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All along Cabrillo Boulevard, multi-unit housing can be mistaken for single-family homes.
“She’s sitting on your stoop. You got a sister?” Max pats Millie’s head with finality and stands.
“No.” I draw the answer out. “Only child.”
Max should know this about me. We both have a crew of adopted brothers from the teams. I’m Uncle Knox and even godfather to a handful of munchkins. Max has a sister, and his parents live in New Hampshire. We know this shit about each other.
“You didn’t recognize her?”
He wipes sweat from his brow as he gives a negative shake.
“You didn’t talk to her?”
“Why would I do that? I came out here to give you a heads up. So, you know, you could steer clear if you wanted.”
“How old did she look?”
He scratches his jaw, clearly doing some mental math.
“I mean, could it be a buddy’s wife? Or is it maybe a buddy’s kid?”
“You mean from the Navy?”
I nod in answer. What else would I mean?
“Nah, man. No one like that. She’s kinda hot. I figured she and you…”
Back when we lived in Coronado, that thought might’ve been valid. Ladies there love a Navy guy. But here in Santa Barbara, we’re no longer hot commodities. Or at least, if that fan club exists, Max and I haven’t found it in the handful of months we’ve lived here.
“And you’re sure she’s looking for me?”
He shrugs his linebacker shoulders again dismissively. “Maybe not. Maybe she had the wrong address.”
That’s a real possibility. The addresses on our street can be deceptive. Not uncommon at all for the food delivery guy to end up at the wrong destination.
“Not even three months out, and you got yourself a dog?” Max grins, clearly not too worried about the lost woman back at our place.
With a pat to the side of the animal in question, I explain, “Technically, she flunked out of K9 training. I’m taking her in for a little tutoring. I think she’s got what it takes.”
“Good-looking dog.”
Millie lies down, paws out front, haunches upright, surveying the rolling waves like a lion on a cliff. “She’s a big girl.”
For a chocolate lab, she’s got a wide chest, and at ninety-five pounds, she’s big for her breed. “The guy back at the training center has a thing for German shepherds. Not sure he ever gave her a fair shake.”
“You got dog training experience?”
“I bought a book.”
“Well, you know, they say it’s normal to pick up new hobbies.”
He and I both left the Navy four months ago. Me for medical, Max for his own reasons. The black-ops security firm, Arrow Security, offers better pay, benefits, and hours. Less bureaucratic bullshit. But still, it’s an undeniable transition. And given we excelled in our old world, it’s to be expected that it’ll take a beat to find our new footing.
“A dog isn’t a hobby.” The words sound more defensive out loud than they did in my head.
“You could do worse. Who’s going to take care of her when we have to jettison?”
“Trevor and Stella. Besides, this is temporary.” Trevor’s one of the Arrow Tactical founders. He spends his days training guys. His wife, Stella, is the HR maven, and she’s also a big-time dog lover.
