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“I restocked the last time I went to the grocery.”
He gave her a long look. “Did you?”
“And look how smart that turned out. I’ll take the dog.”
The minute Nash opened the truck door, Tic leaped out, then sat at Sloan’s feet, thumping his tail.
“He doesn’t jump on you.”
She bent down to give him a scrub. “He knows better.”
“Tell that to everybody else.” He slammed the truck door; she opened hers.
“In, Tic. Let’s go for a ride.”
Nice, she thought, to have a dog around on a Friday night. Nice, too, to have his human. Better yet, she could replay the interviews to someone who listened, had thoughts and opinions.
And though she didn’t mind socking in alone for the weekend—excepting the Sunday dinner her parents had already claimed—she’d enjoy the company.
“I can tell you,” she said to Tic, who sat staring at her with adoring eyes. “You’re no blabbermouth. I like spending time with him. Even if you remove the sex factor, which let’s not, I like spending time with him. And you, too.”
She’d get herself a dog just like him, but she couldn’t take a dog to work the way the Littlefields did.
When she got home, she let Tic out, let him roam and sniff, mark some territory.
Winter hadn’t finished yet, but she could feel spring creeping up behind it.
“And I’m ready for it.” She looked at her house. “I’m ready for new windows, a new front door, nice new siding. I’m leaning toward horizontal lap either a cream—not white—or a nice blue. Have to decide. And a porch the full width of the house, center the steps.”
When the dog came to lean against her, she rubbed his head. “Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. Next month. Let’s go inside.”
She gave Tic the chew toy she’d picked up with the dog food, then lit a fire. With the dog occupied, she stowed her weapon and changed into warm leggings and a sweater.
She freshened her makeup because, well, it needed it.
And was just pouring wine when the dog raced to the door yipping.
“I left it unlocked,” she called out as Nash knocked.
When he came in, he lifted the take-out bags high as Tic jumped up, planted his paws.
“Knock it off!”
Shaking her head, Sloan walked over. “Down,” she ordered, and pointed. Tic got down, sat down, and got another rub.
“Good dog. One direct word’s better than three when training a young dog.”
“I often use the single wordfuck, but he still doesn’t listen.”
“One consistent word. Iffuck’s your code fordown, use it consistently. There’s a bowl in the kitchen. You can feed him, and I’ll deal with the human food.”
He passed her the takeout, noted with some annoyance Tic didn’t jump up to try to steal it. Then saw the two stainless steel bowls. “You got him a bowl?”
“Mop visits, too, so yeah, I got a bowl. Two actually. Food. Water.”
Following house rules, he hung up his coat before he crossed over.
“After you’ve filled his bowl, I’m keeping the bag in the broom closet. You got jalapeño poppers!”