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Pepper perks up from her bed near mine and I extend a hand in invitation. She does her morning stretch routine, then crosses the space and nudges my hand with her head.
“How’s my girl this morning?”
With both hands, I scratch behind her ears, along the back of her neck, and under her collar. Giving me her weight, she presses the top of her head into my thigh. Her way of showing affection.
I drop a kiss on the top of her head and push up from the bed. “Let’s go outside, then get you breakfast, pretty girl.” When we’re home and not in our gear, our relationship is like most other human-canine relationships. The only difference with me and Pepper is there are no unwarranted treats or playful behavior that may confuse her later when we are working.
Pepper trots out of the room while I tug on sweatpants and a hoodie. I pad across the house and meet her at the sliding doors, opening one and letting her out into the yard. She bolts out into the darkness and disappears from view in seconds. With the light dusting of snow on the ground, she will likely be outside longer than usual. Pepper loves snow, no matter how little or much falls.
A shiver rolls through my limbs as I close the door and head for the kitchen.
“Coffee,” I mutter.
Far back as I recall, I’ve been an early riser. Probably instilled from Dad and him waking at four in the morning my entire childhood. Most days, I get up around five. Gives me time to wake up slowly, tend to Pepper, get ready for work, and make it to the restaurant a little after six.
I flip the hood light over the stove on and squint until my eyes adjust. Considering I barely slept last night and it’s now—I look at the clock on the range and mentally curse—three fifty-two, I need a triple dose of caffeine if I’m to make it through the day.
Hitting brew on the coffee maker, I head for my bedroom and swipe my phone from the charger. I sift through emails, deleting most as I fill my mug. As the first sip of coffee hits my tongue, Pepper rings the bell by the door. I set my phone down, shuffle across the room, and let her in.
As I flip the lock on the door, my phone buzzes on the counter.
Most likely another email to delete. Probably a sale on those damn bamboo underwear I love. Not that I need a new pack, but I’d buy one.
But it’s not an email notification I see when I pick up my phone. It’s a new text alert.
Sunshine
Found a box on my porch
I read the message three times before my brain catches up. Before it dawns on me that the box was probably unexpected.
Tapping her contact picture, I hit call and bring the phone to my ear. The two rings last too long.
“Hey.” Her voice has that early morning rasp I love.
“Hey, sunshine.” I sip my coffee, then set the mug down. “You found a box?” My brow tightens. “Why were you outside? It’s barely four.”
Something rustles on the other end. I close my eyes and picture her in bed, covers drawn to her chin, hand tucked under her cheek on the pillow.
“Didn’t sleep well.” Her confession is a whisper, and it lingers a moment before she continues. “For whatever reason, I remembered I didn’t check the mail yesterday. So I went out for the mail.”
I trace the handle of the coffee mug with my finger and try to sound more composed than I feel when I speak. “And you found a box on the porch?”
“Yeah. Like a small shirt box.” Her shuddering exhale ripples through the line. “With my name on it.”
If this is the same person that left her the notes, they’re stepping up their game. Escalation. Not a good sign. At all.
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
The distinct sound of purring reverberates through the phone, followed by a scratchy sound and a muffled, “Love you too, Trixie.”
Cats were never pets I looked at with fondness. But knowing Kirsten has that little ball of gray fluff loving on her makes my chest constrict.
“Are you working this morning?” I lift the mug to my lips and chug the rest of the coffee.
“Start at six. Might get there earlier.”
