Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Lake follows suit.
It’s their ritual. They started doing it a few weeks ago when we went on a tear, and who am I to disagree. I tap too.
After I chat with the media, talking about tonight and then the game coming up in New York against the Ice Kings, I take off to the locker room.
Once I’m showered and dressed in my gray suit, I’m out of there, sliding into my car, texting Charlotte that I’m on my way, then cruising home as I listen to my post-game pump-me-up playlist, a mix of upbeat anthems and rock songs. When I reach Cozy Valley, its familiar sign with an illustrated squirrel curled up asleep in the V, I’m antsy to get home.
To see Charlotte. And those little dogs we picked up yesterday for a brief two-day stint here. I pull into the driveway, and my gaze swings to a familiar car at the curb.
Mabel’s ride.
My heartbeat speeds up. So annoying, but annoying is becoming my new normal. I head inside, and the second the door closes, the scrabble of paws ricochets through the house. The sound of yaps echo too. Then two little critters race over.
They bark their little brains out, but they’re excited to see me. I kneel to give them scratches.
“Hi, Mischief,” I say to one of them.
Mabel cracks up as she sets her book on the living room table and walks over to me. “That’s Mayhem.”
“Well excuse me,” I tease.
“Mayhem has the tan head—it’s lighter in color. Mischief’s more black,” she explains simply.
And…that’s helpful. But honestly, the issue wasn’t that I couldn’t differentiate the colors. It’s that they seriously look alike. “Good to know,” I say, then peer around my house. It’s quiet. No pitter-patter of tween feet. “Is Charlotte asleep?”
As Mabel returns to the couch, she nods. “She crashed around ten.”
It’s nearly midnight now. “You stayed? You don’t have to babysit.” Shit, the last thing I want is for her to feel that way. “She convinced me she was old enough to stay home alone with the dogs.”
Mabel gives a dismissive wave as she sinks down onto the couch, and two little Chiweenies jump up next to her. “It wasn’t babysitting,” she says, then strokes one dog’s head, then the other’s chin before she looks up at me. “Oh, sorry. Are they allowed on your couch?”
But she doesn’t sound contrite, or like she cares what the answer is as she pets the pups. And yup. She didn’t babysit at all. But the effect is the same. She stayed here at my house with my kid, and I appreciate that. “You were dog-sitting.”
She gives me a smile that says I’ve nailed the answer.
“And yes, they’re allowed on my couch. Not like I had a say.”
“Not to throw your kid under the bus, but she totally let them on the couch,” Mabel says.
“Why am I not surprised? Last year she made a Christmas ornament with Scrabble tiles and it spelled out D-O-G-G-Y.”
Mabel’s expression is thoughtful. “I know you travel a lot and you don’t think it makes sense, but would you ever share a dog with, say, Sarah?”
“That’s a fair question, but kids usually think they’ll take care of the dog and they usually don’t,” I admit. “And if I adopted one myself, I wouldn’t want to board a dog half the time during the season.”
“True,” she says with a sigh.
After I toe off my shoes, I set my phone on the table and join Mabel, petting the little dogs too. They’re soft and playful and Mischief rolls onto her back, letting me pet her belly.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I wish I could have a bakery dog.”
I laugh at the concept, but then stop laughing in a second. “Actually…”
“We should totally get a bakery dog?” There’s so much hope in her voice.
“What if we host dog adoption events outside the bakery? Set up tables right on the sidewalk, work with the local rescue and so on?”
Her eyes sparkle. “I love that. And we could use the store’s social media to highlight adoptable dogs.”
“Yes. We could put their pictures on the top of the display case too. With QR codes, in case someone is interested in learning more.”
She hums appreciatively, running her nails down my shirt. “I don’t think you’ve ever been hotter than you are right now.”
“Saving animals gets you going?”
“Absolutely,” Mabel says, then scratches Mischief’s belly some more. “Right, girl?”
Mischief waggles her rear end, and I pet her some more too. The little critter snuggles against me, rubbing her snout on my leg.
“She likes you,” Mabel observes.
I raise my face, wiggling a brow, inviting Mabel to say that she does too.
“Oh my god, you’re so shameless. Seeking praise just like a dog,” she says.
And damn, she sees right through me. And yup, I’m just like a dog.
She reaches for the lapel of my suit jacket, runs a hand down it. “Nice charcoal suit.”