Even though I’m the one buying her food and cuddling with her at night, I’m a smart enough man to know I will always be her second favorite human. That’s why I ‘accidentally’ had my mom watching her anytime I heard Brooke was coming into town. Made sure they could see each other without me fucking it up for either of them.
But now…
“Look at how cute you are.” Brooke crouches down, scooping the miniature poodle up. She gasps as she gets a good look at Copper. “Are your nails painted?”
I move to the kitchen, satisfaction settling deep in my gut at the sight of Brooke and Copper together in my home. “The groomer did it a couple years ago, and I couldn’t tell her shit for weeks. I took it off when it started to chip, and Copper moped around the house, staring at her paws despondently.” I can’t help but smile at the memory. “She perked up the second I polished her nails again.”
Never in my wildest dreams would I have seen myself learning how to paint a dog’s nails, but seeing the joy it’s put on Brooke’s face—the way it’s easing a little of the sadness she’s carrying—is worth every hour I’ve spent trimming, filing, and polishing.
Brooke’s smile holds as she looks over Copper’s nails. “That sounds like her.” She snuggles the curly-haired dog closer. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
“No problem.” I pull out a pan before turning to the fridge. I dig out the steak I planned to grill up, along with the container of mashed potatoes and pack of asparagus I got to gowith it. It’s plenty of food for two people, but I’m for sure going to have to make a trip to the store to stock up.
Because I know it’s a bad idea, but I’m going to figure out a way to make sure this isn’t the last dinner I make Brooke this week.
Giving Brooke a grin so she doesn’t know how serious I am, I say, “I’m good at taking care of things.”
8
Brooke
Ididn’t mean to end up sitting at the island in Tobias’s kitchen watching him cook. I just wanted to come thank him for lunch and then go back to Deidre’s.
In and out. Simple. Easy.
Instead, he’s making me dinner, trying to give me a car, and flooring me with the fact it’s not the groomer who paints Copper’s nails.
It’s him.
“It was easier to get the polish and do it myself. Bringing her to the groomer every two weeks just for a manicure was difficult to fit in between work and helping my parents out around this place.” His movements are easy as he maneuvers around the kitchen. Practiced. Like he does this sort of thing all the time.
And maybe he does.
I don’t have any right to be upset over Tobias dating. I had a whole engagement and a quarter of a wedding. But thinking about another woman sitting in my place—his sleeves rolled tohis elbows while he talks about painting his dog’s toenails—has me feeling…
Not great.
“You still like your steak medium rare?” His eyes lift to my face, catching me staring at his corded forearms.
Again.
“However you make it is fine.” I press my lips together, working hard to keep my gaze from falling to his hands as they rub seasonings into the slab of meat. “I’m not picky.”
“Understood.” Tobias flips the ribeye over, sprinkling on the concoction he mixed together before working it in. “But if youwerepicky, how would you like your steak cooked?”
I don’t know if it’s simply being asked what I want, or that it’s Tobias asking me what I want, but my chest starts to ache. Reaching out, I pick up the glass of water he poured me, hiding behind a slow sip to buy some time.
Tobias watches my every move. Not in an obvious, staring sort of way, but in quick glances. Subtle peeks beneath his lashes. It’s almost as unnerving as being asked how I like my steak cooked. But considering I’ve ogled his hands and forearms in a significantly less clandestine manner, I don’t really have room to complain.
Taking a deep breath, I manage to provide an answer. “If I was being picky—which I’m not—I would want it medium rare.”
“You got it.” Tobias picks up the steak and drops it into a smoking hot cast-iron pan. The sizzle is loud and immediate. So is the savory scent of cooking meat. It makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble.
Tobias wasn’t wrong when he assumed I’d forgotten about lunch. I did. Five times. Some of them even happened after the food he ordered arrived. There’s just so much to do, and I keptgetting distracted. Eventually, I did manage to get through about half of the broccoli cheese soup and an acceptable portion of the turkey and provolone sandwich.
Every bit of it was delicious, and I packed up what was left, putting it in the break room fridge so I could have the leftovers available for lunch tomorrow.
By the time I got home, I was wishing I’d brought it home with me. Deidre and Ted had already eaten, and it felt strange to go milling through their kitchen on my own. So I took Bruno out for a walk, and then decided coming to thank Tobias was the adult thing to do.
