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Curiosity grips me.
Does he have a wife, a family?
Maybe he does have a wife. He’d have no reason to mention it. As far as he’s concerned, I’m an employee, nothing more.
I press down on the intercom and a second later, I hear yapping from the house.
“Hello?” Pearce says.
“Hey, it’s me. Piper.”
I’m sure I hear a smirk in his voice. “I recognized your voice. I’m opening the gate now.”
It opens with a mechanical whirr.
A thrill zips through me. He remembered my voice.
I walk down the path, Bones’ yapping getting louder. Finally, as I walk up the steps to the tall imposing front door, I spot Bones at the front window. He’s perched on the back of a couch, his barking clouding the glass.
Pearce pulls the door open, staring down at me in a deep blue suit, the top button of his shirt undone and his tie in his hand. I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his chest, and he must’ve shaved this morning because his jawline is smooth, emphasizing its shape.
“Bones, guess who it is,” Pearce calls, and then gives me a look.
I smile and our eyes meet. I’m certain there’s something there.
“Bones, boy, it’s me. It’s Piper.”
The terrier comes bounding down the hallway. I drop to my knees just in time for him to leap up at me, tail wagging so hard his whole body is swaying from side to side, his tongue lapping eagerly at my face.
“He really likes you,” Pearce says, in a tone of voice that’s difficult to read.
He could be angry. Happy. Nothing. It’s like he’s holding something back.
I caution myself to slow down. He’s probably thinking about work, keen to get out of here. I’m projecting.
“I like him too.” I giggle as Bones places his forepaws on my shoulders, clambering as though he wants to be held. “Aren’t you full of excitement, huh?”
I could be talking to myself, the feeling bubbling relentlessly through me, becoming more difficult to ignore each moment.
I look up to find Pearce staring down at me.
“I need to get going,” he says, as he brings his tie around his throat. “I wanted to give you a tour, but… Duty calls.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I reply, standing.
My fingers itch as though telling me to move, to take his tie and help him fix it. He knows how to do it, of course – he loops it around with practiced movements – but the idea makes me feel so girlfriend-ish.
I can imagine fixing his tie and then standing on my tiptoes, kissing him softly on the cheek.
Have a good day, I’ll say, before watching my man drive off to work.
Instead, I go to the door as he walks down the steps.
My heart gives a pang when Bones sits at my feet, not trying to bound after Pearce.
Pearce pauses at his sleek sedan, the windows tinted, glistening in the morning sunlight. He raises his hand in a wave and I wave back, pathetically relieved when my hand doesn’t tremble.
After he drives away, the gate closing behind him, I turn from the driveway and smile down at Bones.
“Shall we go see the backyard, boy?”
He wags his tail, and that’s answer enough.
“Just let me set down my bag.”
The feeling of being an intruder only increases as I walk through the house. The ceilings are tall, the hallways wide, with artwork hanging from the walls.
I pause to admire some of the artwork. Most of it is landscape, photographs, with incredible attention to detail.
One thing I notice is how lacking in personality the house is. It’s like a show home.
But then it’s not like I’m going to go snooping around Pearce’s bedroom looking for signs of character.
He’s probably busy with his job, focusing on dishing out justice, too busy to spend time decorating his house.
But then, why does he have such a big house?
He hasn’t mentioned anybody else living here. He hasn’t mentioned a wife or kids.
As if my obsession wasn’t crazy enough, I don’t even know if this man’s married. For all I know, a woman is going to return at lunchtime, a brood of children trailing after her, smiling kindly at me. So you must be the new dog sitter…
I find the doors to the yard through the kitchen. It’s a sleek and stylish area, with a marble island and a refrigerator the size of a vending machine. There’s a piece of paper on the counter, a few instructions written on it, telling me where Bones’ food, bed, and toys are.
Bones whines, staring up at me as I gaze at Pearce’s handwriting. Even the way he writes is masculine, as tough as the justice he serves.
Bones and I head outside. The yard is long and beautiful, everything well-maintained. The little guy walks to the edge of the stone patio and turns, looking at me, head tilted.
