Page 56 of When in December

Even if I was slightly grateful that I hadn’t had to. And he was fulfilling his previous promise about feeding me.

“I got fries too,” mumbled Aaron, dumping another takeout container in front of me.

He took one before shoving the rest toward me in offering. I hesitated before I took one with the perfect golden crunch.

Though with food came another issue as the dog, Oz, stared at me without blinking, sneaking a step forward every few seconds, as if trying to be sly about how he wanted to steal my pizza.

He looked at me. He came a step closer. Then another.

If Aaron noticed, he didn’t call the dog off.

At least he wasn’t growling this time. Neither the dog nor Aaron.

“Can I …” I reached out and petted the back of his neck. “Oh, you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Oz seemed to like that, bending his body into me closer, until he was nearly about to push me right over onto the floor.

“Such a good boy. Oh, you want more pets? Do you want me to pet your butt? Weird, but all right. What a good boy.”

The dog looked much more pleased with me than this morning, lightly panting with his mouth open.

It almost looked like he was smiling at me.

There was where all comparisons between him and his temporary owner ended. That didn’t take long. He was much better mannered.

I couldn’t help but notice the way Aaron paused occasionally to check in on us, shifting from one leg and back to the other like it pained him. He shook it out like a runner getting ready for a race, seamlessly attempting to cover up an old injury.

He shifted on his feet again as he reached for another piece of the shelf.

“You okay over there?” he asked, catching my line of sight.

I slid my hand away from Oz and took another bite of pizza. “Yeah, fine. Ready for the next step?”

“I just slide the shelf in, right?”

“Make sure that the shelves are level and even with the tiny markers I made on the wood,” I instructed.

He twisted around piece after piece to make sure they were the correct ones I was referring to.

“You’ve never worked with your hands much, huh?”

“Not in the way you mean,” he muttered, just loud enough.

Was that a joke? “Professional, remember?”

“Was that before or after I drove you to urgent care and we agreed you’re staying the night?” he asked. “I thought I’d already decided that we’d throw that word out the window.”

“Not your decision.”

He huffed.

“And I’m notstaying the night.”

At that, Aaron raised an eyebrow, looking back over me, lounging on the floor in his sweats that smelled like spring-fresh laundry detergent, eating yet another slice after I said I was done after number three.

I’d admit, it didn’t look great.

“Not like that,” I said, a bit more sheepish.

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