I leave out the part where they probably felt bad for me because they knew I’d come from a home where mom, who was almost never around, had a revolving door of men who looked at me like I was either their next meal or their biggest nuisance. They knew I’d gone to live with my grandmother, who didn’t only look at me like I was gum on the bottom of her shoe, but also treated me like it. I skip all of those details, though.
“Occupational therapy felt like this bridge between the physical and emotional rehabilitation, and I really liked it.” I stop myself there, where it feels safe.
“And hippotherapy specifically?” He’s got one ankle resting on his knee, his gaze intently studying me still, like he’s actually listening.
“Oh. Well, I really like horses, and when I found out this was an option, I went for it.” I shrug because it really was that simple for me.
“I get that. I’m not sure I could ever not be around horses.” Arthur’s smile is small, but I can see in it how much he means what he said.
“Was working with horses always part of your goal? Did you always know you’d end up here?” My question instantly feels too intimate, but before I can think to take it back, Arthur scoffs.
“Not even a little bit.” He scratches his chin in thought, and the sound brings my attention to the scruff there. My fingertips tingle as I imagine what it would feel like to touch his face. “Not even a little bit,” he repeats. “I’m so glad this is where I am, though, you know?”
No. I don’t know. Not even a little bit, because being back in Ojai isn’t where I pictured myself. I can’t wait until I can leave this place and never come back. I won’t tell himany of this, though, so I simply hum a response and change the topic. “So what are your house rules?”
“House rules? How do you mean?” He tips his head to the side. It’s cute.
No, Alice, it’s not. Your landlord is not cute.
“You know, like, should we have sides in the fridge? Would you prefer I keep my food in a separate fridge in my room? Should I make sure not to do laundry at certain hours? Stuff like that.” All things I’ve had to consider when living with other people, even though I couldn’t care less myself.
He breathes out a laugh, and when I don’t join him, he stops. “Oh, you’re serious? Uh, no. Do what you want. Eat whatever you want. Except whatever is in the container with a green lid,” he adds quickly. I knew there had to be something. “Yeah, don’t touch anything in there.” The moment my face changes, he takes notice. “Because that’s where I put Luther’s treats, and trust me, they might look good, but they taste like shit.” The face he makes is one-hundred-percent revulsion.
“How would you know that?” I ask, trying not to laugh. I should still be mad at him. I should be doing everything I can to keep my distance from me. But he’s left me fresh coffee and breakfast the past two mornings, and while I know he’s doing it out of pity or guilt or whatever, it’s still confusing. I know people can be nice, but this nice? Nice like Beau and Josie? I haven’t experienced much of that in life.
“I think you know exactly how I’d know that.” His smile widens as he stares at a spot on my face where I know I have a deep dimple. “And it’s why one shouldn’t blindly reach for what one believes to be leftovers, and precisely why one”—he clears his throat dramatically—“I—now use the green lid for anything I make him.”
“You make him food?” I sound as incredulous as I feel, and Arthur’s ears go bright red as he shrugs.
“Well, not all his food. Just a few treats with extra oil for his coat.” When I nearly spit out my water, he fidgets with the string of his hoodie. “He has sensitive skin, and he gets dandruff sometimes. Plus, he’s extra prone to ear infections because of the floppy ears, and trust me, it’s way easier to prevent those things from happening than to deal with them once they do.”
So. Stinking. Cute.
I don’t even try to stop the thought this time because it’s a straight fact. This big, burly man is obsessed with his dog.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s adorable that you make treats for Luther. But my real question is, are you capable of making treats for humans, too?” Oh, no. I said adorable. And now I’m getting into flirting territory again.
Crap, crap, crap.
“Adorable, huh?” Arthur spares me further embarrassment and moves on quickly. “I’ll have you know I’m amazing at making all kinds of treats. Stick around, Alice Preece. I’ll show you how capable I am.” His smile grows, but it quickly diminishes again when I clear my throat and stand.
“Right. Well, it’s been nice chatting. I should get inside. I have a few things to prep for next week. Let me know how you want to split chores, or whatever. I’m happy to do my part.” I pick up my glass of water, prepared to run into the house and to my room, but then I remember the dog waiting inside and freeze.
“Nah. Cleaning is my therapy, so don’t worry about that. Plus, you don’t seem to be around often, and Luther is definitely the messiest of us.” It dawns on him then. “Oh, right. Luther. I’ll get him so you can go inside. He might sniff around your door, though, so I’d keep it closed if you don’t want him in there. He’s incredibly nosy.” As he rises, I smile at how he talks about this dog like he’s a person.
“I noticed,” I say, and his brows lift in question. “I did pet him once, but when I stopped, he tried to jump on me and follow me to my room.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry. You’d think I never give him attention with how starved he always is for it.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s beyond obvious that Arthur doesn’t mind Luther’s behavior one bit. “Anyway, I’ll get him out of your way.” He moves past me, his arm brushing mine, and his spicy scent sending a shiver down my spine. I almost tell him I’d like to try petting Luther again. It would be an excuse to stay near him longer, even though I’m the one who shut down our conversation. In the end, I stop myself. I’m not sure I’m ready for that, and why bother with spending time with him or his dog if I won’t be here that long?
His words replay in my mind then.
Stick around, Alice Preece. I’ll show you how capable I am.
Nope. Not a chance.
I makeit a point to leave the house early in the morning and not return until the evening on Sunday. It’s easier to busy myself with clearing out Gran’s house and looking for a rental than to be around Arthur and his inquisitive eyes, and the way his voice tends to soothe something in me. I don’t want that.
On Monday morning, there’s fresh coffee and a breakfast sandwich waiting for me on the counter with a note:
