It’s probably just as well, even if it’s a short distance. I’m not sure my legs are on speaking terms with me yet.
He lowers me to my feet. I quickly miss his heat.
He unlocks the door, steps inside, and turns off his security alarm. He’s five steps above me in that department. The closest thing my building has to security is the buzzer for a tenant to let you inside the front door.
And even that isn’t a deterrent for anyone who wants in. Mrs. Rayne is hard-of-hearing and has a tendency to open the door for anyone who presses the buzzer.
A little bark comes from the laundry room.
Just what I need.
I kick off my shoes, and without saying anything to Landon, I head that way. As expected, Whiskey is in his crate. “Hey, little fella. I could use some cuddle time from the sweetest guy around.”
“Are you referring to the dog or me?” Landon says behind me.
I laugh. “The dog. Definitely the dog. Is it okay if I remove him from his crate?”
Whiskey answers for Landon with a littlewoofand touches the metal door with his good paw.
Landon chuckles. “There’s your answer.”
I open the door and remove the puppy, so he doesn’t try walking with his injured leg. I cuddle him to my chest. He reaches up and licks my chin.
I smile at him. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“I should probably take him out to do his business.”
Looking around for Whiskey’s leash, I say, “I can take him.” It’s not like I have anything better to do. Watching the puppy poop might be a great distraction.
Okay, maybe not.
Landon removes the leash from on top of the washing machine. “Go sit on the couch and call the senior center to let them know you won’t be volunteering today.”
“But I have to go.” I want to tell Mathilda that the Christmas concert doesn’t need to be canceled.
“No, you don’t. You’re still shaken. Plus, you and I need to talk about something.”
That piques my curiosity. “What?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Now go sit. Or else I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you to the couch myself.” The humor in his tone is overridden by the gleam in his eyes of someone who doesn’t accept no for an answer very often.
He holds out his hands for Whiskey. I pass him the little furball.
The furball gazes adoringly up at him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to adopt him?” I ask. “He really likes you.”
“I like him, too, but that doesn’t mean I want to keep him for the long term. I’m just the temporary home until he finds something better.”
If you ask me, Whiskey has already found something better, and he agrees with my assessment.
Landon grabs Whiskey’s leash and heads for the front door. I sit on the couch in the living room and phone Mathilda. I explain why I won’t be able to volunteer and tell her the good news about the concert.
“That’s wonderful! Thank you so much, Chloe. The residents will be thrilled when they hear the great news.”
The warmth from her words fills me—her concern over what happened, the relief about the show. It chases away some of the residual chill that remains even after holding Whiskey.
We talk for a few more minutes until I hear the front door click shut, and I end the call.
