cup of sugar, an attractive man who might just be willing to take her out on a date. Life was good, she decided, and would be even better when her bathroom was purple.
She strolled without haste to the kitchen, and dug out one of the squares of gourmet dark chocolate she kept in the cupboard as a pre-work treat. She let it melt on her tongue, enjoying the bite of seventy percent cocoa while she gathered the paint, along with the drop cloth, paint pan and roller she’d picked up at the hardware store earlier in the week. On impulse, she crossed to the front door, opening it to the small landing, and opened the window there as well so she could enjoy the breeze created by the cross ventilation. Satisfied, she carried her supplies back down the hall and began to prep for work.
Moments later her iPod was hooked into its speaker system, pumping out Aretha Franklin as she stood on the drop cloth and dipped her roller into the freshly poured pan of paint.
* * * * *
Nate cursed the weather and the dog in equal measure.
“Come on, you furry jackass!” He shook the rain-soaked hair out of his eyes and yanked on the leash. Beau dug his ass even farther into the puddle he was sitting in and gave a pitiful whine.
Nate bit down on exasperation. Force wasn’t working, perhaps cajoling would. “Come on, Beau, don’t you want a cookie? Let’s go home and get some cookies, okay?”
The dog’s ears perked up and he gave a hopeful woof. Encouraged, Nate tugged again and was rewarded with two cautious steps. “Yeah, that’s it, boy! Let’s go home and get a cookie!”
Beau woofed again and took two more steps forward, but before Nate could even finish the mental Yes! , lightning split the sky over their heads and thunder boomed. Nate swore ripely as Beau’s forward movement halted immediately, but even as he braced himself for the dog to pull back, lightning struck again and instead of burrowing in, Beau leapt forward.
The leash flew out of his hand as the dog flew past him. Caught flat footed, Nate cursed as he ran to catch up. “Beau! Beau, heel!”
He stopped cursing because it was costing him breath. He chased the dog through the park, past the swing sets and the merry-go-round, the softball fields and the picnic area. He felt a burst of relief when he realized Beau was headed for home, but his heart all but stopped in his chest as he watched him run across the street in front of a pickup. It started again with a painful thump as the truck swerved, missing the dog by inches, and Beau ran on with barely a hitch in his stride.
Nate ignored the shouted curses of the driver and ran across the street, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the dog. It was getting darker, and he could hardly make out the wet mass of panicked canine as he raced across the lawn. He put on a burst of speed when he realized Beau was racing past the house without even a pause, but by the time he made it up the hill, there was no sign of him.
His head whipped around as he scanned the yard, calling Beau’s name at the top of his lungs. It was only on his second scan of the yard he noticed the bottom door to the carriage house apartment was ajar.
He leapt forward, spanning the distance in two strides, and immediately noticed the huge muddy footprints on the front of the door. He was pushing the door open when he heard the crash and the scream.
Fearing the worst—though what the worst was he had no idea—he flew up the stairs and through the open apartment door. Part of his brain made note of the muddy footprints and puddles of dirty water on the floor, and used them as a trail. He flew down the hall and, noting the lights on and music coming from the bathroom, bolted through the door at top speed.
He had a glimpse of Beau, muddy and wet and scrambling for purchase on the plastic-draped floor, and of Lily, arms pinwheeling, paint flying off the roller in her hand as she fought for balance. He stepped forward, arms outstretched to catch her,
She strolled without haste to the kitchen, and dug out one of the squares of gourmet dark chocolate she kept in the cupboard as a pre-work treat. She let it melt on her tongue, enjoying the bite of seventy percent cocoa while she gathered the paint, along with the drop cloth, paint pan and roller she’d picked up at the hardware store earlier in the week. On impulse, she crossed to the front door, opening it to the small landing, and opened the window there as well so she could enjoy the breeze created by the cross ventilation. Satisfied, she carried her supplies back down the hall and began to prep for work.
Moments later her iPod was hooked into its speaker system, pumping out Aretha Franklin as she stood on the drop cloth and dipped her roller into the freshly poured pan of paint.
* * * * *
Nate cursed the weather and the dog in equal measure.
“Come on, you furry jackass!” He shook the rain-soaked hair out of his eyes and yanked on the leash. Beau dug his ass even farther into the puddle he was sitting in and gave a pitiful whine.
Nate bit down on exasperation. Force wasn’t working, perhaps cajoling would. “Come on, Beau, don’t you want a cookie? Let’s go home and get some cookies, okay?”
The dog’s ears perked up and he gave a hopeful woof. Encouraged, Nate tugged again and was rewarded with two cautious steps. “Yeah, that’s it, boy! Let’s go home and get a cookie!”
Beau woofed again and took two more steps forward, but before Nate could even finish the mental Yes! , lightning split the sky over their heads and thunder boomed. Nate swore ripely as Beau’s forward movement halted immediately, but even as he braced himself for the dog to pull back, lightning struck again and instead of burrowing in, Beau leapt forward.
The leash flew out of his hand as the dog flew past him. Caught flat footed, Nate cursed as he ran to catch up. “Beau! Beau, heel!”
He stopped cursing because it was costing him breath. He chased the dog through the park, past the swing sets and the merry-go-round, the softball fields and the picnic area. He felt a burst of relief when he realized Beau was headed for home, but his heart all but stopped in his chest as he watched him run across the street in front of a pickup. It started again with a painful thump as the truck swerved, missing the dog by inches, and Beau ran on with barely a hitch in his stride.
Nate ignored the shouted curses of the driver and ran across the street, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the dog. It was getting darker, and he could hardly make out the wet mass of panicked canine as he raced across the lawn. He put on a burst of speed when he realized Beau was racing past the house without even a pause, but by the time he made it up the hill, there was no sign of him.
His head whipped around as he scanned the yard, calling Beau’s name at the top of his lungs. It was only on his second scan of the yard he noticed the bottom door to the carriage house apartment was ajar.
He leapt forward, spanning the distance in two strides, and immediately noticed the huge muddy footprints on the front of the door. He was pushing the door open when he heard the crash and the scream.
Fearing the worst—though what the worst was he had no idea—he flew up the stairs and through the open apartment door. Part of his brain made note of the muddy footprints and puddles of dirty water on the floor, and used them as a trail. He flew down the hall and, noting the lights on and music coming from the bathroom, bolted through the door at top speed.
He had a glimpse of Beau, muddy and wet and scrambling for purchase on the plastic-draped floor, and of Lily, arms pinwheeling, paint flying off the roller in her hand as she fought for balance. He stepped forward, arms outstretched to catch her,
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