9
“HOLD ON, THERE, MISTER,” MAEVE SAID AS GUS MOSEYED OVER TO HER Jeep and tried to climb up onto her lap. “If you give me a sec, I’ll give you a proper hello.” She balanced the paper bag from Woof Gang Bakery on top of the pizza box and reached for the bottle of wine she’d tucked behind the seat. “I brought your favorite food . . . and I brought you a present!” she said as the big puppy wiggled around her. She knelt in front of him and he sniffed the pizza box, and then kissed her on the nose.
“Hey,” Gage said, holding open the screen door.
“Hey back,” she said with the same smile that had stolen his heart.
“How was your day? Did Harper muster the courage to get her ears pierced?”
“It was fun, and she did.” The question reminded her of her own new piercing, and she quickly turned her head, but it was too late—he’d already spied the tiny sparkle in the upper curve of her ear.
He gently turned her chin from one side to the other. “Just one?”
Maeve knew she didn’t need Gage’s approval to pierce her ear—it was her body after all—but she suddenly felt the odd need to defend her actions. “Do you know how many earrings I’ve lost over the years?”
He shook his head.
“A ton!” she said, putting the pizza and wine on the counter. “I bet I have a dozen earrings that have lost their mates and they just sit in my jewelry box, useless . . . but now I have a use for them.”
“Sooo . . . it was a practical decision,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
“Of course,” she said, grinning. “Everything I do is practical.”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, kissing her lips.
“At least I didn’t pierce my navel or my nose . . . or my tongue, as Harper suggested,” she whispered into his kiss.
He pulled back and raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t mind if you pierced your navel—you do have a cute belly button, but I don’t know about your tongue . . . with food and everything?!” He made a funny face. “And how does a ten-year-old girl know about such things?”
Maeve shook her head. “That ten-year-old girl is wise beyond her years—she even said you’d be really surprised when you kissed me.”
Gage laughed. “Oh, boy!”
“I know, right?” Just then, Gus pushed his head between them and Maeve looked down. “Do you need some attention, too, mister?”
“He just wants some pizza crust,” Gage said.
Maeve laughed again. “I have to give you your present first,” She reached into the paper bag, and Gus plopped promptly on his haunches and looked up expectantly. “First, we have all-natural homemade dog biscuits.” She eyed him. “Which would you like to try—peanut butter or yogurt?”
“Duh, peanut butter,” Gage answered, speaking for him with a knowing smile.
Maeve held out a treat and Gus took it politely. “Good boy,” she said, ruffling his ears. “And I have something else for you.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a red, white, and blue bandanna, which she folded into a triangle and tied around his neck. Gus sat patiently, and after she straightened it, she held his head in her hands and looked into his chocolate-brown eyes. “You look very handsome,” she said softly, and he thumped his tail.
Gage watched. “Nice,” he said, nodding his approval. Then he eyed the lanky puppy. “No pulling it off when we’re not looking.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Maeve said. “Would you, ole pie?”
“Mm-hmm.” Gage sounded skeptical as he riffled through his utensil drawer for a bottle opener. “So, no book club tonight?” he asked, pouring a glass of wine for her before opening the fridge for a beer.
“No, Ben’s coming down with something so they’re not going out,” she said, wandering over to his drawing table and turning on the light.
“Yeah, he said he wasn’t feeling well,” Gage said, opening his beer.
When Maeve didn’t answer, he looked up, and then walked over to stand beside her.
“This is amazing,” she said, studying the detailed pencil drawing of his grandfather. She compared it to the photo next to it and decided Dutch, Gage’s grandfather, must’ve been in his early seventies when it was taken, his skin suntanned and wrinkled, his light blue eyes kind and wise. The drawing was so realistic, it could have passed for the photo, but the cold-pressed texture of the paper gave it a softness no photo could ever replicate. “I can’t believe you couldn’t find a gallery to take your work—it’s so beautiful.”
Gage half smiled and took a sip of his beer. “If I’d gotten into a gallery, I probably wouldn’t have met you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Maeve said, taking a sip of her wine. “If something is meant to be, different paths can lead to it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? You think this is meant to be?”
“Sometimes,” she teased, kissing his neck.
He leaned into her. “If you do that, our pizza is going to get cold.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she whispered innocently, pressing against him.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, reaching for her wine glass and setting it on the mantle next to his beer. He slid his hands along the sides of her snow-white tank top, and then, with an impish grin, pulled her down the hall.
“I guess we will be warming up the pizza,” she said, laughing.
He smiled as he slowly pulled her shirt over her head.
Maeve shook out her hair and watched as he lightly traced his fingers along the smooth skin of her abdomen, then slowly circled her navel.
“I think a piercing would be nice,” he said, half smiling. He slid his hands up her sides, caught her bra with his thumbs, unhooked it, and gently cupped his hands around her full breasts. “Damn, you’re good-looking,” he whispered. Maeve caught her breath, his
