Page 27 of Butterflies and Hazel Eyes
I could tell by the change in his demeanor that whatever had kept him busy for the day wasn’t a good thing. “Sure, I’m starving,” I said, following him down the hall to his apartment door.
When the sun had risen this morning, our fire was out, we were both passed out on the sand sound asleep, and the boat was still anchored to the beach. The churning of a motor woke us, and we both scrambled to our feet when a towboat chartered by Laverne honked from a safe distance away. We packed our boat, hooked it up to their towline, climbed aboard their craft, and motored home. When we arrived back at the dock, Gulliver’s phone started going off at the speed of sound. He pretended it was no big deal, but I could tell that it was. I made him head out while I talked to Laverne, showered, changed, and then walked into town with Mojo. I wasn’t worried since I knew Gulliver would give me a ride back tonight.
“Is there anywhere open this late?” I asked, trying to keep up with his hurried pace down the hallway.
“There are several bars open, but I want to talk in private. I thought I’d grill some steaks on the patio. I don’t want to leave the building empty tonight.”
“Sounds perfect,” I agreed. “The only thing to make it better would be to have a bottle of prosecco involved.” When we walked out the door to the back patio, he already had the grill going and the cooler waiting. “You’re prepared.” I laughed as I stared out over the lake. Whenever I was within sight of the water, my gaze was immediately drawn to it. There was some truth to the legend of the Lady of the Lake. The locals claimed she was a siren who never released your heart once she held it.
The sizzle of the meat as it landed on a hot rack hit my ears until he closed the lid of the grill. “I showered and hoped you’d want to share dinner with me, so I got it ready. The steaks won’t take long. I also have potato salad and beans, but they’re cold. I only eat cold beans. I think it’s a Wisconsin thing, so it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want them.”
I spun on my heel to where he stood by the grill. “I love cold beans. I never eat them any other way. Please don’t give any to Mojo, though,” I said, waving my hand in front of my nose.
My silliness spurred laughter from deep within him, and I sensed it was the first thing he’d had to laugh about today. He grabbed me and hugged me tightly, burying his lips in my neck when his laughter faded. “I needed some levity in the day. You always know how to do that. Thank you,” he whispered.
He released me so he could flip the steaks, and I lowered myself to a chair at the round, two-person patio table. The top was glass and pinged when he set a chilled bottle of wine on it. In seconds, there were two filled glasses, and I was guiding one to my lips before sighing with satisfaction. “And you always know what I need. Steak and wine might earn me a one-way ticket to falling asleep on your couch, though.”
“Which is why I have a couch. You’re more than welcome to it, but Mojo has to sleep on the floor,” he said, winking conspiratorially.
I swear the dog huffed at him from under the table. A smile tipped my lips while I grabbed the silverware and napkins from the basket on the table and spread them out so we could eat. He set the beans and potato salad down, then grabbed the steaks off the grill. The scent of nicely charred meat met my nostrils, and I moaned with happiness. “I know this is going to taste like heaven,” I sighed as the steam rose from the sirloin. When I sliced into the meat, the juices poured onto my plate, making my mouth water with anticipation, until a paw patted my leg.
I stared into Mojo’s eyes and sighed. “You already ate your dinner, big guy,” I said firmly, snapping and pointing for him to get down.
Mojo gave me a whine followed by a grunt, and I worried Gulliver was going to choke on his steak. I sliced a small piece off the edge of mine and held it in the palm of my hand. “Fine, I’ll share, but you can’t bug me the whole meal,” I scolded while he chomped down the steak.
Gulliver was laughing behind his hand. “Oh, he can, and he probably will.”
I rolled my eyes to the stars and shook my head. “Mojo’s a steak lover. Always has been. He doesn’t beg at the table, but when a steak is involved, everything is fair game for Mojo.”
“I don’t mind if you share to keep him happy. He’s been working hard. He kept us safe from the bears last night, so he deserves an extra treat.”
I chuckled and waved my fork at him sarcastically. “Sure, there were so many bears last night.”
Gulliver’s knife stopped sawing through the meat. “There were, while you were sleeping. Several curious black bears decided to visit. Mojo stood up, bared his teeth at them, and they took off like a shot.”
My fork clattered to the plate. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me? Good heavens, we could have died!”
He pointed at me with his knife while he chewed. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. You have a thing about bears.”
“No, I have a thing about being eaten by bears,” I corrected him.
I rubbed Mojo’s head and gave him another piece of steak, cooing at him for being a good boy.
“Tell me how you adopted Mojo,” he encouraged.
“Ah, the story of Mojo,” I teased. “It’s a short one. I hadn’t had Myrtle a week when I pulled over at a rest stop in California. I could hear something thwacking under the hood and decided I better check it out.”
“Thwacking,” he repeated, “doesn’t sound good.”
I leaned forward and punched his arm lightly. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m not a mechanic. I got out of the motor home and left the side door open. With my head under the hood, I didn’t see a wee pup jump inside. It turned out the handle on the battery had come loose and was thwacking around,” I said pointedly. “It was a simple fix, and when I climbed back into the motor home to clean up, a little Mojo sat in the middle of the floor, gazing up at me with his sad puppy eyes.”
“Oh, the poor guy.” He frowned at the idea of baby Mojo all alone. “How did you know he was a stray?”
I gave the dog another piece of steak while I chewed a bit of it myself. When I finished, I answered. “He was skinny and scraggly. There was no doubt he didn’t have owners. I know you won’t believe me, but when I first got him, he fit in the kitchen sink in the motor home.”
“No way!” he said, his voice filled with laughter. I was thrilled that talking about Mojo was taking his mind off whatever had happened today, but still planned to grill him about it later.
“It’s true,” I promised, holding up three fingers like the Girl Scout pledge. “I bathed him right there in the sink and fed him milk and toast since I had no dog food. He fell asleep all wrapped up in an old blanket on the passenger seat. He hasn’t left my side since. I took him to the vet, and he told me Mojo was probably abandoned with the rest of his litter but somehow escaped. He wasn’t even old enough to be away from his mom. Apparently, with the right food and a little love, my Mojo forgot to stop growing.”
