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“More like he’s getting all the Krispy Kreme off your cheeks.” I chuckle, walking over to where Britt is holding the leash while the two become besties.
“Did you know bloodhounds can track things for more than 130 miles?” Owen’s voice is loud, which means he’s excited, and he holds Zander for Edward to sniff vigorously. “He could find my buddy if I ever lose him!”
“It’s true.” Britt grins, watching the love fest.
I slide my finger along the soft skin of her upper arm, considering how easy it is for her to make my son happy. How easily she makes me happy.
She leans back subtly, placing her back against my chest, and I have to fight to keep from sliding my arms around her.
“He can track scents as old as two weeks,” she adds.
“Does he protect you from bad guys?”
Her pretty face scrunches, and she shakes her head. “He’s not the best guard dog in the world. He thinks everybody is a friend, so he’s not very aggressive.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Can he run real fast?”
“He’s not like a greyhound or a Doberman, but he’ll do in a pinch.” She glances up, meeting my gaze. “All done for the day?”
“Finally.” This week is finally over, and we’re finally in the same room for longer than five minutes.
Preparing for Founder’s Day is always hectic, but with all the unsolved shit hanging over our heads and Owen starting lacrosse, this week was damn insane.
I want to cup her cheeks and kiss her. It feels like forever ago I had her on my lap in the cab of my pickup truck, a sight that fueled my fantasies more than once this week. Not to mention the dirty texting that had my dick so hard I had to take a minute before I entered the courthouse this morning.
“We need to put him in the Doggy Dash!” Owen shouts.
Britt’s brow wrinkles. “I don’t know if Edward’s ready for racing.”
“Sure he is! You can come over for dinner tonight, and we can practice at our house. We can teach him how to run when the whistle blows, and he’ll be the winningest dog at the fair! That’s okay, Dad, isn’t it?”
My son is standing beside Edward, repeatedly stroking his head with every sentence, and I glance at Britt. Her lips part, and she looks like she’s searching for a way to say no.
“I think it’s a great idea.” I don’t know about the Doggy Dash, but I definitely want Britt to have dinner with us. “I’m marinating kabobs, and I’ve got corn on the cob for grilling.”
She places a hand on her forehead. “Edward’s a good boy, but he’s really hard to train.”
“We can try!” Owen jumps up and grabs her hand. “Mr. Harold said any dog can join. He said they don’t even have to be very fast. Miss Magee is putting Periwinkle in it, and she’s just a Yorkie. Edward can totally beat her!”
“Oh no.” Britt’s nose scrunches. “Edward would flatten a little dog like that.”
“They’re supposed to stay in their own lanes,” Owen explains, like she doesn’t know the rules.
“That’s what worries me.”
Owen tugs her hand. “Please, Miss Britt? Can we try?”
She looks up at me with pleading eyes, and I grin, thinking how cute she is conflicted, wanting to please my son and looking to me for help. It’s a dynamic I haven’t had in a long time, and I didn’t realize I missed having a partner to share Owen’s energy.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we head over to my place, have dinner, and do a practice run. If Edward isn’t interested or doesn’t want to cooperate, then we’ll know.”
“Yeah!” Owen does a little fist pump before scooping up Edward’s leash and leading him out the back door to my truck.
Britt lingers beside me. “You should be a diplomat.”
Sliding my hand from her shoulder down her arm, I pull her closer. “I had an ulterior motive. I like having you for dinner.”
