Page 2 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

They’re only a thirty-minute drive away now, which is one of the most surprising and awesome things to have happened in a long time.

After our divorce, my ex-wife, Danica, married a pediatrician.

Several months after they married, he opened up his own practice in Highlands Ranch. Danica works there as a nurse.

When they moved to Colorado, it was as if the world said: Here you go. As a gift to you for keeping your head above water, for showing up as a decent human being in the divorce, you can connect with your birth father. And you can have your kids near you.

So after being apart from Dax and Indie, only seeing them once or twice a month these past several months, they’re finally close by .

I could hardly believe it was real. The ache that had taken up permanent residence in my gut started receding.

“How long will you be out of town?” I ask Mrs. Lambert, biting the inside of my cheek.

Mrs. Lambert’s smile is radiant. “My daughter had a baby, so I’ll be gone for two weeks to help her.

” She tilts her head to one side. “Two weeks. That’s it.

You have my number.” She senses that I’m beginning to cave, and begins thanking me profusely, latching onto hope with the force of a dog to her favorite, scruffy tennis ball.

I admit that it will be good for the kids to have a trial run before I get them the real thing someday. I guess now is as good a time as any?

Cinnamon moves a few inches to the kitchen mat near the sink. And now she’s looking at me like, What’s taking you guys so long? We’re doing this. Accept it and move on.

And give me soup.

“Accept it and move on” has been my mantra the past couple of years. Accept that Danica left you and move on with your life. Accept that your new life as a member of the Tate family isn’t exactly what you’d hoped for but move on and be grateful for what it is.

Be grateful for what you do have. A chance for a do-over. A new life with your kids, biological father, and his wife. With your six brothers.

Because the Tates and Dax and Indie? They’re my family now.

Mrs. Lambert bends to riffle through the contents of the canvas bag.

“I’ve included a list of Cinnamon’s medicines as well as her daily schedule, which Reggie wrote out for us.

” Her eyes narrow, as if to burn her words into my memory.

“The care center lets you bring the dog by to visit Reggie on Wednesday evenings when they have an outdoor thing for the residents. But don’t let Reggie try to talk you into sneaking her in. That’s against the rules.”

Mrs. Lambert takes out some cans of dog food and a large, plastic bottle, explaining that I have to mix the food with some fortifying powder stuff since she’s a geriatric dog.

She produces a pill bottle and a small foil bag.

“She’s diabetic, but isn’t currently on insulin, so we’re lucky there.

These are her medications and the pill pockets.

That’s the only way she’ll take her meds.

” She produces an ointment squeeze tube.

“This is for her skin fold dermatitis. It’s twice a day. ”

Skin fold dermatitis? My stomach flips over.

Can I say no now?

“The rest of the stuff is self-explanatory. But read the instructions for how she prefers her drinking water. That’s important.

” Mrs. Lambert’s smile of relief starts a pang in my gut.

Maybe I could hire someone to come in and do all the stuff I don’t want to do, like the skin fold dermatitis thing.

“Oh, I forgot.” I wince. “I’m going hiking in the morning, so I’ll be gone for several hours. Will she…be okay?”

“She’ll be fine.” Mrs. Lambert waves me away. “You might want to put down some piddle pads before you leave. She’s been having some…” Her lips move silently. Is she trying to decide how honest she should be? “…issues.”

Issues? I don’t have the time or bandwidth for this.

The blood drains from my face. She holds out a reassuring hand. “She misses Reggie, is all. Once she feels settled, I’m sure she’ll be more continent.” She chews her finger, eyeing me with something like pity. “There’s some carpet pet stain solution in the bag just in case. ”

She steps through the threshold, probably hoping to dash away before I change my mind.

At the last minute, though, she turns back around, tightens her pink crew neck across her middle, and goes back to Cinnamon.

“I’m gonna miss you, old gal,” she tells the dog, giving her one last scrub behind the ears.

And then she’s gone.

What?

How am I suddenly a dog owner for the next two weeks?

The only thing that makes this not completely terrible is that Dax and Indie are going to be over the moon.

They’re the reason I said yes, besides the threats of shelters or making Cinnamon live on the streets, of course. I’m not that heartless.

Ever since my kids moved to the Denver area, my brothers keep mentioning I should get a pet. And that I should join some dating apps or let them set me up on dates.

They think I’m lonely.

I can’t be. I work and then I’m the best dad I can possibly be on the weekends. I don’t have time to feel lonely.

I should probably get back out there, though, as a matter of principle.

It’s been a year since the divorce was final.

I said I didn’t want to date ever again, but now?

Now that I’ve lived the single dad life for a while, I get why people jump back in to dating.

Because there are some aspects of being single that suck.

I slide down the front of my sofa, sit on the floor, and stretch my legs out. The dog shimmies next to me, getting as close to me as possible. Her body is warm. She taps my knee with her paw. Against my better judgment, I pat her head .

I’m not a monster. Of course I can take this on for two weeks. I can’t help a little smile as I try to predict Dax and Indie’s reaction. If this helps them have more fun at my place, then fine.

“Well, dog.” I side-eye her. “Looks like we have to be friends. Temporary friends,” I amend. I survey her roundness, the folds of skin hanging at her neck, her collar studded with pink rhinestones. “No, more like colleagues we tolerate from a distance.”

I’m taking care of a geriatric, diabetic dog with continence issues?

What just happened?