Page 51 of Mr. Green

“You’ll see. Andrew, my driver, will be taking you and Queenie to the plane.”

“I can find someone to watch Queenie.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you two are a package deal.”

“Grant, it’s okay if she doesn’t come. I don’t want to put her in cargo hold.”

“I don’t want her there either. She won’t be.”

“Are you sure? My parents or Paige don’t mind.”

“I’m sure you’re bringing her. I miss her too.”

I can’t with this guy. “If you’re sure...”

“Good. Can’t wait until Friday, Sunshine.”

“Me either. Talk to you soon.”

I get out of the tub and spot my reflection. I look like a giddy little girl. It’s how Grant makes me feel. I put my robe on and add to my grateful list.

Flowers. Especially on a cloudy day.

Queenie. For finding me and running with me.

I know what I want to put as the last thing I’m grateful for, but I stare at the paper and tap my mouth with my pen. After thinking about it and not being able to let the thought go, I write:

Grant. For Hawaii, for delivering flowers, arranging a date with a chef, for his sex skills, and for being a great person to know.

I stare down at my grateful list and can’t stop thinking about what’s next.

~

Friday is finally here. It’s nine in the morning and I have my bag packed along with a few things for Queenie. We took a run at seven this morning, so she’ll be okay during the flight. It was so thoughtful of Grant to include her on this trip.

I lock up and we walk down the stairs. I don’t want Andrew waiting longer than he needs to be. He pulls up right as we reach the street.

“Miss Love?” he asks after he exits the vehicle. He’s dressed in a black button-down and black slacks. He’s maybe fifty with kind, blue eyes showing a bit of wrinkles. He’s sporting a slight comb-over and a tiny pot belly, but it works on him.

“Hi, Andrew! You can call me Lana.”

“Is this Queenie?” He pets her briefly. I’m always surprised when someone dressed nicely has no fear of getting dog hair all over them.

I give a small smile. “This istheQueenie. You know, I was googling the policy for dogs on a plane yesterday. I think Queenie is close to forty pounds. Should we drop her off with my parents first? I don’t want her to fly in luggage, and I don’t see how Grant could persuade an airline to let me have her on my lap.”

“Don’t worry. Mr. Green has it all taken care of.”

“Did he get Queenie her own special seat? I don’t have a crate.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Lana. You ready to go?”

I eye him with a suspicious look. “I’m worried. Are they going to stop her from getting on the plane?”

“No. Mr. Green made special arrangements.”

He loads my luggage into the trunk for me as I fidget with the leash. I’m looking at the car like maybe I should’ve asked more questions before I agreed to this. He holds the back door open. I continue looking at it.

“The car won’t bite. It’s just an hour drive.”