I push through the front door, both hands carrying heavy bags filled with the food shop because I refused to let Jade carry anything. We’re barely through the door when Pebble barrels toward us, her tongue lolling out of her mouth and a big smile stretched across her wide face. Just as I’m about to set the bags down to give her the scratches she expects the second I get home, she veers off course, going to Jade instead.
“Hello, sweet girl.” She crouches and wraps her arms around Pebble’s thick neck, enveloping her in a hug, the sight making my chest squeeze.
Pebble was a shelter dog who had been found out in the countryside in pretty rough shape. They suspected she had been abused, with no clue how she was able to survive when they found her near the side of a motorway covered in blood and feces. I had recently signed up to be a foster for the shelter, figuring it would work better with my busy schedule to take care of her during the off season until she found a more permanent home, but one look into her soft grey eyes, and I knew my first foster dog was going to be an epic fail. She had endured hell and still trusted people, still wagged her tail, and didn’t hesitate to hope for a better life.Every day after she came home with me, she greeted me at the door, and every night, she curled up in bed and laid her heavy head on my chest before falling asleep. Within the week, I called the rescue and told them I wanted to adopt her.
Seeing her now, so open and comfortable with Jade, who is giving her such unfiltered affection, has a lump forming in my throat.
“I feel slightly betrayed. She’s only met you once, and she ran to you first,” I say.
Jade squeezes Pebble’s cheeks, kissing her between the eyes, and says in the babying tone only reserved for cute animals, “Clearly, she has taste.” She gives her another kiss before adjusting the crocheted bandana around her neck.
“No food scraps for you, traitor.” My dog actually has the gall to look at me and then turn away, nuzzling further into Jade’s chest.
I’mnotjealous of my dog, goddamnit.
“I’m going to go start dinner,” I mumble.
I expect Jade to stay a little longer, maybe put a little distance between us. She’s already let me too close today, and the pullback should happen any minute now, but she surprises me when I hear the soft falls of her feet connecting with the hardwood as she follows me into the kitchen.
Wordlessly, we unload the bags together, setting the spices, sweet potatoes, peppers, chicken, and cheese onto the counter. As I start to pull out pans and the things I need to get started, I see Jade fidgeting with the spices, arranging them by height before changing her mind and alphabetising them instead.
“What are you doing?”
“Organising.” I shoot her a look that conveys I’m not buying it. She sighs. “I—I’m nervous.” Her admission comes with a look of accusation, like how dare I make her say it out loud.
“I make you nervous?”
She scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I take a step closer. “Then why would you be nervous?”
“I’m not confident your food will be edible.”
I raise an eyebrow and take another step closer, then another, until I’m directly in front of her, her back against the island counter. I reach out, caging her in on each side, leaning forward. “I can hear your heart racing.”
“I must be experiencing a pulmonary em?—”
I silence her with a kiss. It isn’t urgent or filled with fire—it’s calm, steady, like water easing along the banks of a river.Natural.
When I pull away, her body unconsciously follows mine, leaning forward, wanting more. I want to give her more, desperate to, but instead, I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You make me nervous too.”
I place one final kiss against her cheek before handing her a pepper and instructing her to chop, intuiting that she needs something to keep her mind busy so she doesn’t start overthinking.
“How’s Archie?” I ask, slicing the sweet potatoes in half to place them on a baking tray.
“You’re his best mate. You tell me.”
I laugh. “I want to hear it from your perspective. How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine.” Her chopping turns more aggressive. “Actually, no.” She brandishes the knife, flailing it around to emphasise her point. “He’s so aggravating. He acts like nothing has changed, as if he wasn’t diagnosed with a neurodegenerative disorder. I keep asking him if he’ll consider doing the deep brain stimulation treatments to manage his symptoms, but he’s always been so anti-doctor, it’s hard to get him to see reason.”
“Is it getting worse?” Concern floods my body as I think about Archie. I’ve known him for a short amount of time, but it's become impossible to not adore the grumpy old man when he hands you your arse daily in online games. He’s not humble about it either. Then, there’s thecomplicated fact that I see so much of Jade when I talk to him, and that one afternoon with him left me unnerved, thinking about how handling his care is one extra thing Jade is trying to manage alone.
“He’s the same for now, but it’s only a matter of time. I want to get ahead of it before it escalates. His home health aide being there helps, but I basically had to force her on him.”
“I don’t think you had to do much forcing once Myrah started. From what I can tell, he fancies her quite a bit. He talks about her a lot in our chats.”
Her mouth drops open before a wide smile takes over. “Iknewit.”
