Page 44 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

Evie’s shoulders soften, and she sits in the chair I’ve vacated. The wide neck of her shirt falls down her arm, revealing her smooth shoulder. There’s a tattoo right at the tip. Some kind of flower, I think. I hope to get a closer look soon. Very soon.

Rosie puts her paws on Evie’s chest and licks her cheek. For half a second Evie looks horrified, but then she smiles and runs a tentative hand down Rosie’s back. “You’re not so bad when you’re not barking.”

I scour her fridge and cabinets, but there’s nothing good. There’s barely anything at all. “When was the last time you went grocery shopping? Where’s all your food?”

She shrugs and scratches Rosie’s ears. “I don’t really cook.”

“How do you eat if you don’t cook?”

She shrugs again. “In New York, I just ordered take out. In college, I convinced my roommates—including Georgia—to feed me by agreeing to clean the bathroom once a week.”

A sudden awareness whacks me upside the head. I shut the fridge door and face Evie. “Then how did you make a pie?” My eyes narrow as I wait for her answer.

Her cheeks turn a guilty red, and I’m sure she’s about to confess when her eyes drop to my pajama pants. Instead of a confession, her mouth creeps into a smile. “Are you wearing doggy PJs?”

I follow her gaze. “No... they’re Rosie pjs.” Because, somehow, having Rosie’s face on them keeps them from being “doggy” PJs. But tell that to my face, which is hotter than a sinner in Hell.

“That’s Rosie’s face on them?” Evie carries Rosie to the kitchen and leans down for a closer look at my pajamas. “It is her!” She stands and we’re only Rosie-distance apart. “You’re a grown man who has his dog’s face on his pajamas.” Her face beams with delight, which makes her observation feel less like making fun of me and more like a happy surprise.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to steer the conversation away from my pants. “Don’t try to change the subject. Where did you get the pie?” I scratch Rosie’s ears, and my fingers brush Evie’s bare shoulder.

“Confession.” Her smile grows, and she pulls Rosie closer. “I got it in the freezer section of your store. I think it was a Marie Callendar’s.”

I tip my head to her ingenuity. “You almost had me fooled. But I still don’t believe you’d rather clean a bathroom than cook. No one is that crazy.”

She shrugs. “I guess I am. I’d rather clean anything than cook. It’s easier. There’s no recipe to follow.”

I am mystified by this woman who I thought was completely normal. “What have you been eating while you’ve been here?”

“Ebelskiver.” She scrunches her nose in this adorable way that shouldn’t remind me of Rosie when she knows she’s being cute, but it does.

“You’re a crazy person. I’ll be right back.” I shake my arms and legs to get my blood moving before darting into the always-cold stairwell and foyer and back to my place.

Rosie barks one time, then goes quiet. I assume Evie used the bacon. It’s gotta be a good sign that we’ve got some potential if she and Rosie are getting along.

I grab milk, cocoa, cream, and vanilla from my fridge and cabinets. I briefly consider grabbing a shirt too, but the hunger in Evie’s eyes when she looked at my chest is burned into my brain. So, no shirt it is. Possibly forever if things go well tonight.

When I get back to her place, Rosie is asleep on Evie’s lap. I set all the ingredients on the kitchen counter. “Please tell me you have a pot. I didn’t have enough hands to bring one over.”

She waves her hand toward the kitchen. “Probably somewhere in there. I’m not sure.”

I dig through the cabinets. Zach rents this place out during the summer and keeps it fully stocked with whatever guests may need. Except for food, obviously. Although, I find some sugar, which is a lucky break since in my rush I forgot to grab that.

I mix all the ingredients together and let them heat. “You were planning on hot chocolate too, right?” I realize she may have wanted tea. I didn’t ask.

“Always.” She pets Rosie and doesn’t say anything else.

I don’t either. I stir the hot chocolate in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, just quiet. I try to think of something to say, but I’ve never been good at small talk. Suddenly I wish I’d put on a shirt. I feel naked enough being here with her. I don’t need to be literally half-naked.

Twice I catch her watching me. Her eyes trace my movements with a careful precision that makes me feel appreciated—at least for my form—but also vulnerable. I feel her assessing more than my body. She’s measuring who I am. I want to ask what answer she comes up with. Dakota was such a big part of my life for so long that I’ve had a hard time figuring out who I am without her.

I dip my pinkie into the hot chocolate to test the heat, then put it in my mouth. I glance at Evie. She’s staring at me, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Pupils wider. So, apparently, hot cocoa testing is sexy. Noted and forever embedded in my brain for future reference.

I pour the chocolate in the mugs and top them both with whipped cream, then carry them to the table. I set Evie’s in front of her. Rosie stirs when I take the seat across from her but stays on Evie’s lap.

“She likes you.” I tip my mug toward her, then take a sip.

“She might be the first dog I’ve ever liked.” Evie runs her blue-tipped fingernails down Rosie’s back. “Which is kind of a miracle, considering how much I hated her twenty minutes ago.”

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