Page 78 of Keep You Close

“He lives in a converted van,” I clarified. “He’s sweet. He’s smart.”

“He has no real grown-up responsibilities,” she said. “I’m a mom. I have to pick my partners carefully.”

“When’s the last time you picked a partner?” I asked.

“Ouch!” she said, mouth falling open in mock outrage. “Besides, it’s not like that with us.”

“No? Because Tuck has never offered to warm up my car. Or dropped off coffee when I’m working. Or slept in his van outside of the daycare on the nights I work overnight shifts.”

“You think… you think he has a thing for me?”

“No. I think that man is in love with you,” I said, both of us turning to watch him smile and laugh at Max’s mom, then press a kiss to the puppy’s head before walking toward Ella’s car to start it.

“Damnit, AJ,” she said, wincing. “Now it’s going to be weird between us.”

“Only if you make it weird. I just thought that maybe you needed someone to tell you. Because he’s too sweet to make a first move. And I think maybe you, like me, might not be great at trusting your instincts about good men.”

“That’s… fair,” she agreed. “He is kind of cute,” she decided, watching him as he grabbed the scraper out of her backseat, and started to scrape the thick frost off of her windows.

“He’s really good-looking. In an unassuming, Golden Retriever kind of way.”

“Did you ever see him without his shirt on?” she asked. “You wouldn’t think he’s as muscular as he is… Okay. I have to get going,” she said, suddenly in a rush to get home to her dishes and faulty radiator. And likely to overthink about Tucker as well.

I was kind of proud of myself for planting that seed of interest. Maybe it was just because I was happily with someone that I wanted everyone around me to feel the same way.

I watched as the two of them shared a little conversation out in the parking lot, Ella smiling and laughing a bit more than usual, and I wondered if Tucker picked up on the difference.

But then he was coming back in, gathering up the garbage, and taking it out with him before pulling out of the lot.

I had to leave the doors unlocked for another hour, knowing one of our regulars was running late. We had pretty strict hours, but, obviously, exceptions had to be made. We all had emergencies now and again.

“She’s coming, baby,” I said to the frantic German Shepherd, his finely-tuned internal clock telling him that something had gone terribly wrong.

Samson kept trying to engage him in play with one of his toys, but the poor boy wanted nothing but to pace in front of the doors, watching for any sign of his owner.

Just when I thought he might pant himself into overheating, her headlights came rushing in, parking right by the doors, then rushing inside, wrapping her arms around her dog.

“I’m so sorry, bud. The AAA guy took forever to bring me a new battery. It won’t happen again,” she told him as the dog licked frantically at her face. “Again, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“No worries! I’m here all night.”

“Ugh, rough,” she said, grimacing.

“You get used to it,” I said instead of my usual I don’t mind. Because for the first time, I kind of did. Because each night here at the daycare was one night I was away from Atlas. When I wasn’t in his arms, on his chest, feeling him trace things over my skin that felt suspiciously like letters.

I tried sometimes to imagine what he was writing.

But I couldn’t tell if the things I came up with were real, or my hopes and dreams.

Mine.

Love.

“Thanks again so much for this,” she said, grabbing her dog’s leash, then heading out of the door.

I waited until she was loading him into the car before locking the door and setting the alarm.

I tucked my phone into my back pocket, gave Samson a treat to settle down with, then went about my nightly tasks of cleaning out the indoor runs.

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