Page 12 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

As far from home as I could get. “I researched California, found Gaynor Beach, a gay-friendly town, and discovered no one had opened a dedicated doggie daycare. I found this house and snapped it up. That back family room is amazing. And the yard?”

“Doggie heaven.”

“Yep. And with enough shade that I’m good out there for long stretches even when it’s hot.

I hung out a shingle, and within two days of my first ad, Hiro’s owner had me on the phone.

He’s lost two pounds since he started coming here.

The mother-in-law still tries to sneak him food, but her daughter has explained that too many treats will shorten the dog’s life and wouldn’t that be tragic?

How much of an effect that’s having is debatable, but he’s more active when he’s here, and Dr. Louisa at the animal hospital is happy with his progress.

” Which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“You’ve done well with him.” Arthur examined a chip. “Although him getting stuck under the chair was…”

I burst out laughing. “The look on your face.”

“His antics were…unexpected.”

“He’s a character. All dogs are, in their own way.

I didn’t know I’d have so much fun with this job.

I need to drum up more business, though.

Jett and Poppy are regulars, but Maisie and George are only occasional visitors.

You were very sweet to George, by the way.

I appreciated that.” George had decided Arthur was his god and followed him within tripping range every chance he got.

“You thought I wouldn’t be patient with a loveable, older dog who just needs attention and affection?” His eyes shone with amusement.

Good Goddamn, he’s making fun of me. Hallelujah! I loved seeing a lighter side of Arthur. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. More that not everyone wants a shadow underfoot—especially when they’re first home from work and exhausted.”

“Home.” He appeared to turn the word over in his mind.

“Well, your home for the foreseeable future. When do you see your doctor for a follow-up?”

He sniffed. “Supposed to go the day after tomorrow. Nothing’s infected and I’m fine, though, so I don’t really need?—”

I decided to bite the bullet and admit I was watching. “Didn’t you almost pitch over this morning while trying to tie your shoes?”

“Uh…is there a right way to answer that question? Something that won’t get me a stern lecture?”

I frowned. “You were seated and you almost lost your balance, likely because you got a bout of vertigo. You’re nowhere near healed. And you came home with a bad headache tonight. I know that’s why you crashed as soon as you arrived. And now you’re awake in the middle of the night?—”

“So are you.” He tried to tip his chin up and glare at me. With his bushy beard and rounded cheeks, though, it probably didn’t have the effect he was hoping for.

I found him cute—not intimidating. “My doctor’s aware of my insomnia. I have coping mechanisms. I would’ve had my cheese and gone back to bed. Some deep breathing exercises and mediation and I would’ve been back to sleep in no time.”

He arched an eyebrow.

I pursed my lips. “Okay, well, I would’ve tried.” I wasn’t going to tell him how sleep sometimes terrified me. How I worried about not being able to breathe, about my chest clamping down and my hands going limp while alarms rang, and all the other madness that kept my nights broken and disturbed.

Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out.

My therapist said I was a work in progress . Truthfully, I just wanted a good night’s rest. “Are you going to be able to get back to sleep yourself?”

“I need to take some ibuprofen.”

“For your head or your leg?”

“Leg, this time.” He glanced away as if he hadn’t meant to reveal even that much.

“Ah.” I pushed the last of the chips toward him.

“You need food in your stomach first. More than chips. Would you like some milk? Milk’s good when you’re taking anti-inflammatories, right?

” I wasn’t going to tell him all those painkillers—the NSAIDs, as I’d learned to call them—were permanently off my permitted list.

“I’m going to pass on the milk.” He picked up another chip. “I don’t see the two mixing."

"Oh, you’d be surprised the foods I’ve combined.”

“Like tuna, melted cheese, and pickles?”

“You bet. I didn’t see you complaining. Oh, I love mustard and peanut butter.”

His eyes widened. “On a sandwich? That’s…” He wrinkled his nose in evident disgust.

“Want to know what else is super good? Dill pickles and peanut butter. You can dip them. Oh, tuna with olives and mayo?—”

“Okay, I think we need to have a discussion about your culinary habits. Are you sure you’re not pregnant or something?”

“Isn’t that pickles and ice cream? Honestly, I can’t speak to pregnancy cravings. I just like what I like. Do you need me to grab your pills?”

“I can?—”

“Sure, but I’m already up.” I popped out of the chair.

“They’re on the dresser. Chili might get upset.”

“She’ll be happy to see me.” At least I hoped she would be.

When I got to Arthur’s room, she certainly tracked my movements as I grabbed the bottle of pills, but then set her chin back on the bed like I wasn’t a threat.

Twain slept the sleep of the dead—which I desperately envied.

He was a good warning system during the day, but apparently passed out cold at night.

Eb’s tail swished as I returned.

“You’re still not getting any.” I wagged my finger at him as I handed the pill bottle to Arthur.

I snagged his mostly empty water glass and refilled it, set it in front of him, then plopped back in my chair and munched away happily while he downed his pills.

“You know, you’re an easy guy to be around. ”

He placed the pill bottle on the table. “I’m not certain how to take that.”

“As a compliment. I’ve been a bit isolated lately—although I aim to change that. Any interesting events coming up in Gaynor Beach that I might take advantage of?”

“There’s some stuff around Halloween. That’s just a few weeks away.” He rubbed his temple.

I snagged the empty chip bowl, pleased to see how many he’d eaten. I popped up and set it on the counter. Then I spun back, planning to clear the glasses.

Arthur was trying to grab his crutch.

I reached for it just as he ducked down.

Our heads collided.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” I pulled back, crouching before him so our gazes were level.

His blue eyes were wide and startled, inches from my own.

“Your brain’s already bruised, and I’m making it worse.

I really should be more careful. It’s just that I wanted to help.

You’re always trying to be independent, and there are so many little things I could do to make your life easier, but I don’t offer because you’re prickly—which is totally understandable, given the circumstances.

And I think I’d be a little cranky too if?—”

He grabbed the back of my neck and crashed our lips together.

Well, that’s one way to shut me up.