Page 14 of Heartstring

“It was, but you’re not getting it until you learn the concept of a good surprise. Why the fuck is there a dog in my house?”

I walk around them to the kitchen. The sound of nails on the wooden floor follows me as I take two plates from the cabinet and serve the macaroni cheese.

“If I ignore you, you’re not really there, are you?”

He barks his reply. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before turning around, nearly tripping on the dog.

“Christ, dog. Get out of my way.”

He barks again, staring at me expectantly.

“This dinner isn’t for you.”

He barks twice and lowers his head, bumping his nose against my leg.

“Stop being cute. I hope Seymour told you he’s taking you home after dinner.”

“Of course. Who do you take me for?” Seymour asks from the kitchen door.

I relax a little. For a moment, I thought he was going to say he somehow found a stray dog somewhere and decided to rescue it.

The thought is so stupid I almost laugh out loud.

“This is it,” Seymour says. “He’s home.”

“I’m sorry, repeat that again.”

Seymour comes over and gives the dog a scratch behind his ears before looking at the plates.

“Oh, my holy pasta lord. Macaroni and cheese with bacon is life. I hope you don’t mind me taking the bigger portion or having seconds.” He goes for the plate, but I get to it before he does. “Hey. That’s my surprise.”

“Explainmysurprise, and maybe I’ll let you eat your dinner instead of throwing it at you.”

“Fine.” He crouches and rubs the dog’s neck. The dog ignores him like he’s not even there. His eyes are still trained on me. “This is Sir Stanley von Stinkles the Fifth.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and the dog growls.

“Hey, don’t come at me for laughing at your name. What did you do to deserve it?”

He whines and then lays at my feet.

“I’m hungry. Let’s have this conversation with dinner. And the explanation better be damned good if you don’t want me to kick your ass back to California tonight.”

The dog whines again.

“I was talking to Seymour.”

Christ. What the hell is going on? Where are the days when Ellis’s sister used to set me up with her gay friends? Those days seemed a lot more normal than this.

Seymour grabs his plate and a glass of water and follows me to the table.

The dog sits on top of my feet again. When I move them, he finds his way back, making himself comfortable.

I don’t even taste the macaroni as I eat it. I just wait for Seymour to finish inhaling his so he can explain what’s going on.

“Okay,” he says. “Hear me out. Stan—that’s his name for short. He doesn’t respond to it, but it’s easier than saying Sir Stanley von Stinkles the Fifth—was a working dog at a farm in Chester Falls. He was shot accidentally and sustained some injuries. Unfortunately, after the accident, his owner was unable to look after him, so he took Stan to the animal sanctuary.”

So many questions roll through my head.