Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Still in my arms, he makes a gagging sound, so I quickly set him down on the patio, keeping a loose hold on him so he can’t run back to resume binge eating. He stiffens and retches.
“Are you okay, buddy?”
After a moment, he licks my arm and wags his tail, letting me know he’s okay.
I set him inside the house, close the door, and return to the yard to try to figure out what’s going on. The fence is too tall for me to see over, but it’s built with alternating wooden slats, so if I stand close, I can see beyond it at a hard angle. This limited view only offers grass and shrubs.
Looking from the other angle, I see the corner of a house and more shrubbery, but no kids. At first, I don’t hear anything, either, but then there’s a thump, a click, and a whizzing sound, just before another marshmallow lands nearby.
There’s scratching at my own back door, where G is watching me, wanting to return to his marshmallow feast. When I go to check on him, there’s a spot of white vomit on the floor next to him.
I’d like to be able to put him outside, so he can’t make a mess all over the house if he continues to be sick, but the yard needs to be cleaned up, and there’s still an occasional marshmallow flying over the fence.
Luckily, there’s still time before I need to leave to get Jessie. Hurrying to the front door, I clip the leash onto G’s collar and set out for a walk around the block.
Our house is the third from the corner, so I go to the next street over, count three houses down, and ring the doorbell.
When the door opens, a very familiar face appears. “Hey, it’s the strawberry jam woman. How’d you find us?”
CHAPTER 7
CAM
The gorgeous brunette from the store this morning is standing on my front porch. Hmm. She acted like she didn’t know us, so why is she suddenly at our door?
“How did I find you?” A frown on her face, she repeats my question, turning it back on me.
“Did you follow us here this morning?”
“Did I follow you?”
Why does she keep repeating everything I say?
Her hand goes to her hip, and she appears to be irritated, but I’m distracted by the way this pose pushes her chest out. She has a great chest. Top tier, even in the modest gray shirt she’s wearing.
Even though we’ve had a busy day, her stunning figure has been on my mind more than a few times since I first saw her this morning.
With valiant effort, I force my eyes back up to her face.
“I found you by following the trail of marshmallows,” she says pointedly.
As I’m standing there confused, Wyatt walks up behind me. “Oh, it’s you. And you have a dog.”
A dog? Sure enough, there’s a little fluff monster standing obediently by her feet, wagging its curly tail. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it, but I guess my eyes never made it down that far.
“Do you live here?” she asks us both.
“Who’s asking?” Wyatt sounds borderline hostile, so I nudge his side with my elbow.
“This is our house, but we like to keep that information quiet,” I tell her. “What’s going on?”
She glances down at her dog, who’s now sniffing every inch of the doormat. “You’ve been feeding my dog too many marshmallows—unknowingly, I presume?”
“We’ve never seen your dog before.” Wyatt goes down on a knee and offers his hand as something new for the dog to smell. “What’s its name?”
Still looking irritated and also impatient, she shifts her weight to her other hip, drawing my eyes to that part of her body, which is nicely curvy and looks softly padded. “Goldfish,” she says.
I tilt my head to the side, not sure I heard her correctly. “The dog’s name is Goldfish?”
“Does he like to swim?” Wyatt asks. He’s earned the dog’s trust and is now scratching it behind the ears.
“Goldfish crackers are my daughter’s favorite snack,” the woman says, as if that explains everything.
“Wait a minute. We know your dog’s name, but what’s yours?”
Maybe it’s the sun, but her cheeks turn a soft pink at my question. “I’m Stella.”
“Nice to meet you again, Stella. I’m Cam, and this is Wyatt. Why don’t you come inside?”
I move back to make room for her to enter, but she stays put. “I just came over here to ask if you could please keep your marshmallows out of my yard.”
“Your yard? Where do you live?” Is this sexy woman our neighbor? Sure, she shot me down at the grocery store, but if I could run into her in the neighborhood from time to time, maybe she’d change her mind. It was early this morning, and I wasn’t on my best game. Oh shit—she said she had a daughter. My eyes dart to her hand. No ring.