She purses her lips and then goes for the trays, picking up a few and holding them out to me. “Here you go.”
“Thanks…” I take them from her, my fingers accidentally brushing her soft skin. I swallow hard and clear my throat, ignoring the goosebumps running up my arm.
“You’ll probably eat all that in the next twenty-four hours,” she jokes. “You’re literally the size of two grown men.”
I chuckle, glancing around her apartment. “I wouldn’t go that far…” My voice trails off. Mostly because I would love to find every reason to stay, but… “I should probably get going.”
“For sure,” Nicole replies, her voice chipper in the quiet of the apartment.
I follow her to the small entryway, and she holds the door open as I carry the trays. I linger for a second in the opening…
And it’s a secondtoo long.
Cocoa barrels through the gap, skidding into the hallway and immediately taking off at full speed in the opposite direction.
“Cocoa!” Nicole shouts, exasperated, and before I can even process what’s happening, Nicole is barreling past me to chase after the escapee.
This is so … Cocoa.
I spin around and dump the trays on the entry table. “You’re never going to catch him!” I call out, barely getting the apartment door closed behind me.
Nicole is sprinting ahead, her hair coming undone, socks slipping on the slick hallway floor. She’s faster than I expected, but not faster than the tiny brown meteor zigzagging down the hall.
As I run after them, a laugh escapes my throat. I can’t help it. This is hilarious.
My Nikes pound the floor as I try to catch up to Nicole.
Cocoa rounds the corner, but Nicole is hot on his heels.
“Don’t let him get to the stairs!”
I put on a burst of speed, catching up to Nicole at the end of the hall, where Cocoa is already executing a hard left turn.
“He’s heading for the laundry room!” she yells.
“Cocoa, stay!” I bark out.
Cocoa freezes, as if he might actually listen, and then leaps over a laundry basket, sending a geyser of pink towels and leggings flying everywhere.
Nicole rushes after him, but instead of clearing the basket, she plows directly into it, somersaulting over the top and landing in a tangle of laundry.
She pops up, arms in the air like she’s finishing an Olympic floor routine. “I’m fine!”
“Cocoa, come!”
This time, the dog actually hesitates, dropping to his belly on the tile and giving me those big, calculating brown eyes. He inches forward, head down, playing the remorse card hard.
“Good boy,” I breathe, voice calm and low. “Come here.”
He creeps toward me, licking the air and doing a slow army crawl. Nicole’s right behind, arms wide, ready for the tackle.
“That’s it,” Nicole coaxes him, her voice sweet and airy. “You’re such a good boy!”
Then she lunges.
And Cocoa pivots.
And Nicole crashesintomerather than the dog.
