Page 6 of Bidding on a Second Chance
She didnothave that under control.
When Graham reached the living room, the puppy was nowhere to be seen.
The soft scrape of fur against leather sounded to his right. He slid the couch from the wall and grabbed Teddy before the canine could sink his puppy teeth into a lamp cord. “Got any toys around here?”
Piper stepped toward the opposite end of the couch, where a wicker basket, already bearing telltale chew marks, held a collection of balls and stuffed toys. Graham motioned her to let him get it. He set the dog in front of a treat-stuffed ball, but even that wouldn’t keep the gremlin busy long.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Piper said. “But I have friends. Lucy must’ve had something come up, but I’m sure she’ll be free soon.”
As a large animal vet, Lucy could be tied up with her duties on some remote ranch for hours. And even when she reached her own home on the outskirts of Redemption Ridge, she had her own animals to tend to.
Teddy lost interest in the toy and began chewing the coffee table. Graham redirected him. “When does Bryce come home?”
“Should be soon.”
Then Graham wouldn’t have to wait long for reinforcements. His stomach rumbled. If he’d gone home instead of to Piper’s rescue, the lasagna he’d planned would be in the oven. He eyed his charge. “What’s your plan for dinner?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” She mumbled about a baked potato, but Graham was already in the kitchen.
If he was stuck on puppy duty until backup arrived, he’d cook while he waited. That would keep him away from Piper while allowing him to supervise the dog. He scanned the selection in the pantry and the refrigerator.
“Graham?” Piper’s voice rose quick and worried.
When he stepped back into the living room, she pointed at Teddy, who’d returned to the leg of the coffee table. He scooped up the dog again. “Does this mean you’re going to let me help?”
“You are an excellent cook.”
He straightened, holding the wiggling dog by his side. “I didn’t think you liked my cooking that much.”
“Why not?”
“I could’ve been cooking for you for two years now.” The remark was childish and immature. He heard it as soon as it was out.
Instead of rolling her eyes at him like he deserved, Piper leveled a glare. “When you weren’t working.”
“It wasn’t the hours you had a problem with.”
He could still play their breakup in his mind like a movie. She’d followed him out of the restaurant after he’d tried to propose. When he’d suggested they could get past Bryce hating him, she’d started shaking her head like a leaf blowing in the wind. “Your job is dangerous, and I’m accident prone, and it’s too much risk.”
He’d been shocked, humiliated, and angry—too much to ask why his job, which he’d had for years before they’d started dating, was suddenly a problem. And why her being accident prone meant she thought they shouldn’t be together. Why she didn’t think she was safer with him than without.
No way he would’ve let her wander out in front of a pickup truck, that was for sure.
She shifted, jerked to a stop, and pressed a gentle hand to her side. Her movement must’ve aggravated some injury. “You’re right. It wasn’t your hours. But let the record show my concern also wasn’t your cooking.” She shook her head and looked away. “As if people get married for food.”
“They get married because they love each other and want a family.” What else could her excuses for the breakup amount to but a lack of love?
She flinched. “See if you can close the cabinets this time.”
As if he hadn’t apologized a million times for the mistake. He saw far worse than wounds that required three stitches on the job, but watching so much of Piper’s blood stream from the gash on her forehead had left a permanent imprint. He’d taken great pains to never leave anything out of place as he cooked again. If he’d gotten any closer to wrapping her up in protective air bubbles, he would’ve suffocated her. “You know I feel terrible about that.”
She frowned, the fight gone. “Right. Yes. I do. Sorry.”
“Me too.” He pushed his hand through his hair, trying to focus on the present. Rehashing the past would do nothing but stir up their worst. She didn’t love him. He’d accept it and move on.
Maybe.
Someday.
