“Oh shit,” I say. Because I know what that means. Ryder doesn’t write well under time pressure. Or any pressure at all. His perfectionist personality comes out, and his creativity takes its toys and runs far, far away.
He nods. “Oh shit is right.”
“So you came here for peace…”
He gives me a flat stare. “…and quiet. To write.”
Archie barks, not liking that the attention isn’t on him.
Ryder’s eyes slide over me with his characteristic intensity, missing nothing, not my messy mane of hair, my gauzy shirt that’s tied at my waist, or my minuscule shorts.
Then he looks at the dog, who’s doing circles around us, hoping to gain our attention.
And that’s when my mouth breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, Ryder. Peace and quiet are the last thing you need.”
“So what you’retelling me is that you want Ryder Black to fall in love with…a dog?” my friend Taylor says when Archie and I pop into his shop in a weathered white two-story house on Rockhaven’s quaint Main Street. He’s the owner of Closet Dreams, a chic boutique specializing in men’s linen shirts. He’s also a fellow corgi owner, my partner in crime for the last severalweeks, and a not-so-closeted man about town. We met at the corgi playgroup. He makes me laugh and gives me a well-muscled shoulder to cry on, so long as I don’t ruin his trademark linen shirts. He also gave me a crash-course introduction into the robust karaoke scene in Rockhaven.
“Yes. But not just any dog, of course. He needs to fall in love with Archie.”
“Of course,” Taylor says, his brown eyes amused. He sweeps a hand through his well-styled hair. “Are you sure you don’t want Ryder to fall in love withyou, not Archie, and you’re just transferring?”
“Well, I wouldn’t beaverseto that. But this takes precedence. Archie loves Ryder. He follows him around. He doesn’t even want to be in the pool house with me anymore now that he knows Ryder’s in the mansion. It’s so sad. He’ll be heartbroken if Ryder gives him away. That big idiot needs to fall for his dog and keep him.”
“But maybe he’s right? Maybe Archie will be better off with a stable family, instead of a commitment-phobic rock star.”
I shrug. “Who am I to second-guess Archie’s choice? The heart wants what it wants.”
The bell jingles and the door opens. A gust of warm air enters the store along with an impeccably dressed older woman. It’s hot outside, but she looks like cool perfection.
Taylor kisses the woman. “You look divine, Mrs. Nguyen. The shirts you wanted for your husband came in yesterday. Valerie—” Taylor turns to the girl behind the counter. “Can you help Mrs. Nguyen?”
Archie and Taylor’s dog, Louis—as in Louis Vuitton—trot over to the door to serve as a welcoming committee.
Taylor turns back to me while he resumes steaming a shirt. “I have another option. Why don’tyouadopt him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t even have a house, and I’m not sure what I’ll do next. Maybe I’ll get another pet-sitting gig. Maybe I’ll backpack through Europe. Ryder has a home. Multiple homes. He has unlimited money to hire people to care for a dog while he’s away. Hell, he could take him on tour if he wanted. That’s how they met, after all. Besides, I wasn’t the one who found Archie. Ryder did. I believe in fate. They’re meant to be together. But he’s too stubborn to realize it. He wants him. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Oh, I see that look on your face. Ryder’s in trouble.” Taylor laughs.
“I need your help with this. You’re great at scheming.” I lower my voice. “Yesterday, I saw you sweet-talk a lady into getting a linen shirt in every color of pastel for her husband, even when she said he’d never wear pastel.”
“I was trying to broaden his color horizons. Expand his universe. I was doing them both a favor.”
“The problem is, Ryder and Archie need to hang out more to bond. But they’re not spending much time together because, as pet sitter, I’m doing all the dog-care things.”
Taylor thinks for a moment and then exclaims, “I’ve got it! Become incapacitated.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have to be sick or hurt. Come down with the flu. Twist an ankle. Pretend. You’re good at faking it, I bet.”
“I’ve faked it a time or two. Unfortunately. There are too many indifferent men who couldn’t find a woman’s G-spot if—”
“TMI, doll.” Taylor grimaces.
Mrs. Nguyen looks over at me. “You’re right. Too many incompetent men, dearie. Get yourself a man who knows his way around your anatomy. My second husband was a gynecologist. He knew what was what.”
I grin in surprise at the white-haired woman.
