Page 22 of Patio Lanterns (The Blue Canoe Cottage #1)

Robin

The Dawn Cherries' group chat, A Bag of Dicks, had gone flaccid since they parted ways. The last message showing was from their bass player begging someone, anyone, for a ride to the Orillia gig. That was two and a half weeks ago.

Robin found it very hard to believe that everyone in the band was still too pissed at Parker to even text one another. She decided to make the first move and break the radio silence.

Hey, Dicks

Anyone out there?

Surely, once they came around and started talking again, theCherries would pull their heads out of their asses and refocus on scheduling a few late summer shows.

They should at least be able to land a mainstage at a fall fair.

Nothing goes better with tractor pulls and giant vegetable growing competitions than angry women with electric guitars.

Of course, there was also a chance that it was really, truly the end of the line for the Cherries. Robin didn't have a Plan B, C, or D to fall back on if they were kaput.

No reason to panic just yet, she reasoned.

Worst case scenario, she and Mutt could lay low at the Blue Canoe and coast for a bit while she figured out their next move.

Until Parker said otherwise, Robin was content to be a woman of leisure, enjoying the summer sun, cold beers, the breeze off the lake—and time with Rick.

brE71 texted that he’d made reservations for them at the Firefly Inn.

As thrilling as it was to imagine an evening of candlelight and long, lingering gazes, the fact that Rick chose the Firefly Inn—where the Pelletiers had celebrated their wedding anniversary every summer, but for reasons that did not become apparent to Robin until she was older, went alone —was simply beyond.

The plan was to meet at Rick’s place, and they’d drive to dinner from there.

She showered, shaved, and smoothed scented body lotion over every curve and contour, put her hair up in a messy top knot, and then foraged for something nice to wear.

Shorts and a t-shirt would simply not cut it for the Firefly Inn, nor for a dream date with Rick Hunter.

Not wanting to repeat the same outfit as the night before except for the hoop earrings that Dove had lent her, Robin raided her mother’s closet for something that might fit the occasion.

A smart dresser, Micki was always so well put together, and wouldn’t have minded her youngest borrowing something stylish.

Robin chose a sleeveless coral dress, embellished with a sassy but elegant keyhole detail in front.

The colour was flattering, the slinky material forgiving. It would work beautifully.

Carrying her sandals by the straps to avoid any conspicuous clip-clopping, Robin tiptoed down the stairs.

Lark and Dove had already finished dinner and were on the couch with Nova, singing along to “Wheels on the Bus.” If Robin timed her steps just right, she might be able to sneak by undetected before her sisters realized the door on the cottage had opened and shut, opened and shut, opened and sh—

“Robin?” Lark called out from the living room. “Is that you?”

Shit. Busted. Lark had the sonic hearing of a bat.

“Yup, it’s me,” Robin admitted. She turned around to face the music, skulking into the living room.

“Wow, Rob, you look so pretty,” Dove said. She looked surprised, probably because she’d had to lend out one of her own outfits the evening before. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” she said. “I believe I mentioned that I had plans this evening.”

“Hmm,” Lark mused. “What kind of plans require lipstick, I wonder?”

“A date?” Dove suggested with a shrug.

Lark’s face brightened. “Did you change your mind about seeing Aidan tonight?”

Robin wanted to tell her that it was none of her business who she was seeing.

She was a grown woman for crying out loud, and had every right to see whoever she wanted, wherever she wanted and whenever she wanted.

But instead of getting into it, she chose to ignore Lark’s question altogether.

“Dove,” she said sweetly, “would you do me a solid and take Mutt out for a walk later? His leash is hanging beside the door.”

Dove shrugged. “Sure. Where is he?”

Robin did a quick visual sweep of the living room. “What do you mean? Mutt’s not here with you guys?”

“I thought he was upstairs with you,” Dove told her. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve seen him since before supper. And it’s not like him to miss a meal.”

Shit on a stick. “Well, he’s got to be around somewhere. Probably just sleeping.” Robin bent down to look under the dining room table, then rushed to the kitchen, checking behind the curtain in the pantry in case he was helping himself to a snack. “Mutt, where are you?” she called to him. “Mutt?”

“Just follow the scent of dog farts,” Lark snarked.

Robin searched from room to room, calling his name.

He was neither curled up on or dozing under any of the beds.

Not hiding in a closet, not drinking out of the toilet, not digging through the trash.

Where was the last place she remembered seeing him?

Outside on the deck? No. That had been hours ago.

Heart pounding, she grabbed his leash and ran upstairs to the deck, whistling and calling as she searched the trees and the perimeter of the yard. Seriously, how far could a three-legged dog go?

Maybe Mutt went for a swim. Robin followed her hunch and trudged down to the dock. No trace of him there either. Her eyes stung with the realization that she might not see him again. How could she be so irresponsible?

She checked her phone. It was now two minutes to eight. Rick had told her he’d made dinner reservations for eight. She should’ve been at his place long ago.

Double shit on a stick.

Mutt was now officially missing. There was no way she could leave him wandering alone God knows where, nor would she be able to rest and enjoy the evening until he was safe and sound. She had no choice but to text Rick and admit that she’d fucked up royally.

I can’t find Mutt. Out looking for him now.

I’m so so sorry.

Tightness gripped her chest as her stomach churned. She’d let Mutt down, and now she’d let Rick down too. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she continued her search down the shoreline, working her way back up to the main road to start canvassing door to door if necessary.

Maybe Mutt’s snout had led him to a neighbour’s backyard.

Now that he’d developed a taste for finer cuts of meat, it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he’d ditched his cheap dry food for a T-bone.

He was probably just biding his time, waiting for a chance to break free and find a new owner who knew how to take proper care of a dog.

Oh, the irony of being wracked with worry over a stinky mongrel she’d tried to pawn off on strangers mere days ago.

That had to be why Mutt had gone missing.

It was delayed karma for even thinking about pulling such an underhanded stunt.

She deserved to wallow in the shameful reminder that she was unfit for pet parenthood.

Her phone buzzed with a new notification. Before looking, she prayed it was Dove or Lark letting her know that they’d found him. That he’d been inside the cottage all along, probably sleeping under Robin’s pile of clothes on the floor.

Oh please. Please, please, please.

But it wasn’t her sisters.

The text was from brE71.

Up popped a photo on the screen. And there was Mutt with a dumb smile on his face a mile wide, his smooth, once-clean fur now matted, filthy, and caked in mud.

Oh God, please let that only be mud.