Chapter Seven
“For real?”I asked, as I finished tying my shoes. “You’re still in bed?”
“It is five a.m.,” Ryder grumbled into the pillow he’d pulled over his head. “Who gets up before the sunrise?”
“Healthy people.”
“Thank gods I’m not one of those.”
I threw another pillow at him. “I’m giving you fifteen minutes. Get up, Bailey. Socks and shoes. I’ll fill your water bottle.”
“I’ll fillyourwater bottle,” he mumbled.
“That doesn’t even make sense. Get up. Spud wants his run.”
I yanked the covers off him. He didn’t even flinch.
“Quitter,” I said.
“Me and the sun,” he agreed.
I jogged down the stairs, pulling my hair back in a rubber band.
Spud was already at the door looking at his leash hopefully. Dragon-pig snored on the hoard of stuffed toys by the fireplace. Dragon-pig, like my fiancé, was not a morning creature.
“Let’s go pee, Spud.” I grabbed his leash and latched it to his collar. “Wanna come?” I asked the pink beast.
Dragon-pig opened one eye, which flashed red before it closed again and went back to snoring.
“Message received. C’mon, Spuddo, it’s me and you.”
August had melted into September and the mornings finally carried that crisp scent that meant cooler nights and days would be here soon. The Oregon coast’s weather was mercurial to say the least. We’d had some rain over the summer, but I missed the cooler mornings of autumn.
Spud did his business, then pulled me back to the house and his food dish.
“Ryder!” I called, as I filled Spud’s bowl with kibble. “Time’s up!”
Ryder thumped down the stairs, looking grumpy and rumpled and generally pissed off with the world. He was adorable.
“There better be coffee,” he mumbled.
I pointed at the full pot.
He was still scowling, which didn’t deter Spud, who bounded over to his favorite person and circled his feet, dragging his leash that I hadn’t unhooked yet.
Ryder bent, petted Spud, sidestepped the leash before he got tied up, then stopped in front of me.
“It’s too early to jog.”
I nodded. “We can walk.”
He grunted and leaned in for a kiss.
He smelled like mint toothpaste and that lotion he put on his hands to keep the callouses from cracking.
“Walking. I can manage that,” he said. “Coffee first.” He poured himself a cup, and lifted the pot, offering to pour for me.
“When we get back. Did you sleep?”
