Page 58 of Kylo
After my little backstory? After crying all over him?
My heart fluttered even as my mind told me not to get my hopes up too high.
“I don’t think I’m up for something crazy like parasailing. But I might be interested in doing some of the more tame things.”
“Could I plan it, or would the surprise be too anxiety-inducing?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“So long as I can back out if it’s too much, I think a surprise might be something good to think about for a change.”
“Good. Then I’ll get on that.”
“Do you need a copy of the note?”
“I remember a good chunk of the highlights.”
“Really? Why?”
“It’s interesting. I don’t have a bucket list. I’ve done a little bit of everything. It’s kind of fun to help you scratch things off. Plus, good company.”
“And by that, you clearly mean Ernest,” I said, waving over toward my dog who’d flipped onto his back, his short legs straight up in the air, his head spread out on the floor, and his wrinkly face looking like it was melting backward.
“Who wouldn’t want to listen to a wood chipper inside their house?” he asked as Ernest snored away.
“Thanks for this,” I said, realizing I’d finished my plate. “I needed this.”
I needed it all.
Someone to find my dog and be there while I broke apart. A safe place to unwind. Food.
“It was really lucky you were passing by and saw Ernest,” I added, thinking of how wrecked I would have been if something happened to him.
“Yeah,” Kylo agreed, getting to his feet. “Right place, right time for sure.”
He seemed in a hurry to get the dishes back to the kitchen all of a sudden.
Maybe I’d overstayed my welcome.
I grabbed the fork that he’d left behind and rushed behind him.
“I should get going,” I offered.
“You don’t have to.”
“I’ve already stolen several hours of your night. Besides, you have plans to make,” I added, trying to play it off so he didn’t feel weird about wanting me to get going. He probably had a party or something to get back to at the other house.
“That’s true,” he agreed as he shoved the cartons of food back into the bag. “I’m sending this home with you.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t keep leftovers here, since I’m not here often. And I’d break Eddie’s heart to bring take-out back to the clubhouse.”
“Oh, well, we can’t break Eddie’s heart,” I said, taking the bag from him.
Just then, Ernest let out the loudest snore from the other room. “I’m gonna need a forklift.”
“I’ll put him in for you. But you’re gonna have to find a way to get him out on the other end.”
“A piece of chicken jerky could wake him up from a coma,” I told him, getting a chuckle.
