Page 98 of At His Beck & Call

Henry is squirming in my arms now, wanting to look around, and I put him on the floor as he turns and looks up at Oliver.

“Hey there, Henry,” Oliver says, smiling down at him. “I’m sorry we woke you up.”

“Is this your house?” he asks curiously.

“It is. I’m wondering whether you might like to meet my dog.”

If I could have bottled the look on Henry’s face, I would. It’s the most excited I’ve seen him in a long time.

“The gray one?” he squeaks.

“Yes. The dog walker took him out for a long walk today, so hopefully he’ll be on his best behavior. He’s bad about jumping up sometimes,” he says, glancing at me, “but I’ll keep him away from you both if he’s being a nuisance.”

There’s a deep fondness in his voice as he talks about his dog, and I hide a smile as he leads us toward a long staircase. He stops at the bottom, looking down at Henry and putting his hands on his hips.

“Henry, there are eighteen steps up to the next floor. Will you be okay, or would you like me to carry you?”

I expect Henry to cling to me shyly like he often does, but to my shock, he nods his head and marches up ahead of us. Oliver watches him with a little smile, and I shrug as he meets my eye.

“He’s very determined,” I say gently.

“Yes, he reminds me of someone else I know.”

Oliver walks up behind him, but Henry’s speed slows down as he gets tired toward the top. I can hear the scurrying of excited claws, and a tiny gray dog suddenly appears on the floor above us.

Oliver instinctively steps in front of Henry as the dog begins leaping all over the place, and although he’s small, he’s nearly nose to nose with Henry.

“Alright, there, buddy. Calm down,” Oliver whispers in the dog’s ear as he picks him up, stroking him with his enormous hand. “Truman, this is Henry.”

The dog's little nose twitches madly as Oliver lowers him to greet Henry, who strokes him immediately and looks at me with sparkling eyes.

“He’s so cute!”

“He’s gorgeous. I love the color of his coat,” I say, tentatively stroking Truman as Oliver puts him down on the floor and he investigates Henry a bit more.

“This place is huge,” I say, looking around.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” he mutters, catching my eye.

“But so much light, I’m guessing, during the day, with all these windows,” I say as I look ahead of us to a beautiful, ivory kitchen with stainless appliances.

“Yes,” Oliver says, his eyes on me. “I suppose there is.”

Although it’s dark outside, the windows are huge, and there are skylights, and I can imagine light flooding in throughout the day.

We all walk into the kitchen, Henry following behind Truman as the dog gives a little yip of excitement, and Oliver gets his food out.

“Would you like to feed him, Henry? He’d be your best friend for life.”

“Heismy best friend,” Henry says, and Truman comes and sits beside him, his thin little tail wagging madly.

Oliver hands a little cup of food to Henry and shows him where Truman’s bowl is. Henry dumps out the food and strokes Truman’s back while he eats.

“How old is Truman?” I ask, watching them fondly.

“He’s five. He was a rescue.”

“Henry wanted a yellow puppy,” I murmur. “But I have a feeling he’s going to want a greyhound now.”