“I never realized it was possible for a family to have that many dogs. It sounds like your house was always full of them.”
“Living out in the country, it was almost a requirement. All of them were mutts, their bloodline so muddied, they could have been related to cats or donkeys, and we wouldn’t have known it. Jewel here is the closest I’ve come to owning a pureblood dog, and she’ll probably grow to be bigger than any dog I’ve ever owned.”
“Any favorites?”
“Jasper. The first.” Sean smiled. He reached for his mug and took a sip of hot coffee. “The first is always special, you know? He was four when I adopted him—an adult rather than a puppy. He was good for me; he was steady and probably had a better head on his shoulders than I had on mine at that time. I would have landed up in worse scrapes if not for him.”
“Jasper. Joanie, Joey, and now Jewel.” Debra smiled. “Guess it’s meant to be.”
Sean chuckled. “I didn’t see it that way, but yeah, I guess I have a thing for J names.” He pushed to his feet and reached for her empty plate.
“I’ve got it,” she said. She reached for her own plate, and their fingers brushed. The shock of contact sparked through her.
Sean jerked his hand away. “Static. Sorry. It’s what I hate most about winter.”
Their eyes met.
It hadn’t been static, and they both knew it.
Slowly, Debra placed her hands safely on her lap as Sean added her plate to his pile of dirty dishes. “You’re not one of those people who have a set way of loading the dishwasher, right?”
“Of course I do.” Debra managed a shaky laugh. “But I’m not too old to be flexible.” Old? Damn it! Why had she said that? She was thirty-two. Sean was twenty-five. She did not need to point out these age differences, especially when nothing was going to happen.
It was ludicrous to even imagine it.
Why? Just because he’s the first man in nearly a decade to have dinner with me without my past getting in the way? Because he’s the first man in years to speak to Aidan like he’s not just a waste of oxygen?
She wiped down the stove and the island while Sean loaded the dishwasher. For several minutes, the only sound was the clink of sturdy dishes and flatware above the rush of running water. He wiped his hands on the side of his jeans and turned to her. “That was a great dinner; thank you.”
She smiled. “It was just something simple.”
“I don’t get home-cooked meals much, but yours was a couple of notches above a regular home-cooked meal.” He glanced out the window. “I should get Jewel and head on out. Get her settled into her new home.”
“Thank you for adopting her.”
“Sure.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, as if he didn’t know what to do with them, and nodded. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”
Debra followed him to the door. As she watched Sean call for his dog and attach a leash around Jewel’s collar, she was aware—for the first time—that her stomach had not tied up in knots over her interactions with a man. She had not been sitting on the edge of her seat, worried that Aidan would screw up in some way and make Sean angry.
Other than that annoying flicker of attraction, she had not felt more comfortable with a man since…
Never.
Her smile gave way to wistful reflection. It made sense that things seemed simple with Sean. He’s new to Havre de Grace; he’s practically a stranger. There’s no history to clog up our conversations. He’s so much younger than I am; it’s not as if anything’s going to happen. And it’s just about Jewel, really. He’ll take the dog, and we’ll never see him again.
It’s a zero stakes friendship.
Later that night, Sean lay in his bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Jewel snored, a heavy and limp sprawl of fur over his feet. The puppy had accompanied him home without a fuss, as if she had known the transfer of ownership was a farce. Once safely ensconced in his apartment, she settled in as if she owned it, leaping into his bed and claiming a cozy spot in a pool of blankets and pillows.
It felt right.
The dog at his feet felt right.
The eager and chatty boy at dinner—the boy who reminded him of himself—felt right.
The boy’s mother—Sean drew a deep breath, the sound jagged. Her eyes were tired, and her makeup sparse. Her dark hair was long, less out of vanity—Sean suspected—and more because the style was easy and cheap to maintain. Her smiles, however, were both frequent and relaxed, and the orange scent wafting about her was equally sweet and spicy, and distracting—although not nearly as distracting as her voice. It was a warm, rich alto, which infused her rare, husky laughter with sensuality.
His cell phone rang, the tone unique. He glanced at the screen as Romina’s name appeared. He did not pick it up.
Several minutes later, a beep announced a new voicemail.
Teeth gritted, he reached for his phone.
“Hi, Sean.” The chirp of Romina’s familiar voice grated against his nerves. “I had a terrible day today…” For several minutes, she warbled on about a day filled with petty annoyances, like a shop assistant who had been slow at the checkout counter, and the boy at the grocery store who had bagged her purchases incorrectly. Even the attendant at the spa had contributed to Romina’s awful day by failing to refresh the snacks in the waiting room.
Tension knotted his shoulders. Complaints. Nothing but complaints. A world was a pathetic, miserable place viewed through the eyes of a person determined to find everything wrong with it.
Romina’s tone turned wheedling. “I miss you so much. I hope you’re all right, and that you’ll come back soon. Talking to you every day is the only way I can cope with everything life
