His breakfast is gone and water a bit low, so I refill both while he snuggles deeper into my neck. That cold little nose makes me giggle, and I give him a few extra scratches on his back for the innocent love he gives without asking for anything in return.

Because that’s what dogs do. They give and are loyal and bring happiness even in moments when you doubt yourself. When you need it the most.

“Thank you, buddy.” Another kiss to his head, and then I say the two words that make him a giddy stinker. “Walk time.”

8

Gabriella

T

here’s someone sitting on the porch steps, leaning against the railing and looking at her phone when we get back from our walk. She hasn’t seen us yet, and I’m half tempted to turn around and come back later, but Mr. Pickles takes that decision away from me when he growls. The sound is a low rumbling that catches Elise’s attention, and her eyes snap to mine.

She looks at me with a sad expression as she stands, dusting off the back of her ripped-at-the-knee jeans. “Can we talk, please? Things got really out of hand and—”

“We can.”

A breath of relief leaves her. “Thank you. I know you’re—”

I halt her rambling by holding my unoccupied hand up. “Coffee first, and then we’ll talk.”

“Deal.” Not that I’m giving her a choice. I pick up my grumpy pupper and walk past her, opening my front door. Elise hasn’t made an attempt to follow me, and I look back over my shoulder and offer a small smile. “You can come in, chick. No one’s going to bite you.”

At my words, she snorts, yet I do catch the dubious look she gives my dog—a dog that, while not overly friendly with her, has never bared his little teeth or barked. At the most, he avoids, and when left without a choice, lets her pet him with an annoyed look I find adorable.

Mr. Pickles is a bit crotchety, but he’s my crotchety little guy.

We don’t talk while making our way into the kitchen, nor after I let Mr. Pickles go to find something to do. Instead, she watches as I store everything we took away, the last being my cell phone, which I place atop the counter. The silence in the room is heavy, but she came to me and I wasn’t in the mood to make it easy on her.

So I play the ignore game until she’s ready. I busy myself by washing my hands and then pulling down our preferred mugs from my cupboards. Hers is a princess thing in bubble-gum pink that I find atrocious, while mine is black and says The Blood Of My Enemies in bold red.

And while the coffee percolates, I stand with my back against the counter and watch her. Right now, it feels as though I’m seeing her for the first time. I see a side that I do not like, and the grimace on her face tells me she’s aware.

“Why?” I’m the first to break the silence, tired of this roundabout silence that gets us nowhere. My eyes are on hers, daring her to lie. To please help me understand this feeling of betrayal that consumes me.

“Honest truth?” My response is the arch of my brow, which pulls a deep sigh from her. Almost as if she’s being forced to admit her fault, but the thing is, I’m not doing anything here. Elise came to me. “Fine. I was jealous of the attention you were getting, okay?”

I can’t help but snort. “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Try again.”

“Gabby, I’m serious.” Her face pinches at this, almost as if she’s smelling something foul. “I’m not trying to be mean, but look at you, and look at me.”

“Not everyone likes blondes, Elise. Ever think of that?” There are other things I can point out: her attitude, unprofessionalism, and the way she practically threw herself at Theodore. He doesn’t like women like that. Like her. My subconscious sneers the words, but I keep my expression neutral, no matter how much all this bothers me—how much my body nearly recoils at the idea of them together. “And even if that’s the excuse you’re choosing to go with, how you treated me—embarrassed me—is unacceptable and quite frankly, a bit sad of you.”

At my words, her eyes narrow. “Not in this case. I’ve done my research and—”

“Are you stalking him?”

“No.” She answers much too quickly, her body shifting a bit from her place across from me. Elise is on a counter stool, hands palms down on the butcher block top. “That’s stupid of you to even think that. I’m just better than...”

“Me?” I end her trailed-off sentence, my own hackles rising. “Is that what you really think? That you’re better than me?”

“Don’t take it personally, Gabby.”

“Too late.” Pushing off the counter, I head to the fridge and pull out my creamer and walk back. The pot is done and I pour each of us a cup, preparing mine how I take it, while hers remains black. “You know where everything is.”

“Don’t be like that. Let’s put this morning behind us and head out.” I’m not going to bother myself with answering her and stir my coffee, adding a bit more sugar at the end because I need something sweet to combat the bitterness her words are brewing within. “Come on. Girlfriends don’t argue over guys. We respect the rules and since I saw him first, you need to back off. Do so, and everything will go back to normal.”

Bringing the cup to my lips, I take two sips. “That sounds like a threat.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“And yet you warn me to back off?” Once again, heavy silence fills the room and I’m more than uncomfortable with her here. God knows I’m trying to work through this—trying to understand her—but my patience is at an end. Her words have more than hit a nerve, but then a thought hits me and I start to see another angle. What angle are you playing at? “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“When was the first time you saw Theodore Astor? Did he show interest in you?” Those last words taste bitter. I’m going to be sick if he’s touched her. It’s a thought I shouldn’t have but can’t deny being true.

Something happened between us at the cafe. The chemistry still lingers on my skin where he innocently touched me before leaving.

“In person?”

“In general.” At my question, Elise looks away and then chooses that moment to prep her own drink. She adds some sugar and milk, then takes a few sips to test it out. But what’s obvious is her sudden avoidance and the twitch in her hands. “Answer me.”

“How is that any of your business?”

“Answer me.”

“Today was the first time physically, yet I’ve followed him for years. His face is kept out of the media for the most part and it’s hard to track him down, but I did. “That sounds stalker-ish. Elise flips her hair over her shoulder, twirling the end of one curl. “As you can imagine, he’s a busy man, and your work was the opening I needed so I jumped at the chance. And he’s just as handsome as the few photos I’ve downloaded.”

“You’re here telling me to back off someone you just saw with your own eyes for the first time today? Where you embarrassed me, yourself, and him?”

“That wasn’t my fault! You ruined everything wearing that trashy dress—”

“Speaking of the dress...”

“What of it?”

“Did you come into my home and leave it here as a gift, or not?”

Something crosses her face, a fearful expression, but it’s gone before I can fully decipher. What are you hiding? “So what if I did?”

“Then why have a problem with me wearing it?” Nothing. Not a peep. “A birthday gift worn on my birthday. What a crazy notion.”