Page 67 of Tell Me Something True

A few feet from the house, he spied a shirtless Ian reading a book as he reclined against a huge brown and white dog.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Ian.”

The dog lifted his head.

His nephew did not.

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose to try and ward off his brewing headache, but forgot he was wearing sunglasses, and ended up knocking them off. He picked them up and slapped them back on, almost poking his eye out with the end of the earpiece.

He tried again—both with the glasses and his nephew. “Ian,” he said, louder this time as he carefully slid his sunglasses on his face.

The dog gave him a friendly bark and wagged his tail so hard, Ian jiggled. “Hi, Uncle Miles.”

“Whose dog is that?”

“The guy’s.”

His headache intensified, like a vise tightening on his temples. “What guy?”

“Aunt Vee’s friend.”

The eye he’d almost poked out began to twitch. He never should have listened to Urban. Never should have let Verity make her own decisions.

It was his job to protect her.

Even if that meant saving her from herself.

Especially if that meant saving her from the likes of Reed Walsh.

“Where is she?” he asked Ian.

“Who?”

The twitching intensified. “Aunt Vee.”

Ian glanced around as if just noticing Verity was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged.

“What about the other lady?” Miles asked. “The one with the moving truck?”

Another shrug.

And then Ian went back to his book.

Miles loved this kid more than life itself, but Jesus Christ his nephew was using up every last drop of Miles’s patience.

Miles climbed the porch steps, taking the stairs two at a time, then stalked over to the door and yanked it open. “Verity?” He waited twenty seconds. No response. “Verity!”

Nothing.

Then he heard a muffled thump to his left. He stepped into the living room. Heard it again. But it wasn’t coming from Kat’s apartment.

Shutting the door, he turned and bumped into Ian—who’d gotten to his feet and was standing in the middle of the porch—knocking him back a step into the dog.

Miles set his hand on his nephew’s shoulder, steadying him. “Sorry, bud.”

“That’s okay.” Tipping his head back, he looked up at Miles. “Can I take Titus inside and show him my room?”

“I take it this is Titus?” Miles asked as the dog bounced over to press against Miles’s leg. Ian nodded and Miles gave the dog a pat on his broad head. Why did this dog smell like maple syrup? “Did Aunt Verity say you could take him inside?”

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