy-prescribed food. Which was precisely a thimbleful for such a little guy.
He wolfed it down and whined for me to settle him back into my hood.
