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Maybe he’s watching me because he wants to make sure Outlaw gets home safe. He clearly cares about this dog.
Or maybe I can still feel his eyes on me as I slip through the crooked, weather-worn door and close it with a thud behind me because he felt that, too.
The zing of life that just kept bouncing between us, out there.
Maybe—there’s a little chance—he thought I looked cute in my Minnie Mouse T-shirt, with my rumpled bed-head hair.
Is that possible?
And why would it matter to me if Nick Landry thinks I’m attractive or not?
I unclip Outlaw from his leash and then lean back against the door and close my eyes.
Nick Landry.
Hot doctor.
Handsome neighbor.
Most of all—my friend. I feel it, definitely. The day-altering buzz of a talk with a person so on the same page as you that half an hour feels like two seconds. Time is altered when you’re with a good friend.
We’refriendsagain, and that means I have to be super careful about these sneaky, mushy, swoony feelings that keep creeping in.
When I hear the thud-thud of Outlaw’s tail hitting the couch cushions, I snap my eyes open and spring away from the door.
“Oh, no you don’t, buddy,” I say, as I lurch for the window behind the couch and slide it closed. “The next time you go for a jaunt outside, it’s gonna be withme. On leash. Got that? Breakfast first, then walky-walk.”
He wags his tail. He understood that last part, at least.
I lead the way into the kitchen.
Chapter 7
Maddison
Hana Chen’s office is on the ground floor of the Stillwell Business Alcove, off Main Street.
Twin floor-to-ceiling windows out front display black letters in a sleek font:Chen Law. The white slat blinds behind the glass panes are pulled down, so I can’t peek in.
The door has bells on the inside, which jingle as I open it.
“Maddison? Is that you?”A moment later Hana appears in the entryway, which is all black furniture with sleek lines. Apparently, she’s going for a minimalist look here.
Not one plant.
Not one photograph or painting.
The only wall art is framed certificates, diplomas, and awards. I catch sight of one that reads “Stillwell Business of the Year” before she ushers me into her inner sanctum.
It’s as barren feeling in here as it was out in the entryway.
She motions to one of the modern leather chairs across from her desk. I lower down, for the first time taking a good long look at my old college classmate.
She’s as slender as always, with more of a hard-edged look to her than I remember. Her blouse is buttoned up to the tippy-top, and her black blazer makes her look severe. Her eyes appraise me coolly. She’s probably judging me right now about as much as I’m judging her.
“So,” she says, finally breaking the silence. She brings the tips of her fingers together in a tent and taps them a few times. “You’re back in town. It’s nice to see you.”
There iszerowarmth in the statement, which makes me wonder if she’s got something against me personally, or if she’s this way with everyone.
