Page 14 of Before You Go
His gaze drops to the guard dog in question, who has burrowed into my chest like he’s trying to crawl inside of me. “Your dog looks like he’s scared of his own shadow.”
“He just gets nervous around new people. I’m sure he’d have my back if something happened.”
“Right.” He gives me a look that makes it obvious he doesn’t believe me. “I’ll walk with you two.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
Ignoring me, he turns in the direction I was going and places his hand against my lower back, urging me forward.
“Are you going to carry him or let him walk?”
“I’m not sure he will walk now that you’re with us.” I stop and put PJ on his paws, and he immediately moves to the opposite side of me, stretching out his leash as far as it will go to put space between him and Dayton.
“How long have you had him?” he asks, squatting down while holding his hand out toward PJ, who eyes him warily.
“A little over two years.”
PJ ducks his head to sniff his hand but quickly backs up when Dayton attempts to pet him.
“Is he like this with everyone?” He tips his head back to look up toward me, the light from the streetlamp casting a golden glow across his features.
“Mostly just men.” I pull the small bag of treats I keep in my fanny pack out, and PJ goes on alert, knowing what it is. “Here.” I pass Dayton one. “Try this.”
Taking it from me, he holds it out to PJ, and he hesitates but eventually moves forward, taking the treat from him before backing up again. After he swallows it, he looks up at me, and I hand Dayton two more. This time, PJ takes one but stays where he is, because he knows he has another treat coming, which gives Dayton the opportunity to rub the top of his head.
“All right, dude. I’ll leave you alone.” He passes PJ the last treat, then unfolds from his squat, and we continue walking.
“Where did you end up parking?” I ask as we reach the park, which isn’t exactly a park. It’s more of a green space with a couple of benches and a walking path that goes in one big circle.
“In the garage, a block over.”
“Really?” I frown up at him, and since I’m no longer in my heels, I have to tip my head way back on my shoulders to meet his gaze.
“I didn’t feel like driving around for an hour looking for something.”
“I guess that makes sense. It still sucks that you have to pay for parking.”
“It’s not a big deal. I’ve done it before,” he replies.
“You need a smaller car,” I tell him.
He chuckles, then asks, “What kind of car do you drive?”
“A MINI convertible.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Probably because I’m not a soccer mom lugging around five kids and all their stuff,” I respond, and he grins. My belly does an odd dip at the sight of it. I tug my eyes off his and continue walking, asking, “Why do you need an SUV anyway?”
“Because I’d look fucking stupid getting into a MINI Cooper.”
“True.” I laugh because he absolutely would look stupid trying to fit his big frame into my tiny car. “There are other options.”
“I don’t need a new car,” he assures, as we stop so I can clean up after PJ.
Taking the bag over to the trash, I dump it inside, then use my hand sanitizer.
“What?” I ask when I find Dayton studying my fanny pack.
