No, she hadn’t, but this agreement wasn’t going to work if he was oneof those pricks who had a problem with woman’s best friend. Amy lived by the my-dog-can-do-whatever-she-wants rule. “You don’t like dogs?”
He gestured to the one in his lap. “Does this look like I don’t like dogs? I love dogs. But this one was wandering around the deck like she’d been on a bender. So I brought her in. Then she walked into the Christmas tree and damn near knocked it over.”
Amy looked at Duchess. She noticed glitter on her head.
“And then I must have startled her, because she bolted and slammed right into my leg.”
“She weighs maybe twenty-five pounds, so I doubt she slammed. And anyway, she can’t help it—she’s pretty much blind.”
“I noticed.” He lifted the dog off his lap and set her on the floor. Duchess whimpered, sad that the petting had ended. “Why didn’t you tell me about her when we made our deal?”
Amy hadn’t mentioned her because she’d been so stunned by his presence in her kitchen and that he was refusing to leave. Duchess hadn’t come to mind. “I forgot.”
“You forgot you had a blind dog?”
“I forgot in the moment. But she won’t be any trouble,” she added defensively. Except that Duchess could be a little bit of trouble. She didn’t always find the nearest exit, and sometimes she mistook houseplants as the next best thing to grass and did her business, and her food didn’t digest as well as it used to, so there were times she needed to be in another room.
“Are you sure about that?” He pointed to the twenty-foot Christmas tree. “That would be a pretty big deal to come tumbling down. And seeing as how I had to pay a deposit against any damages, I’m a little concerned.”
“She’ll figure out the lay of the land,” Amy insisted. “She can smell it now and knows not to walk into it.”
“What about walking into stone retaining walls? Because she did that, too.”
“The head bumps don’t bother her.” A drop of sweat began a long slide from the nape of Amy’s neck to her panty line. Tiny geysers of perspiration erupted across her scalp that made her think of a Chia Pet. She resisted the urge to wipe her neck with her hand.
Duchess had taken a couple of steps in the direction of the tree, in direct contradiction to the promise Amy had just made, so Mr. Neely bent down and redirected her toward Amy. Duchess started trotting forward, blissfully unaware of the coffee table between her and her owner. Amy, feeling a bit judged, quickly scooped the dog up before she could veer off course. And in doing so, her robe split open below the tie, and she flashed a good portion of fleshy thigh to Mr. Neely. She panicked for a split second, but then decided if he hadn’t seen a middle-aged woman’s substantial thigh by now, it was high time he should. Still, she made sure the robe was closed when she had Duchess in hand. “By the way, there is a dog door in the mudroom. I’d appreciate if you would keep it closed.”
Mr. Neely folded his arms. He was wearing a sky-blue golf shirt today that made his eyes leap from his face. He looked awfully fresh. Well rested. A bit on the virile side. “You don’t have to worry about me opening and closing the door. Since I didn’t bring a dog.”
“Maybe you should have,” Amy shot back. “They make great companions.”
“Lucky me, it looks like I’m going to have access to a great companion for the next two weeks.”
Was he being sarcastic? “She won’t be any trouble,” Amy said again, and didn’t give him a chance to argue before turning on her heel and heading back to her room with Duchess licking the sweat off her face. It wasn’t fair that he could look so calm and cool while she was so hot and sweaty.
Once she was safely behind a locked door, and the patio door was shut, and Duchess had made a bed on Amy’s jacket she’d pulled off a chair and onto the floor, Amy went into the bathroom.
She gasped with alarm when she saw herself reflected in the mirror. She lookedmuchworse than last night. Her shoulder-length brown hair was in a tangled ball at the back of her head. Little wisps of curls around her face made her look like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. There was a line across her face where she’d obviously slept on something, and her complexion was splotchy due to the massive hot flash that was still going on. How had she become this haggard old woman?
This would not do. This was not the vibe she was going for during her two-week emancipation, and most assuredly not the vibe she would like for the stranger living in her house to see. She had her standards. Lower, much diminished standards than she used to have—because now she would run into a convenience store in pajama pants, whereas when she was younger, she would not leave her house without a full face and dressed like she wanted to live.
Okay, so maybe she looked like this a lot these days. Life was hard and busy, and no one was looking at her anyway. Perhaps it was time to reevaluate.
She went back to her bed and searched for her phone. When she couldn’t sleep last night, she’d surfed TikTok like a fourteen-year-old.
She had a text. It was, of course, from Jonah the Destroyer, sent to her in the middle of the night, because her son thought she was on pins and needles waiting to serve him.
Did you get more Hot Pockets
This kid was unbelievable. Yesterday morning, she’d stood outside her slightly shabby but still charming craftsman cottage in Willow Valley. She was packing up her ten-year-old SUV with clothes an artist would wear (flowing skirts, cargo pants and silk blouses—you get the idea), canvasses and paints (acrylic), groceries (and wine), and a check in her purse from the Hillside Art Gallery for five hundred dollars.
Oh, and Duchess.
Duchess had been a last-minute addition. As Amy was getting ready to leave, Duchess had been looking up at the coatrack, tail wagging, expecting a treat. Amy had thought about the all-male and fairly helpless crew living in her house and found them all so lacking in the proper care department that she had scooped up her fat little dachshund. She’d strapped Duchess in and had just shut the hatchback when Jonah appeared on the drive in nothing but his boxers. “Mom, where is my blue hoodie?”
Jonah was tall now, at least six feet, and a hair taller than Amy’s brother, Kevin. He was apparently oblivious to the mist and the cold and stood scratching his chest. He was thin and wiry in that way young men are before the fullness of adulthood has reached them, with hands and feet that seemed too big for him. He had a mop of dark hair that was rarely combed, which was either the style these days or a parenting fail on her part. “Can you put some clothes on please?” she asked him.
“I’mgoingto, but I need my blue hoodie. Hey, are you going to the store? Can you get some more Hot Pockets?”
