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He raises a brow just as his phone pings with a text. “Yet, you chose savory instead at breakfast?”
“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are never to be sweet. Those morsels are saved for the after.”
“Noted.” His cell chimes again, and he takes it out of his pocket without looking at it. This one is a smaller device than the one in the car. How many phones does he have? “Three, but this one is for when I don’t answer the one you saw earlier, and no, you didn’t say that out loud. Your facial expressions are very telling.”
“Makes sense.” Not really. “And the third?”
“The third is for family only.” Before I can respond, he looks at the small screen and nods. “Well, this is where I leave you. The boss is calling.”
“Okay.” Why am I so comfortable with him? “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tero heads toward the door, reaching out for the knob but pauses when his hand touches the metal. “Would you like a lift to the gallery tomorrow? I don’t mind if—”
“Yes.” No hesitation from me.
“Good.” He doesn’t say anything else, stepping out into the early afternoon sun while I stay rooted in place. I ignore my home phone ringing from the kitchen and then the answering machine beeping with a message.
Eventually, though, curiosity wins and I head toward the device that came with the house and I’ve been reluctant to throw away. I kept my uncle’s number too and just continued to pay the bill.
Can you please answer me already, Gabby? I’m sorry for being a jerk today, and the dress looked really beautiful on you. Please don’t be mad and call me, your best friend, back who sucks at apologies.
“What are you playing at, Elise?” She made a big deal out of my dress and my behavior and my “ruining” her moment, but everything was set up by her without my input. Without my permission and relates to my business, not hers.
Why be overdramatic?
Why purposely start a fight and hurt me?
Why did I automatically think someone broke into my home when I have no proof?
Those questions keep running through my head, further cementing my need to hole up for the day with junk food and some reality TV. Something light and funny and so far removed from any kind of drama that I can relax—forget.
Mr. Pickles collar tinkles then, his chubby body trotting into the room, eyes searching every corner. He’s not being himself, trembling a bit, and I don’t hesitate to scoop him up in my arms while checking both his water and food dishes.
His breakfast is gone and water a bit low, so I refill both while he snuggles deeper into my neck. That cold little nose makes me giggle, and I give him a few extra scratches on his back for the innocent love he gives without asking for anything in return.
Because that’s what dogs do. They give and are loyal and bring happiness even in moments when you doubt yourself. When you need it the most.
“Thank you, buddy.” Another kiss to his head, and then I say the two words that make him a giddy stinker. “Walk time.”
8
Gabriella
There’s someone sitting on the porch steps, leaning against the railing and looking at her phone when we get back from our walk. She hasn’t seen us yet, and I’m half tempted to turn around and come back later, but Mr. Pickles takes that decision away from me when he growls. The sound is a low rumbling that catches Elise’s attention, and her eyes snap to mine.
She looks at me with a sad expression as she stands, dusting off the back of her ripped-at-the-knee jeans. “Can we talk, please? Things got really out of hand and—”
“We can.”
A breath of relief leaves her. “Thank you. I know you’re—”
I halt her rambling by holding my unoccupied hand up. “Coffee first, and then we’ll talk.”
“Deal.” Not that I’m giving her a choice. I pick up my grumpy pupper and walk past her, opening my front door. Elise hasn’t made an attempt to follow me, and I look back over my shoulder and offer a small smile. “You can come in, chick. No one’s going to bite you.”
At my words, she snorts, yet I do catch the dubious look she gives my dog—a dog that, while not overly friendly with her, has never bared his little teeth or barked. At the most, he avoids, and when left without a choice, lets her pet him with an annoyed look I find adorable.
Mr. Pickles is a bit crotchety, but he’s my crotchety little guy.
