Page 39 of Love Me

Carter:I do.

Sawyer: ???

Carter: He’s still breathing

Kins: Bye. Happy for you, Liam

I drop my phone on the coffee table, glad that’s over with, but slightly nervous about how to handle Dallas finding out the news. I still need to tell my parents, but now just isn’t the time with everything they’re focusing on with Dallas and Blaire.

Charlie is on the floor rolling around with the dog when the front door opens and closes, Hannah’s graceful footfall leading her closer and closer to us. I brace myself for what I know is going to be the loss of my life.

Hannah rounds the corner leaving the kitchen and comes into my line of sight, freezing and staring at the scene in front of her.

“Hi, beauty. Welcome home.”

“Bear . . . What is that and why is it in my house?”

“Hi, Mumma, that’s Garbage, my puppyyyyyy!”

I use my hand to cover my smile and choke down my laugh, coughing on my own saliva.

“But we don’t have a puppy.”

“Technically, it’s a dog. We don’t know if it’s a puppy or not. And his name is not Garbage,” I inform Hannah, loving watching her face morph from shock to confusion, and then settling on mama bear rage.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. We don’t have a puppy, or a dog, or a cat, or a hamster, or a pet wasp . . .” She gives Charlotte apointed look because, unfortunately, she caught a wasp under a cup last summer, named it Platypus, and tried to keep it.

“But, Mumma, it’s sooo cuuuute! It loves me and I love him! Bear said I could keep it.”

My eyebrows shoot to my forehead, and I look at the little traitor before me as Hannah turns her back to Charlie and stares me down in a way that could only be described as Carrie right before prom burns to the ground. I bristle as Charlie puts her hands together in a clasped prayer, pops out her lip, and blinks her eyes rapidly at me from behind Hannah. Damnit.

“That true?”

My eyes drift slowly back to Hannah’s. Her hip is popped out, arms akimbo, and she’s death-glaring me, daring me not to have her back on this. She’s so sexy when she’s riled up, but I don’t let myself go there.

“I may have said something along those lines.”

“Oh, really? Okay. Well. He can’t stay here, so hopefully you’re excited about your new little companion.”

Fuck.

The next day, I’m a zombie on my drive to work. My new little buddy cried and whined the entire night. He finally settled when I put him at my feet on the couch, burying himself into my body heat and crashing hard. Unfortunately, I had to wake up and get to work two hours later.

The crunching of my large truck tires over the snow-covered gravel startles him from where he sits in the passenger seat of my truck as I drive through the familiar barren roads on my way into the distillery. It’s one of those gray Washingtonmornings, the kind that makes you feel like the sun is hiding just beyond reach, trying to make up its indecisive fucking mind. The sky’s overcast, a dull blanket that stretches out for miles, promising rain, or maybe even very late-season snow. I wouldn’t complain about either. I pet the little guy around his face and neck to calm his nerves. For a dog who’s been surviving on his own out in these elements, he sure does get scared easily.

Once settled at the distillery, my buddy sitting to the side of my desk, I throw myself into work, preparing for a finance meeting with our CFO, Lorelei, checking on the production and maturation process of more than a few single barrel recipes we’ve got going, and making sure everything is running smoothly. Carter walks into my office for our meeting, and I don’t bother looking up from my laptop, not really feeling like talking marketing plans today.

“What the fuck is that thing? Is that a rat?”

“It’s a dog, Casanova,” I deadpan.

“Are we sure? How the fuck did you end up with a dog?”

“Charlotte. We found it yesterday next to a dumpster on Main and Hannah won’t let her keep it in the apartment.”

Carter bellows a laugh, but I ignore him, trying to keep my focus on new sourcing options for wood for the barrels. I pride myself on using locally sourced ingredients, everything from the corn, barley, and wheat, down to the white oak used to make our barrels. We toast or char them depending on what we’re putting in it, but we do it all here. We’re one of the few distilleries in America that do this in-house instead of sourcing made barrels from a cooperage.

“That little girl has you wound so tight around her fingers, bro. So now you’re the proud new papa of a dog that looks a whole helluva lot like a rat. What’s its name?”

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