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And I love it.
There’s no sign of his all-business, I’m-an-actor persona. He’s just one hundred percent real, and the more I see of the real Maddox, the more I like that version. But all I say is, “You look like you went on a bender last night.”
“I wish.”
“Right? Me too.” I look over at Farmer, and he’s still happy and content gnawing the nub that was once the chew. “Actually, I don’t. I’m so glad we spent it helping Farmer. He seems a lot better today, even just after a bath and some good meals.”
“He really does.” Maddox walks over and gives Farmer’s head a scrub before making his way to the coffeemaker. When he sees his coffee cup and cinnamon out, he says, “Wow. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll never forget how you take it.”
He groans. “Right.” After he pours himself a cup, he heads to the table and sits. “Why don’t we take Farmer for a walk? It’s a perfect day. As long as we don’t overdo it on his leg.”
“I bet he’d love that.” My heart warms because Maddox is thinking of Farmer.
“Let’s do it.”
As soon as we finish our coffee, we change into our walking clothes, then put a new collar on Farmer. Once we’ve clipped the leash on, we start down Maddox’s street, which has no shortage of magnificent vistas. One beautiful mansion after another with a river, bridges, lines of trees, and stone-paved walking paths. Yes, I could get used to this. Who couldn’t?
I suspect Farmer is loving every moment too, taking his time to sniff each shrub and bush. He’s also marking his territory.
A rustle in a grove of trees startles us, and we halt. At first, I think it might be an animal, but then I realize it’s something much worse.
Before I can blink, cameras are flashing in my face, and people are swarming around us. Maddox and I stand frozen before he groans. “Dammit.” He throws his arms around me and ushers me away.
But the photographers scare Farmer, and he darts off, the leash breaking free of my hand before I have time to think. The poor animal is terrified, the exact opposite of what he needsright now. Farmer disappears into the foliage, and I’m barely holding in the rage bubbling under the surface.
“Farmer,” I cry out, desperate, my heart pounding in my ears. He could get hit by a car because he’s in a frantic run. He could get lost. He could fall into a ravine. A wave of dizziness hits, and I have to take a breath before Maddox and I split up as we chase after Farmer. The paparazzi continue snapping pictures of the whole ordeal.
I kneel and yell, “Treat,” offering Farmer another bone from my pocket, away from the photogs. After a rustling in the bramble, Farmer runs toward me. I blow out a sigh of relief as he gobbles the treat, and I’m able to grab his leash again. But Maddox is now running toward us, and when his foot hits a tree root, he stumbles to the ground.
Whatever happens in these paparazzi moments, we have to keep our cool because we know that every word we say or expression we make will be front page news. But I want to kill these photographers right now, and it’s really hard to contain myself.
I’m headed over to Maddox when he says, “I’m fine. Are you okay? Farmer?”
“We’re fine.” I check Farmer’s bandage, which still looks intact, then pick up the dog. He’s done walking for today. I hope all this didn’t set his progress back.
When the photogs approach me, Maddox darts forward, yelling, “You can take pictures of me, but leave her alone, for Christ’s sake.”
The pack moves to the ground beside Maddox, I watch him bending over. I’m trying to figure out if he’s hurt, and the paps want to print a story about Maddox being injured, but then I realize he’s picking up a ring. My grandmother’s ring he put in his jacket pocket to get appraised today.
One of the paps says, “He was going to propose.”
Oh, shit.
Cameras flash, questions erupt, and as I approach Maddox, he looks crestfallen, his face twisted in frustration as he puts the ring back in his pocket.
My mind fights to process the implications when a photog screams, “Were you going to propose on this walk, Maddox?”
“Where did you get the ring?” Another one yells. Yet another asks, “Is she pregnant and trapping you into marriage? Have you set a date?”
That does it. A vein bulges in Maddox’s forehead as he brushes himself off. Through a clenched jaw, he grits, “Riley wouldneverdo that. And if the ring was in my pocket and not on her finger, it means I hadn’t proposed yet. So how would we have set a date?”
My mouth flops open. I’m happy he’s protecting me, but why would he say that? He basically confirmed we were getting engaged! And it’s so unlike him to botch this up.
This is a disaster.
A few hours later, I’m in Maddox’s living room with him, Smith, Iris, and Skye on Facetime since she’s out of town with Billy. Another rendezvous with the five of us. Yay.
