Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Calm down, Nora,” I say, jogging out into the hall to find Wren waiting by the exit with my things. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Lock yourself in the bathroom and I’ll be right there to help you out.”
“Oh, no, I can’t get there,” she says, her voice breaking. “It’s too far. I can’t get down off the counter. I’m going to die here. He’s going to finish eating any second and I’m done for. He’s really smart, Barrett, but I’m not sure he’s actually a dog. He might be something else. Something—”
I think she says “unholy,” but the call cuts off before I can be sure.
“Come on,” Wren says, hurrying toward the staff corner of the parking lot. “I’ll follow you. Whatever’s wrong with poor Keanu and Nora, we’ll get it sorted.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful for her backup.
Nora is a friend, and I’m pretty sure I can calm her down, but I don’t have a lot of experience with dogs.
Especially rat dogs, with a decided lack of manners.
This morning, Keanu seemed to think it was normal to circle the breakfast table like a land shark, growling and moaning and attempting to launch himself into a chair. From there, I assumed he would have made his way to the table and my breakfast, but I had the chairs pulled up too tight.
The suspicion is confirmed as I rush in my front door to find Nora on top of the kitchen counter, pointing a spatula at Keanu Reeves, who is currently eating burned scrambled eggs from a skillet on the stove.
Chapter Nine
WREN
I park behind Barrett and tumble out of my SUV, running for the front door just a few steps behind him. I’m so close, that when he comes to a sudden stop in the middle of his combination living room and kitchen—a gorgeous space I’ve adored since the Christmas party a few years ago—I slam into his back with an oof.
He reaches back, touching a gentle hand to my waist as he asks, “Are you okay?” but he doesn’t turn around.
“I’m fine,” I say, ignoring the way my skin catches fire from that simple caress and the bliss of being this close to Barrett again. Even after a long day at work, he smells like fresh sea breeze and spicy soap. I’d love nothing more than to stick my nose between his shoulder blades and sniff him for a while.
Instead, I scoot around his side to take in what has him so transfixed.
Instantly, my heart leaps into my throat. “No, Keanu! You’re going to burn yourself!” I start toward the dog, whose tiny feet are mere centimeters from the glowing electric burner as he laps at the no-doubt scalding hot pan with his tongue.
“No, don’t!” Nora says, pointing the spatula in her hand my way. “He doesn’t like it when you get between him and food. I tried to turn the burner off three times. This is what he did to my shirt.” She lifts her other arm, revealing the shredded sleeve of her gauzy pink shirt. “I think he’s rabid.”
“He’s not rabid. Just poorly behaved and in need of firm boundaries,” Barrett says, sounding logical for a man who has very little experience with dogs. He grips my elbow lightly as he moves around me. “Stay here, I’ll get him. Best if he bites me. I’m the one who made the decision to bring a new dog home when I had work the next day.”
“It’s not your fault, it’s mine,” Nora says, her eyes beginning to shine as Barrett slowly makes his way toward the grunting and slobbering Keanu. “I shouldn’t have cooked anything at your house. But Gram hates the smell of eggs. She says they remind her of when she was younger, before she was allergic to eggs and gluten and soy and life, when being human was fun and she never even thought about having to wear a diaper if she made a bad baked good choice at the coffee shop.” She sucks in a breath. “But I’m so glad you’re here. I thought I was going to die and leave Gram alone and she’d have to go to the assisted living place she hates because my brother is a selfish jerk who only cares about hockey. And he’s not even in the major leagues just the junior varsity team.”
“I think that’s the national league in hockey and a feeder team,” I say, crossing my fingers as Barrett inches closer to the dog. “Now, let’s be quiet and calm and send Keanu good vibes. Everything is okay, buddy. You’re safe, and Barrett is going to let you have the rest of those eggs if you’re a good boy and let your dad get you off the stove.”
“I am not this animal’s father,” Barrett rumbles softly. “I’m his cantankerous uncle and he’s my ward. As such, I expect him to behave himself or he’ll be sent to boarding school.”