“Dinner smells incredible.” She stood, brushing dog hair from her dress. “I can't believe you cooked.”
“Don't sound so shocked.” I led her toward the kitchen. “I'm capable of basic survival skills.”
“Basic survival is opening a can of soup. This is...” She paused in the doorway, taking in the set table, the chicken resting on the stovetop. “Cal, this is really nice.”
“Thanks,” I gestured toward the bottle I'd opened earlier. “Wine?”
“Please.”
I poured two glasses, watching as she accepted hers and took a small sip.
“This is good.” She nodded toward the wine. “What is it?”
“Something Sharon recommended.” I lifted my own glass. “She said it pairs well with chicken.”
“Sharon gives wine advice now?”
“Apparently she has hidden talents.” I set my glass on the counter. “Come on, I'll show you her other secret talent.”
I led Rosie down the short hallway. Pudding darted ahead of us, launched himself onto the bed like he owned the place.
“Pudding, off.”
He ignored me completely, circling twice before collapsing on my pillow with a satisfied grunt.
Rosie burst out laughing—the first genuine sound she'd made since arriving. “Look at his face. He's so proud of himself.”
“He's not allowed on the bed.”
“Says who?” She sat on the edge of the mattress. “This is clearlyhisbed now.”
Pudding cracked one eye open, tail thumping against the quilt like he understood every word.
“You're encouraging him.”
“Maybe.” She reached over to scratch his ears. “But he's so relaxed.”
She had a point. The puppy's breathing had already deepened, eyelids drooping.
“Spoiled rotten is what he is.”
But I didn't make him move.
Rosie ran her hand over the patchwork quilt. “This is gorgeous. Wait, is this Sharon's other secret talent?”
“It is. She showed up with it the day I moved in.” I settled beside Rosie, close enough that our knees almost touched. “Said the place needed ‘something colorful.’”
“She was right. It's perfect.”
Pudding immediately crawled over, wedging himself between us like a furry chaperone. Rosie scratched under his chin, and he melted into a puddle of contentment.
“Can't believe how much he's grown.”
“Right? He used to be skin and bones.” I studied Rosie's profile, the way she kept her attention focused on Pudding instead of me. “You sure you're okay?”
Her hand stilled on the puppy's fur. “Why do you keep asking that?”
“Because it feels like you're avoiding me.”
