Page 11 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)
brOOKLYN
A week later, Eb and I were in a stare off.
“This is my cheese and I’m not sharing.”
He gave me puppy-dog eyes.
“You don’t beg with Arthur because you know he won’t give in. Well, I’m not giving in.” I held the slice of Swiss cheese in my hand. “Shouldn’t you be guarding Arthur or something?”
The light from my fridge was the only illumination in the kitchen. We were in the early hours of the morning—or was it the late hours of the evening…? I glanced at the microwave clock.
12:57
Too early for morning…so late, late evening.
Normally I would’ve turned on the television in the living room, but I didn’t want to wake Arthur.
Should’ve bought a television for your bedroom .
Yeah, except I’d be tempted to watch it all night, and that was bad for sleep hygiene.
My therapist had given me lectures on how to sleep properly.
As if that could somehow keep the lingering nightmares at bay. The fear of?—
Nope. Not going there. Long in the past.
I surveyed my already-beloved home in my mind. Paid for by nightmare money, but my home nonetheless. I’d made a fresh start and wasn’t going to think about all the shit that had?—
“Are you going to close that refrigerator?”
I spun to find Arthur, leaning on his crutch.
The fridge door alarm was binging.
Sunk deep in my memories, I’d totally missed that. “Sorry.” I slammed the door shut.
Thereby dropping us into darkness. I had a habit of closing all the blinds to try to keep out the light pollution from the streetlamp by the house, but that resulted in pockets of deep shadows and near obliteration of illumination.
I knew my way to the fridge—okay, late night snacks were not an uncommon thing—but I wasn’t used to someone else sharing the unlit space. I froze.
Arthur, clearly accustomed to this quirk of mine after eight days in my house, knew where the light switch was, and he hit it.
The kitchen filled with light.
I blinked, dazzled, and found myself staring right at him.
He held my gaze with those fathomless blue eyes that so resembled Xandra’s.
The cat had settled nicely here over the last week. She’d found a perch in my living room that allowed her to survey all who lived here—as well as the street beyond—without her having to interact with anyone she didn’t wish to. More and more, she was interacting with me. That felt good.
And now here I was with Arthur standing in my kitchen, his solid body clad only in gray sleep pants and a snug T-shirt, also interacting… “Cheese?” I held the slice aloft.
Ebony barked.
“Eb.” Arthur’s voice was clipped. “He knows better.” He eyed me. “Are you giving him treats behind my back?”
“Of course not.” Well, except that little bit of tuna juice—which he might’ve shared with Twain. I’d saved the actual pieces of tuna for Chili and Xandra. “Okay, maybe a bit of tuna juice. They’d just…they’d been so good with Maisie today.”
“That mastiff with attitude. I wondered how that went. Sorry, I should’ve asked.”
“You were tired when you got home from the shelter.”
“I ate your tuna melts—which were delicious. Nice touch with the sweet pickle.”
I preened at the compliment.
“And then I went to lie down, and I fell asleep. Like every day this week.”
“Dizziness still?” We hadn’t spoken much of his health, even though we encountered each other constantly and I drove him to work early each morning.
He’d made it abundantly clear he wanted his space—so I’d given it to him.
I’d noticed, when he wasn’t looking, how he still struggled with both his leg and his head.
I just didn’t know how bad he was suffering.
“It’s better.”
Which wasn’t the same as gone.
He pointed to the kitchen table.
I gestured for him to sit. Should’ve offered that right away.
He eased himself onto the chair and tucked his crutch against the wall. “I’m hoping to move to a cane soon and then be okay completely. I can’t wait to be free of…” He ran his hand up and down his body.
That big, solid dad-bod I’d noticed on more than one occasion. But lusting after someone in such obvious distress was a hard no . He didn’t want me to see his pain—but I did.
Lamely, I held up the piece of cheese. “I don’t suppose you want?—”
Eb’s eyes never left the cheese.
“No, I’m good. Not a fan of Swiss.”
“I have orange cheddar, white cheddar, gouda, cheese curds, Monterey Jack, Pepper Jack, or mozzarella. Although I’ll warn you—I plan to use that on a homemade pizza tomorrow.
Well, tonight.” I’d cooked every night and he ate without complaint.
Perhaps even with grudging gratitude, as he muttered thanks at the end of meals.
I’d given him a lot of leeway because I was well-aware how much he struggled with the headaches and nausea.
He regularly offered to clear up and do dishes.
I regularly turned him down with a nod at his crutch.
So then he started bringing me things from the shelter store every day—leashes and dog toys and chew treats and more.
He’d hand them over with “You’re cooking and all,” and crutch off to his room when I protested.
Like no one ever told him you could accept a favor without payback.
“You really love cheese.” He offered a small smile.
“Yep.” I shoved the whole slice of Swiss in my mouth—only then realizing I’d gagged myself. I chewed quickly and swallowed. “You never told me what you’d like…”
“Did I see you had a bag of potato chips?”
“I didn’t figure you for a junk-food fan, but yes, in fact we do have three bags of potato chips. I’ve got barbecue, rippled, or salt and vinegar. Which would you prefer?”
He scratched his elbow. Which flexed his biceps. Which I couldn’t help noticing because his T-shirt was a little tight. And his sleep pants hung low on his hips.
“I love salt and vinegar.” His smile was shy and tentative—but definitely there.
“As do I, obviously. But we’ll need something to drink.”
“Water’s fine.”
“You’re always so healthy.” I laughed as I made my way to the sink and filled two glasses of water. Then I snagged the potato chips from the back of the pantry cupboard, poured them into a bowl—because yeah, I could be a good host—and put the bowl on the table. I plopped down onto my chair as well.
Eb dropped to his belly on the floor—clearly ready to assist us if any chips were to fall. Xandra stalked into the kitchen and eyed us, then gazed around.
“Not on the counter, fuzzy girl,” Arthur told her.
She wandered over, rubbed her face against the hand he held down to her, then meandered out, doing her own thing.
“Where are Chili and Twain?” I asked.
“Asleep on their beds. Chili glanced up, decided her beauty sleep was not going to be interrupted, and went right back down. Par for the course. Twain didn’t even lift his head, although he would’ve if a hint of cheese had reached him.
" He eyed his black lab. “Eb, as you can see, made his way here. He must’ve snuck out when I went to the washroom.”
I glanced at the dog and arched an eyebrow, even as I ate a chip.
The pooch blinked back with absolutely innocent eyes.
I completely believed Arthur trained him to behave—but that he saw me as an easy mark. In my work, I followed the owner’s instructions to the letter. With Arthur’s dogs, I was a little more lenient. Especially Chili, with whom I truly was developing a strong bond.
Arthur crunched a chip. Then he took a sip. “Those are salty.”
“I love how strong they are. But if they’re too much?—”
He waved me off. “All good.”
“How’s the shelter going?”
“We’ve found homes for seven cats and four dogs this week, so that’s good.”
“Sounds productive.”
“Although of course, we took in just as many new ones. Still way more than I could help when I was fostering.”
I took a sip. “I want to get a dog of my own, but I’m busy getting the daycare up and running.
Oh, I had some flyers printed. Do you think I could leave a few at the shelter?
Scott at the library said he’d take a few as well.
And the community center said they have a wall of posters from local businesses. ”
“Absolutely!” Arthur looked thrilled that I’d asked him for something. “We’ll be happy to have some handy at the shelter. Leave us a bunch. Access to doggie daycare might be the deciding factor some prospective owners need.”
“Cool. Thank you.” I had room for four large dogs and four small, right now, and I was almost never at capacity. That mortgage wasn’t paying itself, and every little bit would help.
We munched chips in quiet companionship that I didn’t feel the need to fill.
For once, Arthur seemed really relaxed. As the bowl emptied, he said, “If you don’t mind my curiosity, why doggie daycare? I suppose I should’ve asked before now.”
I waved off his concern. “You’ve had other stuff to deal with.
My story’s pretty boring. I love animals.
I wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up.
When I left home, after I came out as bisexual—” I wasn’t sure Arthur knew, so hey, chance to get that out there.
“—I rented a room in a house with a guy who literally trained animals for a living—for the New York theater and movie business. I was enraptured. He taught me tons of stuff and was even grooming me to work with him in the business and then?—”
“Then?”
“Well, he got married and moved out of town. He couldn’t afford to pay me full time, and I couldn’t afford to move with him.
So, then I tried going to school at night, but I got derailed, and—” Do I really want to go here?
With a guy I barely know? Keep it simple.
“—I came into some money and decided I wanted to spend my days with dogs. Hence.” I waved at the darkened downstairs.
“Why out here in Gaynor Beach, though? You said New York?”