Page 30 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

"You're wearing beige," he says flatly. "You hate beige."

Despite myself, I snort. "Khaki. And how would you know what colors I hate?"

"Because I pay attention, Jessica." He steps closer. "I notice things. Like how you've pulled your hair back so I can't see most of the pink. How you're avoiding eye contact. How you're tryingso hard to be 'professional' that you've erased everything that makes you... you."

I straighten up, finally meeting his gaze. "I thought you'd appreciate the professionalism." I zip my bag closed with more force than necessary. "Is that all for today?"

"No." His voice firms with resolve. "We need to talk about what happened."

"Do we?" I ask. "I’m not sure what there is to talk about."

“We had an amazing night together and then you just disappear. Ghosted me. What gives?”

“I’m not sure…” I take a deep breath. “I worry about the level of control you have in your life. It’s all spreadsheets, organization, everything in its place. I’m not sure I can fit in any of your boxes.”

“Life is better organized. Chaos can cause things to become out of control. I don’t like messy.”

"I get that," I say softly. "But relationships can't be controlled like that, Sean. They're messy and unpredictable and emotional. You can’t color code our lives."

"That scares me," he admits, so quietly I almost miss it.

The simple, honest confession melts something in me. "It scares me too."

We sit in silence for a moment, the admission hanging between us.

"So, where does that leave us?" I finally ask.

Sean considers this. "I don't know exactly. But I know I don't want it to end."

I smile, at least we agree on that. "I don’t want it to end, either. But the underlying issue is real, Sean. Your need for control, for structure works for Lucky's training, it works really well in the bedroom, but in a relationship? I need to know you can handle the parts that can't be scheduled and micromanaged."

"I can try," he says, and the simple honesty of it touches me. "That's all I can promise. That I'll try."

I study him and see the sincerity in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way he's leaning toward me almost unconsciously, as if drawn by an invisible force.

"I guess that's all anyone can promise," I say finally.

Something shifts in his expression. Is it relief? Hope? Determination? "Does this mean you're willing to give us a chance?"

"I think so," I say cautiously. "But we need to go slower. Figure out what this is between us without the pressure of expectations."

He nods, accepting this. "Whatever you need."

“I guess this is why open, honest communication is so important,” I tell him.

“And listening and not acting impulsive,” he counters. I notice the direct, stern look he hits me with. I squirm slightly on the arm of the couch.

“I should go," I say eventually, reaching for my bag. "I have another client at four."

"Of course." Sean stands, walking me to the door. "Saturday? At the café?”

"Okay," I agree. "Saturday. Coffee."

At the door, he stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. "Jessica."

I look up, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

"I've missed you," he says simply. "Very much."

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