“Come inside. I’ll clean those up before they get infected.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Debbie,” he called. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get Willie Wee cleaned up.”
Heat crept up my neck.
“Willie Wee?” I asked, as amused as I was confused.
Theo shrugged, an adorable, if sheepish, grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. “There’s no arguing with the logic of a kindergartener. It’s best to let them win the minor battles.”
Debbie was already scrambling to her feet.
“Is Willie Wee hurt?” she asked, suddenly worried.
“Just some scratches from Cuddles,” Theo said gently. “Nothing serious.”
“Bad Cuddles,” Debbie turned and scolded, wagging an itty-bitty finger toward the dog.
Cuddles, for her part, looked supremely satisfied as she watched us head toward Theo’s house.
“So,” he said quietly, “how do you feel about getting attacked by golden retrievers on a regular basis? I have a feeling this isn’t going to be your last encounter with Cuddles.”
I looked back at the dog, who was now sprawled contentedly on her porch where I’d found her in the first place, and then at Debbie skipping ahead of us, and finally at Theo, whose concerned expression was doing dangerous things to my heart rate.
“I see a lot on my route. I think I can handle one ferocious beast,” I said.
His smile was worth every torn shirt in the world.
Moments later, I sat at Theo’s kitchen table while he dabbed antiseptic on the scratches along my forearms and back. His touch was gentle but thorough, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.
“This might sting a little,” he warned, applying a bandage to a particularly deep scratch near my wrist.
“I’ve had worse,” I said, though the truth was that I was more focused on how close he was sitting, how I could see the faint freckles across his nose, how his hair was still sticking up at odd angles from the school day.
“Willie Wee!” Debbie’s voice carried from down the hallway, followed by the sound of drawers being yanked open. “Don’t leave! I have to show you something really, really important!”
Theo rolled his eyes and grinned. “She’s probably getting into her dress-up clothes. Fair warning—you’re about to be subjected to a fashion show.”
“I can handle a fashion show.”
“Can you handle a five-year-old insisting you give your royal blessing to every tiara in her collection?”
Before I could answer, Debbie came thundering into the kitchen wearing a pink tulle dress that was clearly meant for someone twice her size. In one hand was the whisk I’d given Theo, and a plastic crown sat askew on her head.
“Willie Wee! Look at my princess dress!” She spun in a circle, nearly tripping over the hem. “Do you like my tiara? It has real fake diamonds!”
“It’s beautiful, princess,” I said, and her face lit up like Christmas morning.
“I need your Willie Wee blessing,” she announced solemnly, approaching me with the gravity of someone requesting knighthood as Theo snorted softly. “That means you have to say I look pretty and that my tiara is the best tiara in the whole world.”
Debbie stood in front of me, hands clasped, waiting with the patience of a saint for my royal decree.
“Princess Debbie,” I said seriously, “I hereby give you my official Willie Wee blessing. Your tiara is indeed the best tiara in the whole world, and you look absolutely beautiful.”
She beamed and curtseyed, nearly losing the crown in the process.
“There,” Theo said, applying the last bandage. “All patched up. I couldn’t do much for your shirt, but your back is much better.”
