“Deal with it. God, Ryder. Listen to the way you sound. I didn’t think you were so cold! You’re talking about Archie. He’syour dog.” I glare at him. “Anyone can tell he loves you. He was so excited to see you earlier.”
“I’m being practical. Responsible. I travel all the time. I can’t have a dog.”
Archie sets his head on my lap, as if he knows we’re talking about him. He looks up at Ryder with adoring doggy eyes.
“I understand, fella. Don’t listen to mean old Ryder. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” I glare at the big, dumb, handsome celebrity next to me. “So what’s your plan here? You’re just going to g-i-v-e”—I spell outgive—“Archie away?”
“If you’re worried about your job again, you’ll still have one, even if I can get him adopted quickly. You’d just house-sit rather than pet-sit. I need someone to watch over Piper’s Peak untilMrs. Halle comes back from her holiday. Empty summer houses get break-ins and vandals.”
“Oh yes, this town looks like the crime capital of the country. I can’t believe you want to give away your dog.”
“Daisy.” He sighs. “I know you’ve gotten attached to Archie. He’s great, if a little…enthusiastic. But I don’t want to be tied down with an animal. I’m on a plane or a bus for most of the year.”
“Plenty of celebrities travel with their pets,” I point out.
Even though I know what Ryder says makes sense, it still crushes me. I set a hand on the dog’s head and run it over his soft fur. He watches his owner with adoration. He just wants love. Well, love and pets and snacks and walks and fetch.
“When you found Archie, who did he spend most of his time with when you were on tour?” I ask.
He looks down and scratches his neck. “He was scared. Being around everyone intimidated him. He kind of attached himself to me.”
“Hmm.” I figured as much. You can tell that Archie bonded with Ryder. Maybe this is hitting me so hard because I can relate to the dog. Growing up, I was just like him. I was the one fawning after everyone, just wanting a home, just wanting love. And never finding somewhere or someone to truly belong. Never having that forever home.
Even now that I’m supposedly grown up, I still feel like that.
Ryder stands abruptly. “Okay. I just wanted to sort that out. Carry on with your routine as if I’m not here. And I need you to place some ads around the area to find Archie a good home. You can conduct the initial interviews. You’ve probably already met everyone in town anyway.”
I look at the dog, and sadness takes over. I wish I could adopt him myself. But I don’t even have a house. I don’t have a job beyond this one. I’m far less qualified to be a dog owner thanRyder. And as much as Archie likes me, I can tell it’s Ryder he considers his family.
“Your wish is my command,” I say dryly.
“Good.” He nods, as if the matter’s settled. He looks at his watch. A vintage Rolex, I note. The man may dress casually, usually in his uniform of black. But every item is quality. With his surprising background as an upper-crust East Coaster, I shouldn’t be surprised. “I want to meet Archie’s prospective family when you find them, to approve the choice. I’ll be busy while I’m here. I have new songs I’m on a deadline to write, and I have some things to settle with my grandmother’s estate.”
“Got it,” I say and lie back, stretching in the sun.
I hear him snort and feel his shadow over me for a minute. And then he’s gone. When he’s here, it’s like he displaces the surrounding atoms. But now, there’s no electricity. The air around me is just empty.
Archie hops down from my lounger and follows. But Ryder shuts the door before the dog can slip in behind him. He whines and then turns back toward me, as if confused.
I sit and push my sunglasses up.
“Don’t you worry, Archie,” I say in a soothing voice. “Everything will be okay.”
I only hope that’s the truth. I don’t want to be lying to a dog—or myself.
CHAPTER 8
Daisy
(TEN YEARS AGO)
Dear Diary,
Ryder Black needs me. It sounds silly to say that. He’s older (not by much, but he seems to think it makes such a giant difference). The guy needs some fun. Every day, he’s in his makeshift studio. I stop by to visit him because what else do I have to do? He tries to write music. But even I can tell that it isn’t going well. I’ve decided that he needs my help. No one who’s that wound up could create anything good. So I moved my sewing machine into the room and make it my mission to get him to laugh. I tease him whenever I see the frustration mounting. It seems to work. He’s been lighter lately. He smiles more. Just for me.
(NOW)
The next morning, I’m confronted by a half-naked rock starbefore I’ve even had my coffee. His loose black sweatpants hang low on his lean hips.
