Eb’s eyes never left the cheese.
“No, I’m good. Not a fan of Swiss.”
“I have orange cheddar, white cheddar, gouda, cheese curds, Monterey Jack, Pepper Jack, or mozzarella. Although I’ll warn you—I plan to use that on a homemade pizza tomorrow. Well, tonight.” I’d cooked every night and he ate without complaint. Perhaps even with grudging gratitude, as he muttered thanks at the end of meals. I’d given him a lot of leeway because I was well-aware how much he struggled with the headaches and nausea.
He regularly offered to clear up and do dishes. I regularly turned him down with a nod at his crutch. So then he started bringing me things from the shelter store every day—leashes and dog toys and chew treats and more. He’d hand them over with “You’re cooking and all,” and crutch off to his room when I protested. Like no one ever told him you could accept a favor without payback.
“You really love cheese.” He offered a small smile.
“Yep.” I shoved the whole slice of Swiss in my mouth—only then realizing I’d gagged myself. I chewed quickly and swallowed. “You never told me what you’d like…”
“Did I see you had a bag of potato chips?”
“I didn’t figure you for a junk-food fan, but yes, in fact we do have three bags of potato chips. I’ve got barbecue, rippled, or salt and vinegar. Which would you prefer?”
He scratched his elbow. Which flexed his biceps. Which I couldn’t help noticing because his T-shirt was a little tight. And his sleep pants hung low on his hips.
“I love salt and vinegar.” His smile was shy and tentative—but definitely there.
“As do I, obviously. But we’ll need something to drink.”
“Water’s fine.”
“You’re always so healthy.” I laughed as I made my way to the sink and filled two glasses of water. Then I snagged the potato chips from the back of the pantry cupboard, poured them into a bowl—because yeah, I could be a good host—and put the bowl on the table. I plopped down onto my chair as well.
Eb dropped to his belly on the floor—clearly ready to assist us if any chips were to fall. Xandra stalked into the kitchen and eyed us, then gazed around.
“Not on the counter, fuzzy girl,” Arthur told her.
She wandered over, rubbed her face against the hand he held down to her, then meandered out, doing her own thing.
“Where are Chili and Twain?” I asked.
“Asleep on their beds. Chili glanced up, decided her beauty sleep was not going to be interrupted, and went right back down. Par for the course. Twain didn’t even lift his head, although he would’ve if a hint of cheese had reached him." He eyed his black lab. “Eb, as you can see, made his way here. He must’ve snuck out when I went to the washroom.”
I glanced at the dog and arched an eyebrow, even as I ate a chip.
The pooch blinked back with absolutely innocent eyes.
I completely believed Arthur trained him to behave—but that he saw me as an easy mark. In my work, I followed the owner’s instructions to the letter. With Arthur’s dogs, I was a little more lenient. Especially Chili, with whom I truly was developing a strong bond.
Arthur crunched a chip. Then he took a sip. “Those are salty.”
“I love how strong they are. But if they’re too much?—”
He waved me off. “All good.”
“How’s the shelter going?”
“We’ve found homes for seven cats and four dogs this week, so that’s good.”
“Sounds productive.”
“Although of course, we took in just as many new ones. Still way more than I could help when I was fostering.”
I took a sip. “I want to get a dog of my own, but I’m busy getting the daycare up and running. Oh, I had some flyers printed. Do you think I could leave a few at the shelter? Scott at the library said he’d take a few as well. And the community center said they have a wall of posters from local businesses.”
“Absolutely!” Arthur looked thrilled that I’d asked him for something. “We’ll be happy to have some handy at the shelter. Leave us a bunch. Access to doggie daycare might be the deciding factor some prospective owners need.”
