“Quiches again?” He complains, then coughs a bit while rolling his eyes at me. “Same damn left over food and your damn dog is out again.”
I deflate even more.
But I don’t respond with words. They don’t help. I just get up and take action instead. I grab the leash and dash out, running left toward the field Stu loves to run through.
“Stuart! Stuuuuuu!” I call.
I look around at the yards and houses and reach the clearing.
Not here. I start to panic a little bit. Everyone on the street has adapted pretty well because they’re good neighbors. They put up higher garden fences, secured the latches on their gates. They all know I can’t afford a whole new, Stuart-proof fence around Dad’s yard. They get that I don’t exactly have a ton of extra time right now to walk him.
But the dog is completely unhinged.
I don’t think I could fit enough walks in each day to wear him out. Or that a Stu-proof fence exists. He just gallops and gallops, and one day he’s going to gallop onto the highway. He’s not really my dog and he knows it, doesn’t listen to me worth a flyingflip. He eats my aprons and my underwear and I think he taunts me. I think he loves getting me frazzled.
Even so, the sun is setting and I don’t want him hurt and afraid, alone in the dark somewhere.
“Stuuaaarrt!” I try again as I walk in the opposite direction down the street. I walk slowly, scanning. The I hear him, somewhere ahead of me. Spooked.
He darts out into the street, awkwardly flopping along being chased by an…empty chip bag. I swear this dog is afraid of his own skin! I yell his name but he barrels away from me.
“Stuart!” A voice calls.Hisvoice.
Aiden storms out of his front door to the sidewalk and calls, “Stuart. Sit.”
I snort and almost laugh except…what the…Stu is just…listening to him?
“Stuart. Come.” The dog—certainly not my dog right this second!— at least hesitates for a second before just doing it. Just doing exactly what the bignot hotbully told him to do!
I walk up behind them and Stuart gets twitchy. He loves making me chase him around. But Aiden simply says, “No.”
The dog submits right away and with that tone of voice, honestly, I get it. It doesn’t help that the pointing hand is connected to a big, tanned, bulging arm.
I walk up to the giant drooling doofus and he clocks the leash. “Stuart, stay,” Aiden adds. Unbelievably, instead of fighting me like always, he sits, calm and happy, as I put the leash on.
Aiden nods once, pats Stuart on the head and says, “Good. Well done.” For some reason, my whole being reacts to those words and the warm tone in Aiden’s voice. Exhaustion, I guess.
I’m standing, still shocked, when the man glares at me.
He raises an eyebrow, “You’re welcome.”
My eyebrows scrunch down. He is so smug all the freaking time! But I am a nice, polite person. So I reply, “Thank you,” and pull on the leash. Stuart doesn’t budge. “Come on,” I tell the dog.
“Louder, Harper. Like you’re in charge,” Aiden commands me like he commanded the dog.
I lock eyes with him, shut my mouth and yank on Stuart’s leash instead. Stu gets up and trots toward me. I nearly sprint to my own driveway.
“See you in the morning, then,” he calls out, taunting. I think he wants me to flip him off again. I don’t know why. But if that’s what the man wants, then, obviously, I’m not going to give it to him. You cannot cave to the bully.
In fact, I won’t even go into the shop in the morning. I’ll have Madison cover for me and second shift can clock in a couple hours early to relieve her. I’ll sleep in on a non-sleep-in-day, a treat, and start my afternoon shift a little early.
Done.
So I won’t see Aiden at all.
…why don’t I feel more relieved about that?
CHAPTER 13
