“Yup. His separation anxiety is getting worse, and I hate leaving him alone in his kennel. If I don’t use it, he’ll chew up the house, but when I put him in it, he whines like he’s in doggy jail. One of the firefighters said I could drop him at the station and they’d keep him company during the day, but I just hate being away from him.”
A throat clears behind me. “I’m pretty sure you can’t have a dog in an establishment that serves food,” my date says pointing to her shop.
Susy’s eyes narrow. “He’s a service dog.”
“Do you have any documentation for that?”
I totally spaced out for a good portion of our date, and now I’m trying to remember what he said he did.
“What are you, the dog police?” Susy asks.
“No, just a concerned citizen. I’m Doug.”
Doug. That’s his name. He never formally introduced himself, and the girls never told me, but I recognized him from his picture.
“Well, the boys and I would be happy to watch Webster if you don’t want him to be alone,” I offer.
“I appreciate that,” Susy says, before giving my date a suspicious look. “Is he giving you any trouble?”
“Nope.” I don’t offer more, not wanting the Chestnut Mountain rumor mill to start ramping up any more than it’s going to. It’s inevitable since we’ve been seen together in two local businesses today.
I hand Webster back to Susy and say goodbye as we continue our walk to our cars.
Doug’s clammy hand grabs mine. “This is the first real date I’ve ever been on.”
I would be flattered at that… if this man wasn’t over thirty. Even though he’s attractive, he spent our entire meal talking about the different kinds of worms he likes, and when I asked him if he fished, he said no and looked at me like it was a ridiculous question.
“Oh?” I ask, unsure of how else to respond.
“Clearly it’s not yours.”
I stop walking and yank my hand from his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turns back to me, floundering. “Because you said you have kids. Clearly, you’ve been on dates before.”
“You don’t know that for sure.” I mean, I have, but I’m not about to share any more of my backstory with this infuriatingly odd man.
“So, you only do hookups?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“If you don’t date and don’t hook up, did you conceive your kids through Immaculate Conception or something?” His face is smug, like he thinks he’s caught me in a trap.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I glower at him.
“I’d like to make it my business,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows in a way he probably thinks looks sexy, but it actually makes him look like a deranged clown.
Fuck, now I’m picturing Ben Affleck dressed as a sad clown doing a dance with his eyebrows. I need to get out of here.
“This was… well, it was.” I don’t know what else to say so I awkwardly turn and shuffle quickly toward my car, determined to leave bug-obsessed wannabe Ben Affleck behind.
When I get the car door open, I notice my cell on the floorboard where it must’ve fallen out of my purse earlier.
I grab it and throw my bag in the passenger seat. There are dozens of missed calls, but the only texts are from Bella, and they just say, “Call me!!!”
My phone connects to my car, and I dial Bella immediately, already heading toward Levi’s preschool.
“Okay, so don’t panic,” Bella’s voice says, filling my car speakers.
