1
ANSON
Thesetting sunof early fall slanted across my laptop’s screen, the cursor blinking with the same rhythm as my exhaustion.Thefinal email of the day had been sent, a long, legalistic ballet of words that,Ihoped, would please both the buyer and seller.Dealslike this made me question my sanity in thinking real estate law would be a good way to stay close to my family and still use my degree.
Irubbed my temples, the numbers and legalese blurring into a soupy mess in my mind.Ineeded a break and probably some fresh air sinceI’dbeen staring at this screen all damn day.WhatIreally needed was a cold beer on the deck.Iwould head down to theTowneTap, butIwasn’t up for dealing with people after the way this week had gone.
Unfortunately, my plans to relax were foiled by my demonic agent of chaos namedBart.He’dbeen such a good boy whenIfirst saw him at the shelter, but it didn’t take long to realize he was a cunning little shit who’d acted like an angel until some sucker took pity on him and brought him home.Mybrothers liked to joke that it wasBart’sway of ensuringIknew people in my neighborhood.
Hebolted straight for the gap in the fence between my yard andKevin’sas soon asIopened the sliding glass door.Thefence had been helpful whenIfirst broughtBarthome, and it provided a barrier between my neatly groomed yard and the disarray my neighbor seemed to add to every week.Iwasn’t even sure what he was doing over there, but every weekend, the air was filled with the sound of saws, hammering, and low grunts from him doing who knew what.
“IfIdidn’t know better,I’dthinkBartlikes you more than me.Eitherthat, or you’re sneaking him treats when he comes over,”Iremarked, attempting to mask my annoyance with a semblance of neighborly politeness asIstepped over the bottom support that had done little to hold up the planks during a storm a few weeks back.”Bart, get your ass over here.”
Kevinlooked up, his eyes crinkling with amusement.Theman was annoyingly perky.Iwasn’t sure he’d ever been in a bad mood. “Yourboy has a taste for adventure—and my mums, apparently,” he replied, his voice resonant with easygoing laughter.
“Well, he needs to learn how to stay in his own yard,”Igrumbled.”It’sa good thingIwas finished for the day.He’smade me late for two meetings this week.”
Ididn’t add that one of those was whileIwas working from my office near downtown.Someonestopped by trying to sell me on their window-cleaning services, and the second they opened the door,Bartdarted downMainStreet.Luckily,Jamesand his boyfriend were hanging out on the front porch ofHarmonyHouse, and they joined the chase.
AsKevinstood, brushing dirt off his knees, his gaze met mine, and an inexplicable ease settled over me.Hebent and scratched behindBart’sears.Whenthe dog rolled onto his back,Kevindropped to his knees, rubbing his belly and cooing about what a good boyBartwas.Ibit my tongue to keep from sniping at him for givingBartlove when he’d been a bad boy.
Heshielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun as he seemed to finally remember the two of them weren’t alone in the yard. “Youknow, a little unpredictability can be refreshing.Noteverything has to be in perfect order all the time.”
“Spontaneityis overrated.”Thevery thought of going with the flow nearly made me break out in hives. “Ilike everything where it belongs.LikeBartinmyyard instead of causing trouble.”
Kevin’ssmile turned contemplative as if he sensed the deeper currents beneath my words. “Iunderstand.Butsometimes, the best moments in life come from the unexpected.Takea lesson fromBartand try letting go for once.Youmight surprise yourself.”
Hisobservation brought a reluctant smile to my face. “That’sone way to look at it,”Iconceded, clipping the leash toBart’scollar before the little shit ran off again. “I’vealways found comfort in the predictable, the clear-cut.I’dhave thought you’d be the same.”
“Asa cop,I’velearned to find a balance between order and the unforeseen,”Kevinreplied with a thoughtful nod.Heshook his head and laughed. “Ifyou want help figuring out how to relax a bit or need help withBart,I’malways around.Onceyou get the fence fixed, he won’t be able to explore over here anymore, and you’ll get a break from chasing him.Ifit’s a helping hand you’ve been waiting on, let me know.It’smy weekend off, andIdon’t have any projects that can’t wait.”
“Thanks.Imight just take you up on that,”Ifound myself saying, even thoughI’drefused my brothers’ offers of help.Knowingmy luck,Kevinwould push for a complete rebuild of the simple, dark-stained fence so it better fit the whimsical aesthetic of his yard.
AsIwalked back to my house,Barttrotting contentedly beside me,Iglanced over my shoulder.Whenwe reached the top of the stairs leading to the deck,Islid open the door and shooedBartinside.WhenIglanced back,Kevinoffered me a smile and wave.
Thatevening, asIsat in my home office, the quiet of the room enveloping me,Kevin’swords echoed in my mind.Perhapsitwastime to reevaluate the fencesIhad built, not just between our yards but within myself.Maybe, just maybe, a little unpredictability was exactly whatIneeded.
Thenext morning,Ifound myself standing in front of my closet, contemplating my wardrobe with newfound scrutiny.Myusual choice of dark-washed jeans and neatly pressed button-down shirts suddenly felt constricting, suffocating even.Ireached for a vibrant blue polo—a colorIhad long deemed too bold for my taste—and paired it with a pair of worn jeansI’dtossed at the back of the closet.Thecombination felt foreign, a departure from my usual uniform of muted tones and crisp lines.Butin that moment, it also felt liberating.Icould imagineBillyandCarsongiving me shit for thinking this was dressed down.
Inearly talked myself out of lettingKevinhelp asIcrossed the patch of grass between our driveways.Itwouldn’t take long to fix.Ijust hadn’t made it a priority since the storm.Butif he came out and saw me working, he’d probably come and offer again.Takinga deep breath,Iraised my hand and knocked.
Itswung open to revealKevin, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. “Hey, didBartget out again?”
“Shockingly, no.Isnuck out while his face was buried in his food dish.Ihave about one more minute before he realizesI’veabandoned him.”Imustered a smile. “IthoughtI’dtake you up on your offer if you were serious.”
Kevin’seyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, come on in.Let’schat about how to contain and entertain our little escape artist.”
Ibristled at his use ofourwhen talking aboutmydog.Itdidn’t matter that he hadn’t meant anything by it.Hisfamiliarity was unsettling.AsIstepped into his living room, a cozy space filled with warmth and personality, an unwanted sense of ease washed over me.Kevinmotioned for me to take a seat on the plush couch while he grabbed some coffee.Iwasn’t much of a coffee drinker, butIgraciously accepted the cup he handed me.
“So,” he began, settling into the armchair opposite me, “hasBartalways been this much of a handful, or is my garden too exciting to resist?”
“No, it’s definitely not just your garden.Iswear, his name should beHarry.He’salwaysfinding a way to run off.IfIdidn’t know better,I’dbe offended at how often he tries getting away from me.”Irecounted various instances ofBart’sboundary-breaking adventures, finding solace inKevin’sattentive listening and supportive nods.Hedidn’t judge me for my frustration or my need for control.Instead, he offered understanding and encouragement.
“Youknow,”Kevinsaid after a moment of contemplation, “it sounds like he’s bored and needs more stimulation.It’swhat keeps life interesting.Hisdaddy probably needs a bit of that too.Whydon’t we head to your place so you can let him out before he destroys the house.”
“He’sactually not super destructive.”Thathad been one of my biggest fears about owning a dog.I’dheard—and seen—horror stories about entire rooms needing to be rebuilt because dogs tore things up when they were left alone.Aslong asIlocked the doors and had a stick blocking the sliding glass door,Bartseemed content to lie on his dog bed and wait for me to come home.
Itwould have seemed strange that he so easily invited himself to my place, butIhadmessed withBart’stypical morning routine.Kevindidn’t bother locking his front door as we stepped outside.Thatwasn’t unusual for people in a small town like ours, but a cop ought to know better.Ourcrime rate was low, but when things did happen, it was usually because people had made themselves easy marks.
