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ChapterForty-Nine
SOMEBODY LIKE YOU – Keith Urban
John groaned and stretched.Light streamed through the bedroom blinds. Between the hard floor and thinking about Elizabeth, he’d barely slept. His neck hurt. His back hurt. His heart hurt most of all. He sat up. At least he didn’t have a hangover.
“Mattress shopping is mission one today. Thanks for sharing your bed as a pillow.”
Boss touched his nose to John’s neck.
He needed a long, hot shower to loosen his muscles. While he had food for Boss, he had no coffee maker or anything for him to eat. Obviously, he hadn’t thought that through when packing or picking up dinner. Course, he hadn’t been hungry then.
“Come on, boy. I’ll let you out.”
* * *
John checked his shopping list.He debated whether to swing through flooring and see if Ariana was working. Instead, he headed to the checkout. He wasn’t sure he could put on a smile and say he was fine.
It had been three days since leaving Hope Harbor, and he hadn’t heard anything from Elizabeth, not that he expected to—at least anytime soon. He’d been tempted to text and ask if she’d found Boss’s stuffed bear, which hadn’t turned up with his other toys. Rather than bother her over an eight-dollar toy, he’d ordered a replacement.
They hadn’t been in a relationship. Circumstances, and Boss, brought them together, but they had never been more than friends. So, why did this hurt more than the end of any real romantic relationship he’d had?
Boss hung his head out the window as John loaded the supplies. It’d only been a few weeks since he’d been here with Elizabeth and asked her to go to the wedding. Big mistake.
He’d keep busy doing renovations so he wouldn’t have time to think about Elizabeth. Though there was a possibility of moving back to Fort Bragg with his next promotion, he’d decided to list the house rather than keep it as a rental. Cut the ties, hassles, and temptation that would come with returning here to take care of things when renters turned over.
Before starting his truck, he scratched Boss behind the ears. “I’m gonna change my dating profile write-up to start with ‘Must love big dogs.’ They gotta love you, or it isn’t gonna work out.” Like none of his prior relationships. He needed to revamp his whole profile. Go in a different direction. What else should he say? “Military guy ‘lookin’ for love,’” he broke into song, then stopped. He was done looking in all the wrong places. “Maybe ‘You don’t have to be a beauty queen but have a beautiful smile and heart.’ Is that too wussy?”
Boss didn’t respond.
“I’ll think on that part. ‘Interested in an independent woman ready to settle down. Someone who likes sitting on a porch swing.’ Should I add and ‘dancing in the moonlight?’” He hummed the tune. “‘Must like classic rock and country music, tolerate off-key singing, and have a sense of humor. Ability to cook a plus.” All the traits he’d mentioned were ones Elizabeth exemplified, all except ready to settle down. There had to be more women like her out there.
Eh. The dating profile could wait. He wasn’t ready to jump into a relationship. Better to wait until after he moved.
* * *
After securingthe gate to keep Boss out of the bathroom and at a safe distance, John put in his earbuds and started up his demolition playlist of hard rock. He rolled his neck and did some stretches before putting on his safety goggles. “It’s smash time.”
Despite the warning, Boss howled at the first strike. After a few more, he retreated to another part of the small house. By the time John finished swinging the sledgehammer and prying off the tiles, he’d worked up a sweat and burned off a lot of frustration.
His playlist ended while hauling trash to the dumpster, so he punched up country and sang along to “If You’re Going Through Hell,” which, for good reason, topped his current most recently played list. A pop-country love song started. Before he could get to his phone to skip to the next song, the words about loving somebody and forgiving himself stopped him. He listened closely to the words. The line about her teaching him to be a better man drudged up a slug of emotion.
He replayed the Keith Urban song, thinking about Elizabeth and how she made him feel. Phone in hand, he pulled up the pictures of her with Boss. He could text her a picture of Boss to let her know he was thinking of her without the pressure of saying he missed her.
No. She had to see him as a safe place. With Elizabeth, pushing, or not accepting her decision, might be the surest way to lose this war.
If he hadn’t heard from her after thirty days, then he’d text. If she didn’t respond, he’d regroup and come up with another plan of attack or strategy. Maybe drop by with Boss to see them all. He was not ready to concede the war.
ChapterFifty
MISSING YOU – John Waite
When Elizabeth got homeFriday night, she changed out of her work clothes, then took the key and headed to Hope Harbor. She admired the work John and Nate had done building the deck that John barely had time to use. When he’d showed them his house, he mentioned plans to add a porch or deck, promising to invite the women over for a Friday night dinner at his place when he was finished with the kitchen.
Tears burned her eyes again when she realized that wasn’t going to happen now. She’d managed to cut John out of Ariana and Wren’s lives too. She hadn’t heard from him since he and Boss had moved out five days ago. Sitting on her front porch seemed lonely rather than the relaxing end-of-day treat it had once been. Everything was so quiet without Boss and his evening play sessions and John’s happy, though off-key, versions of songs to entertain her.
Inside Hope Harbor, she recalled giving John the tour. No big deal living in a tiny home he’d said. Right. She straightened the pillows on the little sofa. She hadn’t spent time with John in here, but when she’d come over one evening with a toy for Boss, she’d seen him through the door. He’d been stretched out, with his long legs crossed and propped on the coffee table. Boss crowded him, his head in John’s lap.
Climbing the stairs, she pictured him crawling into the loft. He’d bumped his head on the low ceiling twice—that she knew of.
