Page 11 of Tides That Bind

“You’re just a ninety-pound pussy cat around waves, aren’t you?” I pat his head and Nate clips his harness back on.

“Alright, we’re out.”

“Sure you don’t want to join?” I place my hands on my hips and look out at the ocean. “Killer surf today.”

I can’t help but laugh when Nate shakes his head. After all, he taught me to surf back in high school, always down to cut ceramics class and go to the beach. But these days I’m lucky if I get him in the water more than a handful of times a year. He might be the one holding the leash now, but Nate has a tight, invisible one on himself.

It must be hard to really lean into the laid back culture of Orange County when your wife walks around with an East Coast stick up her ass, like Harper. But I’ve accepted Harper for who she is—viciously Type A and meticulously annoying. It’s her turn to get used tome.

But hell, sometimes I’m not even used to me.

“Stay.”

I step out from my one-room apartment onto the landing, pulling my hoodie over my head to shield myself a bit from the rain. It’s dark, but Nate's and Harper’s porch light is on. Maybe it’s a really shitty bulb or maybe I should be honest with myself about needing glasses because I swear I’m watching Harper pull the cord of the vacuum cleaner free and plug it into the wall with Tides next to her.

“Good boy.” She holds out her hand to Tides. “Stay.”

But the minute Harper turns on the vacuum, Tides runs into the backyard.

Harper curses, putting her hands on her legging-covered hips. “Great. Now we’ll have to smell yourwetshed hair,” she laments.

I whistle and he comes running to me for safe harbor, happy to be away from the vacuum even if that means being in the rain. “Were you about to vacuum adog?”

Harper pulls her long, blonde hair free from the clip that holds it on top her head. “Some of us don’t care for dog hair.”

Scratching Tides’s ears, I try to calm him down. As a policeK9, this dog gets all the special treatment including regular scrub downs. “You’re crazy. He’s better groomed than me.”

When I look up Harper scoffs. “Is that really so hard? When was the last time you cut your hair? Or shaved?”

I bring my hand up and rub what I might classify as the perfect balance of soft and scratchy stubble. “Haven’t had any complaints so far.” I wink and she immediately looks away.

“Where’s Nate?”

Harper doesn’t have to answer because Nate comes out of the backdoor, walking quickly around the house to the trash can. He holds a dying bouquet of pink tulips, like the ones the windowsill above the kitchen sink is never without.

It’s Monday, which only means one thing. Tomorrow is Tulip Tuesday.

Tides quickly escapes from my side and runs over to him sniffing what Nate carries. I hate to break it to the dog that it’s only flowers, like the ones that always sit on the window above the kitchen sink, and not a kilo of marijuana.

He tosses the bouquet into the trash. “Out with the old and in with the new.”

“Riley’s next, right?” Harper asks.

I stick my tongue out because if she can be immature, so can I.

Nate motions at his cruiser. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Harper’s stare bores into me as I make my way onto the driveway and into Nate’s police-branded SUV. There’s enough in here to distract me—the radio, the expansive dashboard and computer. But still, I watch the two of them on the porch.

I don’t have to hear Harper to know she’s telling Nate she’s annoyed. She makes it too easy with the way she folds her arms across her chest, tipping her head at the car I sit in every few words with a cold stare and scowl.

But I win. Nate comes with me.

“How pissed is she?” I ask when Nate climbs into the driver’s seat. When he turns on the engine, the dashboard glows,resembling something you might find in an arcade. I’m eager to reach out and touch something and terrified at the same time.

Nate clips his seatbelt. “What was that?”

“Yourboss. She pissed you’re taking a night off?”

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