Her dad huffs. "Never trusted that dog. Always thought he had a bit of pit bull in ‘im."
I frown at this but hold my tongue; pitties have a bad reputation, which most of them don’t deserve.
Noelle takes my hand and gestures from her father to me with her other hand. “Dad, this is Bear; Bear, this is my dad, Nicholas."
I shake Nicholas’ hand. "Sir." I offer Nina my hand, and when she takes it, I shake gently. “Ma’am. Sorry to have scared you. Panzer won't hurt a soul, I promise."
She looks at Panzer, who is dozing beneath the old oak with his chin on his paws. "I've always loved dogs. I'm just a bit…shaken up, like Nick said. Will he be okay there? He won't run away?"
I shake my head. "No ma'am. He's a very highly trained guard dog. Tell him to stay, he stays till I say otherwise."
"Was that German?" she asks.
I nod. "They get trained in German. Don't respond to English commands at all."
She watches as a squirrel darts across the yard a few feet from Panzer, oblivious to his presence. Panzer's head lifts from his paws and his ears perk up, his tail tapping, watching the critter scamper around the yard, but he doesn't otherwise move as the squirrel ascends another tree farther away.
"Would you look at that?" Nicholas marvels. "Never known a dog that didn't chase a squirrel."
"Did you train him?" Nina asks.
I shake my head. "No ma'am. Rescued him. His owner died, and animal control didn't realize he didn't know English commands. I guess I sorta bonded with him. We're a lot alike."
"Well, come on in,” Nicholas says, gathering the grocery bags. "No sense standing around letting all the cold air out."
Inside, white ceilings and walls are juxtaposed with dark wood trim and dark floors. A staircase greets you as you enter, leading up to the second floor, the banister squared off and thick and worn smooth, with a dark green carpet running up the center of the stairs. Right off the stairs is the library/office. Aset of glass double doors stand open, revealing floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves lining the walls, with a heavy antique desk occupying the center of the room, littered with papers, stacks of books, a coffee mug full of pens, and a large iMac in one corner. A Tiffany lamp sits in the other corner, with a small glass terrarium next to it. A pair of black leather wingback chairs face the desk at angles to each other.
A narrow, low-ceilinged hallway runs past the library, leading to the sprawling, open-concept kitchen, dining room, and den. The kitchen is on the left, a round, eight-seat antique table in the middle, and a sunken living room on the right, carpeted with a thick, high-piled white carpet; a massive white leather sectional takes up most of the den, with two matching ottomans, a low, glass-topped coffee table and matching side tables. Throw pillows and knitted throw blankets are draped artfully here and there across the back of the couch, and stacks of books lay scattered on the coffee table and side tables. A breakfast nook occupies a rounded bump-out next to the sliding glass doors leading to the expansive deck overlooking the backyard. A huge griddle grill smolders on the deck, waiting for the meat.
In the far rear of the property, a pair of mini donkeys graze their fenced-off acre of pasture.
I feel Noelle watching me as I take it all in, eyes wide.
"This place is amazing," I say. "Peaceful."
Nicholas pulls the steaks and burgers out of the bags, rips open the packages, places the meat on a large platter, and then goes to town seasoning them with salt, pepper, and garlic. That done, he pulls a platter of chicken breasts from the fridge, and another of corn on the cob.
I watch as Noelle wafts around the kitchen, moving with seamless grace around her parents as they prepare the food. Nina washes a head of romaine and then sets about chopping itwhile Noelle peels carrots and chops them into small rounds and then moves on to celery. Nicholas grabs two of the platters and heads for the sliding doors. "Mind grabbing the door for me, big fella? You could bring those other platters out, too, if you’re so inclined."
"Yes sir,” I say, and tug the door open for him and then follow him out with the rest.
Nicholas deftly tosses the steaks onto the left side of the griddle and then uses tongs to lay the chicken breasts on the back, the burgers in neat rows in the middle, and the corn along the right.
That done, he hangs the tongs from a hook on the side of the griddle, opens a long white Yeti cooler, and produces a pair of long-neck beers.
He twists the tops off and hands one to me. "Cheers."
I take it, tap the neck against his, and take a small sip. "Thank you."
He nods, eying me. "So."
I can tell he's about to ask questions; I brace.
"Where'd you meet Noelle?"
"Animal Shelter. I volunteer there after work."
A nod, a sip. "Where do you work? What do you do?"
