Page 21 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“Because Noel needs to go out. And I’m already late for the senior center.”

“Right. You’re going out. And—” I step into her place, following her inside, not even waiting for an invitation this time. “You do have a—” A ball of red fur leaps into the entryway, landing on her light feet like she may be the canine version of a ballerina. “Dog,” I stammer. “I can’t believe you lied to me. You said you didn’t have one.”

“And you just lied to your whole family about us dating. Do we really want to play this game right now?”

“For six months I tried to get you to confess. I was nice, I was polite?—”

“You left passive-aggressive threats.” She kneels, giving the fluff ball a rub on the belly. Ignoring me, she croons, her tone flipping a one-eighty. “Hello, sweet girl. I’m sorry Iwas gone so long.”

Brown eyes stare up at me and a pink tongue lolls out the side of the pup’s mouth.

“Can we sit a minute?” I ask, peering around her place. It’s clean and neat, not a chew toy in sight. Had she let me inside, I would have believed she didn’t have a dog living here. That is, until I saw the red blur. Even then, I kept doubting myself. Nothing was clear.

“If you’d like to talk, you can follow me to the senior center.”

“Uh—” My head spins, but I’ve got nothing else, and maybe if we’re to pull this off, I’ll need a little more info on Bonnie other than the fact that she has a mysterious tattoo and a dog she’s been lying about.

“I need to grab a few things.”

We step farther into a living room that’s twice the size of mine. I pause next to the yellow corduroy couch, not wanting to follow her as she slips through a door I know to be the one bedroom in this apartment. I stand and wait—I don’t sit. I don’t make myself comfortable. She’s assured me we are leaving. Besides, I’m not sure I’m welcome here yet.

Bonnie’s ball of strawberry fur and big brown eyes sits right at my feet. She looks up at me. The dog. The one causing all this fuss.

I can’t help it. She’s like a canine siren calling to me. I reach down and run my fingers over the puffs of her soft, curly fur—she’s a goldendoodle, if I had to guess. The pup leans into my touch and I scratch behind her ear. Her pink collar has the nameNoelsewn into its threads.

“Noel?” I say, having only heard Bonnie say it once or twice, and the dog—smaller than my Labrador growing up, but still a good-sized animal—lifts her paws onto my knees. Yep, that’sher name. “Hello, Noel.” I think she might be smiling at me. I smile back at her—it’s instinct—and her paws, furry and long, pad up to my thighs, attempting to get closer to me. I think she likes me. I’m certain she’s fonder of me than her owner is.

The hue of her hair reminds me of Bonnie’s and her affection reminds me of Gran. How odd.

I run a hand over her soft curls. Maybe I would have tried to convince Gran to make an exception had Bonnie told me the truth.

In the few minutes it takes Bonnie to return, I have found a seat on the floor and Noel is in my lap. She’s currently pressing her nose to mine while I rub the sweet spot on her hip. Bonnie stops short upon seeing us, jerking to a halt just outside her bedroom door.

“Uh… what’s going on out here?” she says, brows lowered and staring as if I were doing something illegal.

I swallow and push down my embarrassment. I don’t normally snuggle up to dogs this quick. “We were just getting to know one another.”

“I see that.”

Bonnie’s blue-green eyes rove over me, making me squirm under her scrutiny. Maybe I should stand up. But then, Noel is all cozied in my lap. I don’t want to disturb her.

“I thought you hated dogs,” Bonnie says, one brow raising with accusation.

I huff and stroke Noel’s back. “I told you I didn’t. I just don’t like people taking advantage of my grandmother.”

Bonnie’s nose wrinkles. “Ouch. Okay, fair enough. Well, I’m glad the two of you made introductions.” But she doesn’t look glad. “No-No, come.”

Noel lifts her head, her beard tickling my wrist as sherises. She slips from my lap and walks over to where Bonnie stands before sitting right at her feet.

“Doesn’t calling her No-No get confusing? What about when you’re actually trying to tell herno?”

Bonnie crouches, her red sweater pulling up at her waist, showing off the smallest strip of skin on her back as she straps a pink harness over the dog’s back and through her front two paws. “I never have to tell her no,” she says, lifting her eyes to me for only a second. “She’s that good.”

I watch her hands expertly move over each strap and buckle, and then?—

“Wait. She’s a service animal?” Those large yellow letters on the black strap over her pink harness are hard to miss. The word SERVICE is spelled out in all caps.

Bonnie scoops a finger of hair behind her right ear, and while I can’t see it from where I stand, I know there’s a small tattoo back there. One with a story.

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