“Seriously? You’re okay with this?” He looked her up and down. Like she wasn’t real.
“I’d never deprive you of your ‘soul’ connection.” She peered into the window. She had still yet to see more than the dog’s behind. “So what’s going on with…?”
“Waffle,” he offered.
“Nice to meet you, Waffle.”
“Technically, it’s Sir Waffle,” Elliot corrected.
She bowed her head. “My apologies, sir.”
“He won’t get out of the car. I’ve tried everything. Treats. Toys. I told him the couch was made of dog bones. I even tried reverse psychology and told him he’d never make it to the dog bone couch even if he wanted to.”
“And none of that worked? How surprising.”
His hand grabbed the back of his neck. “We’ve been doing this for fifteen minutes. I’m getting desperate. I need you to do one of your ‘things.’ ”
“My ‘things’?” She was confused.
“You know…” He inhaled through his nose, as though hoping she wasn’t going to make him say it out loud. “The thing where you cold-read people until they bend to your will and somehow leave the interaction believing it was all their idea.” She blinked at him. “For good, of course.”
Her eyes went skyward. She knew she had a version of whatever he was observing somewhere deep in her arsenal. It was how she got by. But it sounded so much more manipulative than it felt.
She might’ve been softening to Elliot, but when it came to Lainey, he clearly still had his reservations. In an instant, the bright burning ember that had been glowing in her chest for days—maybe longer—fizzled and burned out.
She dug deep for a smile. “Of course,” she responded eventually. “Thatthing.”
“Do it to Waffle.”
She grimaced. “Do you meanSir Waffle?”
“I don’t think he’ll ignore us if we leave off his honorific.”
“Fine.” She put up her hands. “May I?” She tilted her chin in the direction of the back seat. He gestured for the step, as if to say,Be my guest. She inched herself up into the cab, yielding as much space as possible to Waffle. She gently lifted her hand to his nose, and he softly sniffed the air in front of her palm. His exhalations tickled her fingers, but neither closed the gap. Elliot stared down the brown dog’s rigid frame.
“Do they know where he came from?” she asked.
Elliot shook his head. “They didn’t know much. But he wasn’t like this at the shelter. He seemed comfortable there. I don’t know what happened.”
“I might have an idea,” she told him. He watched her climb out of the truck, his shoulders still like he wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or relieved.
She walked away from the truck and went into the house. Two minutes later, she walked back to Elliot and Waffle with an armful of pillows and blankets.
He arched his brow. “I thought you had a plan to get him inside.”
“I told you I had an idea. I said nothing about bringing him inside.” She arced a pillow over Waffle, directly into Elliot’s stomach.
“So this is your big plan? That we stay out here all night?” His voice was skeptical.
“That’s the long and short of it.” She held up a sunset-orange quilt, offering it to him. He nodded in acceptance. “He’s a dog, Elliot. A rescue dog who’s probably had all sorts of trauma, but he managed to get comfortable with the shelter volunteers, so we know he has the capacity to trust us. We just have to earn it.”
Waffle turned to look at her for the first time. Chocolate-brown eyes stared back at her cautiously. Elliot looked at her, too, but with a wide-eyed, unreadable expression.
“This won’t be my first time sleeping in a car, if you want me to take it from here.” Shame paraded up her neck. She’d revealed something too personal. Perhaps he wouldn’t think very hard about it. “You can go inside.”
He frowned. “I’m not leaving you out here by yourself.”
“I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have Waffle.”
