Page 28 of One Bad Knight

My uncle looked down at his lap as he smoothed his napkin. The subject of my aunt always caused great pain, so we never spoke of her. Even the campaign was careful to highlight my uncle as an excellent single father and guardian of his niece in a way that didn’t bring up his absentee wife.

I barely ate half my food, but the tension filling the room made my skin itch. With a loud clap of my hands, I said, “Well, lots to do. Let’s get to it.” Then to my uncle and cousins, I said with a hopeful smile, “I can’t wait to see you all tonight.”

They didn’t utter a word as I grabbed Gatsby’s arm and pulled him out of the room with me, toward the garage.

The instant we exited the dining room, Bear was there, clip-clopping alongside us, ready to be let out. Bear was typically shy with strangers, but he stuck to Gatsby’s side even as Gatsby resolutely ignored my dog.

As soon as I opened the automatic door, Bear lumbered out, sniffing the grass until he did his business.

When it was time for him to go back in the house without us, he sat down on his fluffy butt and looked up at Gatsby.

“Bear,” I said in warning. He turned to look at me, but then he went right back to staring at Gatsby.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“What?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable with the canine attention.

“Bear won’t go in until you acknowledge him.”

He frowned down at my dog. “Acknowledge?”

“You know, pet him? Pet the dog, and then he’ll go in the house, and then we can get going.”

Gatsby looked as though I asked him to chug straight lemon juice. But he reached out a hand and patted the top of my dog’s head. Bear’s tongue lolled out in a sign of encouragement.

Annoyance needled me. How could Gatsby seriously not know how to pet a dog properly? But then I remembered the kittens I showed him, before they were all given away along with my mother’s cat after my dad died.

What do you use them for?

Use them for? You love them.

Something in my heart pinched.

Before I could think too hard, I grabbed Gatsby’s hand and smoothed it over Bear’s head several times. “He also likes the back of his ears scratched.”

A line formed between Gatsby’s brows as he focused on scratching behind the dog’s ears. Bear leaned into his touch, slobbering on Gatsby’s pants. Then satisfied, Bear trotted back inside.

Finally, we could get on our way. A car was a much better idea, since I wasn’t ready to get back on a bike, especially not with Gatsby’s hard body pressed against my backside.

After I buckled in, I paused before starting the car, feeling Gatsby’s eyes burning a hole in my side. That clean masculine scent filled the car, an inescapable, heady concoction.

“About last night,” he said slowly. His eyes dropped to my lips as if he were going to kiss me again, and I found myself holding my breath.

Then he shifted and looked at the dashboard. “It was a mistake.”

My hands found the smooth leather of the steering wheel, and I tried to ground myself there. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“It won’t happen again,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. His presence in the car pressing on me like a physical weight I wanted to succumb to.

My finger punched the garage button, and then I turned the ignition. “Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“Great,” I said.

Gatsby accompanied me to the radio station where I had a seven-minute interview to spotlight the gallery show. After that, we went to my favorite coffee shop.

I collapsed onto my favorite red plush couch, forcing Gatsby to sit next to me. The massive mug they gave me was close to overflowing with the hot white froth of my cappuccino. I opened my laptop and got to work.