She didn’t answer,so I stepped into the kitchen and peeked around the corner toward the dining room before noticing that the sliding glass door to the backyard was open.
Shit.
If I’d warned her once, I’d warned her a thousand times about leaving that door open. Puppies were notorious for getting into precarious places, and between her knees and my not being here twenty-four seven, if those babies got out, they were gone, and I couldn’t let that happen.
Jenna and Mark were counting on us—mostly me—to foster Port and Tito until they were old enough for adoption, and I’d told them I’d ensure they had the necessary skills to be a welcome addition to any family. Leaving the glass door open enough for two tiny bodies to squirm their way out was not the way for me to inspire trust in my brother and his wife.
Oh well.My life was one giant to-do list, and tracking down the pups was no different than the thousand other things that kept me busy each day.
Voices carried through the crack in the door, and I sighed, putting a mask of casual indifference on my face as I heard the puppies yip and growl.
“Would you like to come in for coffee? Or perhaps something stronger based on the details you shared?” Mom asked, and I stilled, holding my breath as I hoped whoever she spoke to would say no.
After a moment or two of silence, a throaty chuckle rose above the playful puppy noises. The laughter was warm and rich, gliding across my skin like a cool breeze on a hot day. The sound filled a place inside me—a place I rarely came across, because there just wasn’t enough time in the day for simple things like joyful laughter.
“Oh, that’s okay,” a woman answered—Summer, I realized a moment later. “I still have work to finish, and then I need to run to the grocery store and plan a dish. I have a feeling your daughters-in-law wouldn’t appreciate a dessert made with fake sugar substitute.”
“Might be for the best then. My book club overindulged last night, and I am sporting an awful headache today.”
There was that sound again—Summer’s laugh—carrying across the backyard and hitting me square in the gut. It was so different from our biting confrontation the other day, making me want to pick apart her psyche to learn her secrets. What were she and Mom talking about? Why was Mom inviting her to the Girls’ Brunch? What was she going to cook? And most importantly—why the fuck did I care?
“Oh yes. I feel like from the moment I reached thirty-five, it now takes me twice as long to recover from overindulgence.”
“Overindulgence?” Mom laughed, and I peeked around the countertop in the kitchen to watch as she opened the door and scooped Tito into her arms. Summer did the same with Port, and I froze, waiting for them to notice me lurking in the kitchen.
“Overindulgence with alcohol, I mean. And if more than two drinks are paired with lack of sleep, I’m a walking, dysfunctional zombie for a week.”
“And that’s exactly why we’re having brunch and not dinner.” She patted Summer’s arm and smiled before adjusting the wiggling pup held to her chest. “Oh, Maverick. I hadn’t realized you were here.”
“Hey, Mom. I told you I’d stop by today to see the pups.” I rubbed the back of my neck and crossed the other hand over my chest, careful not to look at Summer. “How are your miniature rose bushes doing? Have enough bloomed for me to grab a small bouquet?”
Port attempted to scramble out of Summer’s arms, and she stepped toward me, forcing my eyes to hers as she held the wiggling beast to my chest and raised an eyebrow. “How are you today, Cinnamon Roll?” she asked, suppressing a grin as I took Port and scratched under her chin.
“Too old for nicknames,” I replied, glancing at Mom, who was biting her lower lip and looking at the two of us with way too much interest for my comfort. Summer shook her head, not stepping away from me, but instead moving her hand so our fingers brushed as she stroked Port’s back.
“Oh, don’t be like that. How can you be in a bad mood when there are puppies who need snuggles? I was sitting on Dad’s back porch with a dead plant and wet yoga pants, but now, all I want to do is cuddle with these babies.”
“It’s easy,” I said, rolling my eyes even as my hand refused to move away from the gentle caresses she was giving Port. Her fingers were smooth and warm, running over the fur on Port’s back and stroking my palm. Her closeness threw me off balance, but my boots remained stuck to the tile in the kitchen like Mom had experienced an unforeseen accident with a glue gun.
“When I come over and the door’s open, I can’t help but wonder if Mom was out chasing the puppies because said door was open, or if they slipped out of the perfectly good leashes I brought over last week.”
“Take a chill pill on the blame, son. Especially when I should commend you on their training so far. Port and Tito did get out, but all they did was run over to Summer, keeping her company until I came over to retrieve them.”
“Mom,” I said, letting the irritation seep into my tone as I rubbed the wrinkle between my brows with the hand not touchinghers. “There’s no way they mastered yard training so quickly, and you know it. They’re just social creatures who saw another person who could spoil them.”
“Well, who wouldn’t want to spoil these precious serotonin enhancers? Not all of us are blessed with being the walking mood killer you are,” Summer said as Port wiggled her tail, loving the attention. “I’d like to bottle up their sweet puppy breath and use it when my mood sours.”
“Yuck,” I said, unable to hide my grin. She met my eyes and returned the gesture before stepping back and putting her hands on her hips.
The loss of her touch sent a chill through my body, like her sole purpose was to bring warmth into my world. I shook my head and briefly closed my eyes to rid myself of that wayward idea. They snapped open when Port yipped, and I heard Summer’s sharp breath.
“Perhaps you should take them home, Cinnamon Roll. I’m sure they would do wonders for your mood.”
“There is nothing wrong with my mood. I simply do not want or need the added stress of chasing after escapees.”
“If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, Maverick. This kitchen gets too hot when I bake. Plus, you can’t beat the fresh air. Stop giving us a hard time and fix me a glass of lemonade. Summer, would you like one?”
“No thanks, ma’am,” she said, shaking her head and moving toward the door.
