Page 28 of Love Out Loud

“I’m shy, not indecisive,” she said with a grin. Everyone thought she was meek and submissive because of her introverted nature. It didn’t work that way.

Smiling, he entered the order on his phone while she scanned the speech. It was much easier to concentrate when he wasn’t watching her read.

“This is what I said yesterday, almost word for word,” she said when he put his phone down.

“It is. You’ll be much better off using your own phrasing and syntax. It will sound more natural and will be easier to remember and deliver. I only added an introduction and some transitions. We still need to come up with an ending, and you should tweak the intro to put in more comfortable phrasing.”

She was surprised. Really surprised. After doing her outline, she expected this to be a horrible chore to create and memorize, and in just one session, Jake had drawn almost the entire speech out of her.

“It should run no more than three or so minutes, since you are one of several awards that night. I think you’re fine time wise with that version as long as you don’t rush through it like you did yesterday.”

The relief was so huge, she smiled. Actually smiled about a freaking speech, for goodness’ sake.

Otto was sniffing around the room and gave a small, plaintive whine. It was the where-is-my-favorite-toy whine. It would soon turn into really loud whimpers and then a piercingly shrill bark he only made when he needed Sir Squash.

Jake was watching him but didn’t seem uptight. Good. This was progress.

“I need to get his toy,” she said. “Excuse me for a moment, or he’ll shatter our eardrums.”

Jake’s entire body stiffened. So much for not being uptight.

“Oh, lighten up,” she said. “I’m only kidding.”

…

Jake stared at the gold dog that had remained behind when the gray one followed Fiona out of the room. The dog stared right back, unblinking, ears pricked up on the top of its head.

From somewhere else in the suite, a rapid squeaking pulled the gold dog’s attention to the door. Undoubtedly poor Sir Squashalot being tortured by its companion.

“So do you have a favorite toy?” he asked the dog. In a sudden move, it turned its head toward him and tilted it to the side. He flinched but found himself fascinated. He’d been around dogs at larger gatherings or out in public but had avoided being one-on-one or in close proximity. This wasn’t so bad, he supposed. The dog was small and seemed interested in him. Of course, it could be his imagination.

“A ball, maybe?”

The dog walked to the counter where Fiona had placed the rope toy and stood on its hind legs, front feet on the cabinet door as if trying to reach the toy.

“Ah. The rope. Do you want it?”

The little dog wagged its tail furiously and made a high-pitched yip.

Why was he nervous? It didn’t even reach his knee when it was on all fours and clearly had no intention of biting him. This was the closest he’d been to an unleashed dog since he was six years old—that was why he was nervous. It wasn’t about actual danger; it was about remembered events and guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.

He picked up the red, white, and grime-colored rope, and the little dog turned in a circle, tail wagging so hard it was a blur. “Sit,” he said, and the thing actually did as he commanded.

“Here you go,” Jake whispered as he dropped the toy. The dog snatched it out of the air and did a loop of joy around the small break room, toy stuffed in its mouth. Some little part of Jake wanted to join in the victory lap. This dog thing wasn’t all that bad.

He’d noticed the squeaking had stopped. When he turned to the door, he found Fiona and the gray dog with Sir Squashalot at its feet, watching him from the doorway. She had an odd look on her face—as if she were experiencing wonder and concern at the same time.

“What?” he asked, a little embarrassed for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint. It wasn’t really embarrassment, he supposed, just self-consciousness.

She gave a slight shake of her head. “Nothing. You surprised me, that’s all.”

But that wasn’t all; he could tell.

His phone buzzed from the table. “The pizza’s here.”

Not two seconds later, the dogs barked and bolted toward the door of the suite. Fiona followed, telling them to hush, but they clearly weren’t listening. “Sit. Stay. Silent,” she said, and the barking mercifully stopped. By the time he’d reached the door, she was tipping the delivery guy and had taken the pizza. The dogs were at her feet, attempting to sit, but appeared too excited to fully plant their butts on the floor. He found their behavior endearing. They were sort of like little kids. Funny how he’d never noticed that in dogs before.

“It smells really good,” she said, not meeting his eyes as she passed him on her way back to the break room. The dogs stayed where they were, still obeying her command. Perhaps they would stay in here and he would be able to enjoy the pizza without dogs around. Maybe they’d stay in here while they worked on the speech and he wouldn’t have to deal with them in the room at all.

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