He glances over his shoulder at me. “You called for a taxi?”
“We did.”
Becky slides into the front seat and wraps her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Someone’s had a few too many margaritas,” he mutters with humor as we pull away from the curb.
After the martinis and tequila shots, I’m shocked when I wake up the next morning with no headache. I’ve slept in a little, though. It’s 9:30 a.m., which I consider to be wildly self-indulgent, at least for me, because I’m a morning person.
Scooter doesn’t seem to mind. He’s stretched out diagonally across my bed, snoring. I nudge him three times before he rolls over, yawns, and jumps to the floor for his morning walk around the neighborhood.
We live in an apartment in the South End of Halifax, in a historic building with marvelous character, but there’s no elevator. It’s a bit of a climb up a wide central staircase with wrought iron railings to reach our cozy abode, but Scooter and I can both use the exercise.
He’s eight years old now and comes to work with me every day. I’m convinced he’s proud of himself—as he should be—since earning the title of office mascot, which includes the perk of a dried liver treat upon arrival each morning. The clients adore him because not only is he a gorgeous blond Lab, but he’s a charmer as well and a big old softy.He treats everyone as if they’re his long-lost best friend and makes them feel special. He wags his tail, but he’s calm about it, and he doesn’t create havoc like he once did when he was a puppy.
Quite frankly, he’s my rock. I don’t know how I could have survived the past seven years without him.
After Scooter and I return from our morning walk, I’m in the middle of spooning coffee grounds into the coffee machine when my cell phone rings. I retrieve it from the kitchen table and flip it open. “Hello?”
“Is this too soon to call?” a male voice asks, and I recognize it immediately.
“Yes, it is,” I reply. “Have you no self-control?”
Nate chuckles. “Clearly not. It must have been the tequila shot.”
“Tequila can make people do shocking things.” I press the red button on my coffee maker, and it starts to gurgle. “I’m joking of course. It’s nice to hear from you. What time did you get home last night?”
“I left not long after you did.”
“You didn’t hit the blackjack table?”
There’s a pause. “I’m not much of a gambler.”
“Yet you were in the casino bar on a Saturday night.” I can admit to myself that I’m probing for information because I’m curious about this man. I want to know more about him—more than what he told me last night, which was quite a lot.
“I could say the same to you,” he replies.
“Touché.” I’m feeling impishly giddy.
“I’m calling to see if you’d like to go for a walk today,” he says. “Point Pleasant Park? After lunch?”
I fight to stay quiet as I jump around my kitchen and make a screaming face. Then I stand still and take a breath. “That sounds like fun,” I calmly reply. “Can I bring my dog?”
“Actually, I was going to ask you the same question.”
“You have a dog?” My interest is piqued. “What kind?”
“She’s a dachshund named Dolly. What’s yours?”
“A big, adorable Labrador retriever. Sometimes he’s clumsy and not too bright, but he loves little dogs. His name is Scooter.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.”
We set a time to connect at the ice cream stand, and it’s not until I hang up the phone and tell Scooter what’s happening that I begin to feel strange about it. Scooter was Jacob’s dog, and now I’m taking him to meet another man—a man whom I’m attracted to.
I remind myself that it’s been seven years since the accident, and I should be ready to move on by now, like Becky says. But when I imagine walking in the park with Nate, talking and laughing and having a good time, I feel disloyal, along with a bone-deep sadness, followed by a heavy glut of guilt.
Chapter Six
