Page 43 of Finding Noah
A lot of lemons.
I’d never been able to make lemonade. I’d honestly thought Leroy was the one for me. And how fucking wrong I’d been on that score.
After the dogs had drunk their fill, I chose some balls to throw.
Only Stormy understood the concept of retrieving the ball.
Sable and River would catch the ball, then plop onto their bellies and begin gnawing on them.
Super adorable.
“I’m off.” Christian yelled the words from the back porch. Then was gone back into the house before I could respond.
My phone sat heavy in my pocket until after lunch.Call him? Text him? Pretend nothing happened…?Yeah, that option wasn’t likely.
Still, I was in high spirits when Hadrian showed up with Dag for their private tutoring session.
Dagobert, whose name had mercifully been shortened, was a bit of a scamp. The German-shepherd cross was smart, cagey, and had developed an attitude.
My job was to help Hadrian manage the dog now, before the situation got worse.
I left my three in the house—and would likely do that for the next couple of sessions. Eventually, though, I wanted to introduce Dag to other dogs so his manners might improve. Although fixed, he still insisted on trying to mount everything—including my leg. I wasn’t, to say the least, impressed.
Still, at the end of the hour, I felt progress had been made.
Well,hopedwe’d made some headway. Whether Dag was still moving forward next week would be up to Hadrian and how much work he was willing to put into the training.
The rest of the day was uneventful as I pored over my inbox and found a couple of clients had emailed me. I also had a couple of calls—one, a referral from, of all people, Soren.I owe him a call. As well, several people were replying to the flyer I’d left at the pet store. Two couldn’t make their way to Foggy Basin, so I planned to spend a half day on the road seeing them in their homes. That meant leaving Sable and River at home in their crates. Not the most-fun prospect, but they needed to learn to self-soothe. Plus, their crates were right next to each other. They’d have company and, just as likely, would sleep all day.
Knowing Christian was working late at the grocery store, I decided to leave the leftover lasagna for another day, and I whipped up his favorite stir fry—ginger beef with extra sprouts—and had it waiting for him.
He showered quickly and joined me at the table. His normally burnished-copper hair was a shade darker, since it was still damp. He dug into his food with enthusiasm, so I let him be while I enjoyed my meal as well.
Not shabby. You’ll need to do more now he’s working all those hours.
Because we were roommates and best friends. People in that kind of a relationship did nice things for each other. I was certain of it.
As he neared the end of his meal, I ventured to speak. “So…”
“Yep.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That was delicious.”
“What would you like tomorrow night? I mean, we could make a schedule, or I can just wing it.”
“I can cook too, you know.”
“You’re busy at work. You’re tired when you come home.”
“And yet millions of people cook when they get home—and that’s just in our country.”
I pursed my lips. “You’re still contributing more than I am. I need to find more clients.”
“Any leads?” He stacked our dishes.
I stilled his hands. “Yes, but that’s not what I wanted to say.”
“Well, congrats on finding more people to help.” He cocked his head, not pulling away from my grasp.
“Thanks. We can talk about that later.”
