Page 17 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

Evie’s shoulders relax, and she shakes her hair behind her shoulders. “I’m good.”

“No, really, this is on me. She’ll be better once she’s used to having a neighbor.”

Evie hesitates a moment, but then smiles in surrender and hands me the rag she’s holding. “Thanks.”

I walk to the front room while she goes to the kitchen. A minute later she comes back with upholstery cleaner and another rag.

“Are pets allowed here?” she says as we start on opposite sides of the couch.

“They are if you’re related to the owner.” I mean to be funny. But I’ve lost the ability to temper my voice because the words to come out gruff and irritated. But talking about Zach does that to me, even when I don’t use his name.

“Good to know nepotism is alive and well in Paradise,” she says with a laugh.

So maybe I haven’t offended her, but her laugh sounded forced. She has dark circles under her eyes, and I remember she flew in today and drove all the way here. She has to be exhausted, and I feel even worse about Rosie.

Evie sprays her (Zach’s) paw-print covered, neutral-colored sofa with the cleaner, then points toward the floor that separates our living quarters and doesn’t completely block out Rosie’s barking. “So, is she going to do that all night?”

I shake my head. “No… Probably not.”I don’t know. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”Somehow. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

Rosie’s never gone this crazy. She was Dakota’s dog, not mine. Maybe she misses having a woman around as much as I do.

But I’ll go crazy too if she keeps barking like that. “If you want to try giving her a treat tomorrow and petting her, she’ll know she can trust you and won’t bark as much.” Dogs are easily fooled.

“Um, no. I mean, I can’t… I’ve had some bad experiences with dogs. I hope her barking isn’t going to be a thing.” Evie scrubs hard at Rosie’s paw prints.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I mumble as I join her scrubbing.

A very awkward silence falls between us, and I can’t wait to get out of there. I do as much as I can to help, but it’s painfully obvious that neither of us wants me there.

Finally, the paw prints are mostly gone, and Evie steps back to examine our work. “Thanks for your help.” Her voice is flat and tired.

“I really am sorry.” I don’t know how I could have made a worse impression. Any thought I had of taking Evie out is gone. I’m an idiot, and she doesn’t like dogs.

When I get to my place, Rosie’s barking slows but doesn’t stop. She follows me to the kitchen, telling me all about how women who don’t like dogs aren’t worth the time. They don’t value loyalty.

I give her a treat, which finally shuts her up, and pat her head. “You’re right, girl.”

Evie may be the only woman in Paradise who’s turned my head since Dakota left, but she’s not the girl for me.

Chapter 9

Evie

I wake before the sun is up. Partly because I’m still in New York time, but mostly because the dog is barking again. I consider calling Zach to see if there’s a landlord-y thing he can do. But he’s Adam’s brother—who isn’t related in this town?—and that would be weird.

So I decide to go for a run instead.

I couldn’t really see Grandma Rose’s in the dusk yesterday, thanks to Adam. According to my GPS, the house is three miles away. A run there will get my creative juices flowing in a way looking at the pictures over the past few weeks hasn’t. Hopefully, by the time I get a good look at it and run back here, I’ll have some ideas about how to make it what Georgia wants: modern without losing its historical charm, minimalist, and cozy. The Paradise ideal.

I check the temp before slipping on my long running tights and layering a long sleeve T and vest over my tank top. The temperature outside is forty degrees now, but according to my weather app, it will warm up to sixty as the sun rises. Between my run and inspecting the house, I’ll be gone for an hour or two. Maybe by the time I get back the dog will have barked itself out.

After lacing up my shoes, I open the door only to find Adam and Satan’s hound in the front yard. I shut the door and debate going back upstairs. Before I can, Adam opens the door. He walks past me carrying the dog—is it wearing asweater?—back into his condo and shuts the door.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is, a few seconds later he comes back out, and I notice he’s dressed for a run, too. Adam, not the sweater dog.

He stops in front of me, and the foyer suddenly feels very narrow. He’s close enough I can see the worry lines in his forehead, and I wonder what put them there. “You can come outside now,” he says. “Rosie can’t get out.”

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