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Closing the door, I decide the safest place for us to get down to business is the kitchen. So I walk past her, knowing she will follow.
“Yeah. It’s been a long day. Only had time to take care of Waffle.” I stretch my neck, pointing to the stool at the bar top end of the giant island in the middle of the kitchen. I stand a healthy distance away, knowing I can’t let go of my control around her tonight.
“Waffle?” she questions as she perches on the seat. She places her large bag on the stool next to her, reaches in, and pulls out a tablet.
Before I can answer, the woof comes from the other side of the sliding door.
“Oh, Mr. Grumpy has a dog? That’s a twist.” Her voice is full of surprise.
I sigh at the nickname but grin at her because fuck; she makes me want to smile. “Yeah, but that was his mad bark. He knows I’ve snuck a pretty girl in here while he’s stuck out there.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder toward the yard.
Tilting her head to the side, she asks, “Does he get jealous often then?”
I know what she’s asking and I don’t play games. “Never. The only pretty face he ever sees is Nora’s, so tonight is a treat.”
Her gaze bores into me. Our eyes locked. The moment breaks when the damn furry beast barks again.
“Well, are you going to let me meet him?”
“You like dogs?” I ask as I move to the door.
“Who doesn’t?” She chuckles.
“Hmm.” My ex didn’t. Which is why the first thing I did after we broke up was get a dog.
I slide the door open a smidge. “Waffle, be good,” I warn before widening the opening slowly, trying to get him to calm down before I let him loose on Cassie. But the bastard can’t control himself and wriggles his way through the opening, and I’m amazed that his large body could squeeze through.
Sighing, I close the door. The sound of his nails on the hardwood floor skids to a stop as I turn around to see that Cassie has met him halfway and is crouched in front of him, scratching his ears and talking to him in the cute but obnoxious voice women use only when they are talking to babies and dogs.
Shit. If seeing her giving all that attention to my dog doesn’t make my chest crack just a fraction. The ridiculous twang of jealousy at the fact that my damn dog is getting her fucking kisses and praise right now is enough to make me remember why I’m normally a grumpy asshole.
“Waffle, that’s enough,” I grumble more forcefully than I planned.
He lets out a whine, and I want to tell him I get it. Because he’s well trained, he reluctantly backs away. She stands, and she’s all smiles and sparkles.
“He’s so beautiful. Seems well trained, too.” She uses that voice again to tell him he’s a good boy but moves back to the stool. I can tell by the way he’s looking up at her and the velocity of his tall wag, the damn dog is in love with her already.
Get in line, buddy.
What the fuck?
I clear my throat. “Go lie down,” I scold the dog, who did nothing wrong. To Cassie, I reply, “I don’t have time to deal with an untrained K9 when I work so many damn hours a day.”
If my change in mood surprises her, she doesn’t let on. “Does he handle your long work days well?” She leans forward, her chin resting on her palm.
“Nora stops by most days. And I have a dog walker come by every morning who spends about forty-five minutes with him. So he’s fine,” I say flatly.
She only nods, and I see a small smile on her lips, but she’s looking down at her tablet, waking it up and pulling out her stylus.
“I’m sure you want to relax for the night, so shall we get this over with?” she says, lifting her gaze to mine, and I can’t tell if that’s a challenge or something else in her eyes.
“Tell me one thing first.” I drum my fingers on the granite countertop.
Her brow rises and she waits. “Why the hell do you need to meet so often about decisions I’m guessing could easily be made via email, phone call, or a fucking text?”
She casually lifts her leg over her knee and shifts slightly in her seat. As per usual, she seems cool as a cucumber as she nods.
“We can make all the decisions in the ways you so kindly listed. I mean, I plan weddings out of state on the regular. But some brides have the notion that physically meeting with their planner is the only way to feel like progress is being made.”
