“Cool. Thank you.” I had room for four large dogs and four small, right now, and I was almost never at capacity. That mortgage wasn’t paying itself, and every little bit would help.
We munched chips in quiet companionship that I didn’t feel the need to fill.
For once, Arthur seemed really relaxed. As the bowl emptied, he said, “If you don’t mind my curiosity, why doggie daycare? I suppose I should’ve asked before now.”
I waved off his concern. “You’ve had other stuff to deal with. My story’s pretty boring. I love animals. I wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up. When I left home, after I came out as bisexual—” I wasn’t sure Arthur knew, so hey, chance to get that out there. “—I rented a room in a house with a guy who literally trained animals for a living—for the New York theater and movie business. I was enraptured. He taught me tons of stuff and was even grooming me to work with him in the business and then?—”
“Then?”
“Well, he got married and moved out of town. He couldn’t afford to pay me full time, and I couldn’t afford to move with him. So, then I tried going to school at night, but I got derailed, and—” Do I really want to go here? With a guy I barely know? Keep it simple. “—I came into some money and decided I wanted to spend my days with dogs. Hence.” I waved at the darkened downstairs.
“Why out here in Gaynor Beach, though? You said New York?”
As far from home as I could get. “I researched California, found Gaynor Beach, a gay-friendly town, and discovered no one had opened a dedicated doggie daycare. I found this house and snapped it up. That back family room is amazing. And the yard?”
“Doggie heaven.”
“Yep. And with enough shade that I’m good out there for long stretches even when it’s hot. I hung out a shingle, and within two days of my first ad, Hiro’s owner had me on the phone. He’s lost two pounds since he started coming here. The mother-in-law still tries to sneak him food, but her daughter has explained that too many treats will shorten the dog’s life and wouldn’t that be tragic? How much of an effect that’s having is debatable, but he’s more active when he’s here, and Dr. Louisa at the animal hospital is happy with his progress.” Which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“You’ve done well with him.” Arthur examined a chip. “Although him getting stuck under the chair was…”
I burst out laughing. “The look on your face.”
“His antics were…unexpected.”
“He’s a character. All dogs are, in their own way. I didn’t know I’d have so much fun with this job. I need to drum up more business, though. Jett and Poppy are regulars, but Maisie and George are only occasional visitors. You were very sweet to George, by the way. I appreciated that.” George had decided Arthur was his god and followed him within tripping range every chance he got.
“You thought I wouldn’t be patient with a loveable, older dog who just needs attention and affection?” His eyes shone with amusement.
Good Goddamn, he’s making fun of me. Hallelujah! I loved seeing a lighter side of Arthur. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. More that not everyone wants a shadow underfoot—especially when they’re first home from work and exhausted.”
“Home.” He appeared to turn the word over in his mind.
“Well, your home for the foreseeable future. When do you see your doctor for a follow-up?”
He sniffed. “Supposed to go the day after tomorrow. Nothing’s infected and I’m fine, though, so I don’t really need?—”
I decided to bite the bullet and admit I was watching. “Didn’t you almost pitch over this morning while trying to tie your shoes?”
“Uh…is there a right way to answer that question? Something that won’t get me a stern lecture?”
I frowned. “You were seated and you almost lost your balance, likely because you got a bout of vertigo. You’re nowhere near healed. And you came home with a bad headache tonight. I know that’s why you crashed as soon as you arrived. And now you’re awake in the middle of the night?—”
“So are you.” He tried to tip his chin up and glare at me. With his bushy beard and rounded cheeks, though, it probably didn’t have the effect he was hoping for.
I found him cute—not intimidating. “My doctor’s aware of my insomnia. I have coping mechanisms. I would’ve had my cheese and gone back to bed. Some deep breathing exercises and mediation and I would’ve been back to sleep in no time.”
He arched an eyebrow.
I pursed my lips. “Okay, well, I would’ve tried.” I wasn’t going to tell him how sleep sometimes terrified me. How I worried about not being able to breathe, about my chest clamping down and my hands going limp while alarms rang, and all the other madness that kept my nights broken and disturbed.
Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out.
My therapist said I was a work in progress. Truthfully, I just wanted a good night’s rest. “Are you going to be able to get back to sleep yourself?”
“I need to take some ibuprofen.”
“For your head or your leg?”
