* * *
I wake up early the next morning, tug on my workout clothes, and head out for my usual run. The sky’s overcast, the clouds threatening rain, and I celebrate the brief reprieve from a week of nonstop sunshine. My legs move effortlessly today, and I’m certain I’ll beat my mile time, but when a familiar white dog comes trotting down the sidewalk, no owner in sight, I sacrifice the record to prevent this little yap machine from becoming a fluffy white pancake.
Crouching down, I tap my thigh a few times. “Come here, puppy. Come here.” The dog prances right over to me, tail wagging and tongue lolling, not a care in the world that I could be up to no good. “You shouldn’t walk up to strangers like this. I could be a dog-napper.” She just smiles at me, that dazed, happy look in her eyes. “Alright, where’s your owner?”
I glance down both streets, but the grumpy old man who sits on his porch every morning is nowhere to be seen, so I scoop the little dog into my arms and start walking in the direction of his house. Two blocks later, I arrive at the blue front door I’ve only ever seen from the sidewalk. The porch is empty today, maybe because of the dreary sky, so I knock a few times and step back to wait.
When the door finally opens, the old man stands there, an annoyed look on his face. His expression immediately softens when he registers who I’m carrying in my arms. “I think you might have lost this,” I say, holding up the adorable furball.
“Snowball!” he cries, and I carefully pass him the dog, who proceeds to lick his face with an insane amount of enthusiasm. “I turn my back for one second, and you flee.” He studies me, trying to figure out where he’s seen me before. “I know you.”
“I’m Violet. I run past your house every morning.”
He nods, eyeing me warily. “What can I pay you?”
Caught off guard by his question, I shake my head. “Oh, no. I don’t want your money. I was happy to help.”
“Hmm.” He sets the dog on the ground, and for a second, I fear he’s going to topple over. He doesn’t. Somehow, he straightens out, maintaining his balance. “What’s your time?” he demands.
“Sorry?”
“Your time,” he snaps, irritated. “Your mile time.”
I blink in surprise. “Oh! It’s 6:45.” When he says nothing, I shift, wondering if it’s too soon to extract myself from this awkward encounter. “I was about to beat it today, but then I saw little Snowball here.” Crouching down, I scratch the dog behind her ears. She yaps once, tail wagging at a speed almost too fast for the human eye to track.
“Which house is yours?” he asks abruptly.
“Oh, none of them. I’m just staying here temporarily, at Landon Blair’s house.” I straighten up, pointing down the road. “Maybe you know him.”
He grunts something noncommittal.
“So, how long have you lived in this neighborhood?”
“Too long,” he grumbles. “Wait here.”
Before I can so much as blink, he disappears inside the house, little Snowball scurrying after him through the crack in the ajar front door. He returns a minute later with a phone grasped in his hand, and without warning, he practically shoves it in my face.
“You’re young. Can you fix this? Screen’s locked up.”
I take the phone from him, turning it over. “Not gonna lie, I’m the furthest thing from a tech wiz, but let me try restarting it. Sometimes it’s as simple as that.” I do just that and wait anxiously for the screen to power back on. When it does, I tap a few apps, surprised when it actually works, and pass it back to him. “There you go. Looks like it’s fixed.”
“Good,” he says and holds out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. I stare at it, stunned. “When someone offers you money, take it. Don’t be a martyr.”
“I-okay,” I mutter, reluctantly taking the money from him and stuffing it in my running shorts’ tiny pocket. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Randall,” he barks.
“Thank you, Randall.”
He grunts something that I think might beyou’re welcomeand then disappears back into the house with the tiny, fluffy dog, shutting the door behind him.Oookayy. I blink at the door, confused on so many levels by what just occurred, but I don’t have time to dwell. I jog back to the house to shower and get ready for my shift.
The club’s busy today despite the weather, and the day flies by in a blur of smiles, orders, and tips. By the time I get home, my feet hurt something awful, and I drag myself through the door with a bag of McDonald’s, collapsing with relief at the kitchen island. I don’t even have the energy to make it outside.
I’m devouring my fries when Eli wanders in, snatching an annoyingly large handful off my plate.
“Rough day, Pepper Spray?” he asks through a full mouth, taking the seat beside me.
“Hey! You’re going to pay for that.” I take another bite of my burger. “And yes. I’m about to collapse.”
