That was when Jolly bolted.
Something tripped a wire in him. Maybe a sound from the backyard, maybe a shift in the wind, but whatever signal he’d been waiting for, he got it. He launched past me on the walkway, clipping my hip hard enough to spin me sideways.
Both grocery bags hit the concrete. I heard the eggs go first, the wet crack of shells against the unyielding ground, and then the rest followed—everything scattering across the front step.
Jolly didn’t look back. He tore away from my side in a blur and I heard the quick clicking of nails on concrete, then barking from the backyard. The steaks had landed on the edge of the walkway, the packaging split open, raw meat exposed to the dirt. The eggs were done: half the carton cracked on impact, yolks bleeding across the step. The bread had landed in the grass, the bag torn open.
Jolly was already in the backyard, barking.
I stood in the doorway and looked at the wreckage of mydinner plans. My arm throbbed. My back ached. I’d been awake for twenty-two hours, and the one small thing I’d been looking forward to—the thought of eating an actual home-cooked meal rather than takeout—was spread across the ground in front of me.
“Terrific.”
I crouched down and started picking up what I could. Most of it was a loss. The eggs were beyond saving, the rice had scattered everywhere, and cooking a steak that had come out of the packaging and was covered in dirt and grime probably wasn’t a good plan.
“Oh no.”
I looked up. Kayla was already crossing her yard toward me, moving fast. She reached the walkway and dropped down beside me, gathering what was salvageable of my scattered groceries.
“Jolly wasn’t messing around! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. The food…not so much.”
She picked up the steak and its packaging and held it at arm’s length, examining them. She turned it over once and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s done.”
“That was dinner.”
“I have chicken and rice at my house. William and I just finished eating. There’s plenty left. Let me bring you a plate.”
“No, it’s fine.” I kept picking up the mess. “I’ll order something.”
“You sure? It’s really no trouble.”
“Appreciate it, but I’ll just get takeout.” I dropped the ruined steak package into the remaining intact grocery sack. “Again. Not my first choice, but it’ll do.”
She helped me pick up the last of it. A dented can of soup and a box of pasta had survived the impact. The rice would have to become food for critters. We stood up at the same time, and she handed me the items she’d collected.
From the backyard, Jolly’s barking kicked up another notch. Sharp, insistent, aimed at something I couldn’t see from the front of the house.
Kayla glanced in that direction, then back at me. Something shifted in her expression…a slight tightening around her eyes, a breath that looked like it was being held rather than taken.
“There’s actually something I need to talk to you about.”
I waited. My arm was throbbing. My eyes were dry and heavy. The thought of one more thing—one more problem, one more conflict, one more conversation that required something from me—sat on my chest like a weight.
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” The words came out more clipped than I intended. “I want to hear whatever it is. It’s just been a bad day, and I don’t think I’ve got much left.”
She studied my face for a second. Whatever she saw there was enough.
“Sure. Tomorrow’s fine. It’s nothing urgent.”
“Thank you. And thanks for helping me clean up.”
“Of course.” She gave me a small nod and headed back across her yard toward her house.
I watched her go. She’d come over without hesitation, seen a neighbor in trouble and moved toward it, not away. And I’d sent her back with a curt voice and a closed door.
I carried the surviving groceries inside and dumped them on the counter. The trash can got the steaks, the eggs, the bread, the split bags. Then I went back to the front door for my gear. The vest, the duty belt, the K9 kit I always kept packed and ready. Hauled it all inside and set it in the dining room.
