When Ryan walked into the cottage, Truffle bounded over to him, wagging her tail. And the house smelled amazing. Whatever Dr Snootypants was cooking, it was fabulous. Way, way above his own skill set.
‘Hi,’ she said, looking up from the sofa, where she seemed to be reading a magazine.
‘Hi.’ She’d picked up his dog so he needed to be pleasant to her, even though he wasn’t feeling it. ‘Thank you for picking up Truffle. I wasn’t expecting you to do that.’
‘I just walked her back here. She’s been asleep a lot of the time.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I left the poo bags on top of the bin, because I didn’t know where to dispose of them.’
She’d picked up poo? Now, that he hadn’t expected. ‘I’ll sort it,’ he said.
‘Um, and I cooked dinner,’ she said. ‘It’ll take five minutes to heat through.’
‘Thanks, but you don’t have to cook for me.’
‘I don’t know what arrangements you had with Clara,’ she said, ‘but it would make sense for us to share the chores.’
He grimaced. ‘I’m not a great cook.’
‘Clara said.’
He felt his eyes widen. ‘You’ve talked to Clara?’
‘She texted me and said she hoped my welcome meal was good.’
He hadn’t even looked at his phone. No doubt there would be a text from his best friend asking what the hell he thought he was doing. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, guilt flooding through him. He’d let Clara down—and he hadn’t welcomed her job swap partner at all.
‘I said,’ Georgie added, ‘that it was lovely.’
Something else she hadn’t had to do: lie, to save his bacon. ‘It was terrible.’
‘It was different.’ Her lips twitched at the corners. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been offered hot mango soup.’
For a second, he wasn’t sure whether she was laughing at him; and then he realised that she was laughing at the situation.
And she had a point. It was absolutely ridiculous.
Shockingly, he found himself smiling back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Ryan McGregor. Hello.’
‘Georgina Jones, but everyone calls me Georgie.’ She got up from the sofa, and an unexpected wave of lust surged through him. Her skinny jeans showed off her figure to perfection. Georgie Jones was gorgeous.
And, when she shook his hand, again he felt that weird connection. It scared him as much as it surprised him; he hadn’t expected to react to her in that way. He didn’t want to, either; what was left of his heart definitely needed protecting.
‘Good day?’ she asked.
The aftermath of yesterday. It’d been far from good. ‘It was OK,’ he lied. And, before she could ask for more detail, he needed to distract her. ‘You got on all right with Truffle, then?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t sure if you allowed her to have treats, so I didn’t give her any of the chicken when I made the stew. But I did cook some and put it aside for her, in case you said yes.’
Again, she’d gone above and beyond, side-swiping his expectations. ‘That was kind of you. She’ll love it. Thanks.’
She shrugged it aside. ‘I don’t know what to do with dogs. But I already know no chocolate, and keep her away from shoes.’
‘Like I said, I’ve had to replace three pairs, so far.’
‘I’ll remember to keep my shoes out of her reach. We’re going to be all right with each other—aren’t we, Truffle?’ Georgie asked.
God, her mouth was pretty when she smiled. Soft and warm and inviting. It made him want to reach out and draw his thumb along her lower lip.
He shoved the thought away. This really wasn’t the time or the place. And it was completely inappropriate.
‘So she’s a rescue dog?’ Georgie asked.
‘Abandoned,’ he said. And it still broke his heart when he thought about it. He hadn’t meant to say any more, but suddenly it came spilling out. ‘No collar, no microchip. She was about six months when she was dumped. We think her original owners couldn’t cope with the demands of a puppy, so they brought her to the middle of nowhere and left her. She tried to find her way home; she was nearly hit by a car when she found the main road, but thankfully the driver stopped in time, coaxed her into his car and took her to the nearest dog shelter.’
‘Poor thing,’ Georgina said.
‘Indeed,’ he said drily.
‘How long have you had her?’
‘Just over a year.’
‘So she’s about eighteen months old now?’
‘Nearly two years,’ he said. And again he found himself explaining. Something about Georgie’s serious green eyes made him want to talk; which was weird, because he never reacted to strangers like that. He rarely opened up to his friends, either. What the hell was going on?
‘She was rehomed, but she’s a chewer—I’m guessing her first owners didn’t occupy her enough, and when she’s bored or stressed she tends to chew things. The people who took her on really wanted to keep her, but they had small children who didn’t enjoy having their teddy bears stolen and shredded, so they brought her back to the shelter after the first couple of weeks and she ended up with me.’
‘It was good of you to take her on.’
Truffle had been just as good for him. It had been Clara’s suggestion and his best friend had been right, because having the dog around had really helped him through his divorce. His dog was the only real family he had now. Not that he planned to tell Georgina about his divorce or his past. ‘She’s a good dog. But because of her past she has a few trust issues.’ Which was why he understood her so well.
‘The house I planned to buy fell through at the last minute, and most rental places don’t allow pets—especially a dog who’s known to chew. And I don’t want to put Truffle in kennels where she’ll think I’ve abandoned her.’ Because he knew just how it felt to be abandoned: again, not that he was
