Page 35 of Wild Dreams

I spent the rest of the weekend, plotting and brainstorming. I didn't even look at the dating app. I didn't have time. Not with this new deadline and Thanksgiving coming up this week.

During the week, I bought small portions of what I'd make for myself for Thanksgiving, planning to write through the weekend. The library wasn't open, so I had plenty of time to write. There was a reason I'd offered to do this now. I had the time, and it would distract me from the holiday.

My parents knew Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday, but it didn't change their minds every year to spend it somewhere else.

At this point, I didn't think they could call Telluride their home base. They still maintained a home here, but I was there more often than they were. I didn't have particularly good memories there, but it was still my childhood home.

I managed to avoid seeing Chance all week. I was positive he was busy with his family and work. Other than walking and playing with Oakley, I focused on the script. By Wednesday, I was positive I was on the right track with the story line.

The little girl wouldn't be lonely like I was. She'd have a little brother she adored and a puppy. But she always dreamed about the magic of Christmas and whether it was real. She needed a sign that it was. One that she could only get from Santa himself. So she planned to lay a trap for him.

I had fun coming up with the various options that would be easy to act out on stage. I was so buried in my work; I wasn't answering my phone or paying much attention to Oakley.

He'd been quiet for so long; I began to wonder if he was eating something he wasn't supposed to. He loved chewing the spines of books. I learned early on to keep them out of reach.

I went in search of Oakley, finding him with his nose in a yellow chocolate-chip bag.

I immediately grabbed the bag and put it on the counter, my hands shaking.

He'd managed to nuzzle open a cabinet and pull it out. How many chips had he eaten? I wasn't sure how full the bag was before he got into it. I knew chocolate was bad for dogs, but I wasn't sure what I should do.

Panicked and feeling like the worst dog mom ever, I dialed Chance since he was with me when I adopted Oakley.

"Marigold." Chance's voice might have been pleased, but I couldn't see past my escalating fear.

"Oakley got into some chocolate, and I don't know what I should do." My voice was high pitched, nothing like my regular demeanor. I couldn't think straight.

Chance's voice was calm in my ear. "Do you have hydrogen peroxide?"

"If I do, it would be old." I chewed my lip as I ran for the cabinet under the sink.

"That won't do. You'll need fresh. I'll grab some from the store and bring it over." I heard the jingle of keys and the sound of his footsteps. "Do me a favor and call the vet."

"I don't even have a vet set up for him yet."

"I'll text you the number of a good one. Tell her I sent you. Everyone raves about her. Oakley will be in good hands."

I wrung my hands. "Thank you, Chance. I don't know what I would have done?—"

"We're not out of the woods yet. Take Oakley outside and keep an eye on him. He might puke or have diarrhea. Call the vet."

"I will," I promised before he clicked off.

I let Oakley out. He seemed okay for now. Maybe a little lethargic, but I was looking hard for any sign that he wasn't well. I waited for the contact information for the vet to come through, then dialed. I explained to the person who answered the phone what had happened. Unfortunately, I didn't have a good answer for how much chocolate he'd eaten.

They said to try and make him puke, watch for any signs of toxicity, and if he didn't expel the chocolate, to bring him in.

I watched Oakley as he paced the back yard. Was this normal behavior? Was he a little slower than usual? Was he feeling ill?

When I heard the pounding on the door, I raced for the door, wrenching it open without checking to ensure it was Chance.

"He's in the backyard?"

"Uh-huh," I said as Chance rushed toward the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"You have plain yogurt?"

I reached under his outstretched arm to snag the container. "Here."

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