“More like practical. My mother taught us early on to be responsible for our messes. Otherwise, we would have worn her out before we hit puberty.”
There’s a lull in our conversation as she pets Bandit while I set up the playpen.
She carries him over to his new space. “How’d he do toileting?”
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that word. “Fine. The towel worked great. I’ve learned to hold my breath when I have to clean up his…bigger messes.”
“Ah, wise man.” The appreciation in her amber eyes sparks a warmth through my entire chest. I feel like the luckiest man alive to stand in her acceptance and approval.
She pulls something out of her pocket. “Oh, speaking of messes, I grabbed another roll of poop bags for you. Can’t have too many of those.”
I place them on the counter, not realizing she’s behind me. Hannah picks up the invitation from my parents. “What’s this?”
Without seeming too anxious, I pluck the card from her fingers and put it face down on the counter, forgetting about the picture on the front. “Nothing.”
She leans in to study the image, which gives me proximity to the musk-like scent of her hair. “Are they your mom and dad?”
“What gave it away?” Now, I’m using humor to make light of my discomfort. I’ve never been keen about talking about them. Even with Graham.
“Well, for one, you look just like your father.”
I study my father’s pose next to my mother. Hair expertly styled and a suit tailored to complement his toned physique. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“But you have your mother’s eyes.” Her gaze bounces back and forth between me and the picture. “And her lips.”
Her eyes widen after she says this, almost as if she didn’t intend to say it out loud, and she blushes in the most adorable way.
I want to flat-out ask if she’s feeling something for me, too, but the timing doesn’t feel right. She still seems skittish around me sometimes. If anything, I’d like to alleviate that for the sake of our friendship. But then again, maybe it’s better if I don’t. Because I don’t believe I can be content with just being her friend.
As I’m about to work up my courage to say something, Bandit barks. Hannah walks over, cooing over him with soft, sweet words that make me ache for her more.
She shoots a glance over her shoulder. “I think he needs to go out.”
Tucking away my thoughts for another time, I grab the roll of poop bags from the counter and walk over to help lift Bandit out of his playpen.
If all I can have with Hannah right now is this symbiotic care of a canine in need, then I’ll take it.
CHAPTER 18
Hannah
Usually after work, I stop by to check on Bandit and help Nick with any issues. They’ve bonded better than I expected, which I believe has sped up both of their recoveries. But this also makes me wonder if Nick will want to keep Bandit.
Which leads me to wonder what that could mean between the two of us. I’m getting attached to Bandit myself. He’s one of the smartest dogs I’ve ever encountered, and once he’s moving around better, I have a mental list of tricks I’m keen on teaching him. Since he’s a cattle dog mix, he’ll need stimulation and purpose.
Sort of reminds me of Nick, actually. Thus, why I believe taking care of Bandit has helped Nick more than he realizes. I suppose we could work out an arrangement like one of those couples who share a pet when they’re getting serious. But we’re not a couple.
However, we have connected more over walks with Bandit and shared dinners—Nick either makes something or we order pizza. He also invited me to come with him one night to do Turtle Patrol. An entire night on the beach with him sounds borderline romantic.
Or dangerous. As comfortable as I’ve grown around Nick, part of me still feels unsure if I can trust him in a dating capacity. I’m uncertain whether he’d even want a serious relationship…with me. So, I guess we’re building a friendship that’s endearing and disappointing all at once.
Tonight, I’m surprising Nick with takeout from the Turtle Tide and news about something I plan to order for Bandit. One of Liam’s friends has an organization that helps handicapped animals regain mobility with custom-sized wheelchairs.
This afternoon, I spent some time watching videos of dogs and cats able to run around again, and I needed a box of tissues. At the very least, this would give Bandit some freedom of movement until he regains the use of his back legs. I’m determined to do everything I can to make sure it’s not a permanent fixture in his life, but we won’t know for sure until he heals more.
I tap on his door and listen for activity coming from inside but detect nothing. When I try again and hear only silence, I turn around and check the parking lot for Nick’s truck, which I locate a few cars down.
Just as I’m about to knock a third time, the door swings open. Nick’s dressed in a pair of purple plaid board shorts, holding a towel to his sopping wet head. And shirtless.
