Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Someone’s knocking on the door. Captain flies off the bed, racing to the door, barking once, twice.
“Are you expecting someone?” Sawyer asks with concern in his voice.
“I’m not.”
“Want me to check?” he asks, popping out of bed and grabbing his shirt, a man ready to protect his woman.
“Yes please.”
He strides out of the bedroom, shoving his arms into his shirt as he goes. I follow, then blink in surprise when I see—Veronica on the other side of the door.
27
SWEET LEG LOVE
CHLOE
I knew Veronica was in town since she’s shooting a cameo on Happily Maybe After, and sure, I told her she could stop by anytime. But people don’t always take you seriously when you say that.
Evidently, she did.
She’s rolling her lips together and grimacing, all frantic energy with her big sunglasses still on—even though the sun’s dipping behind the hills. I hope Shortcake is okay. I hope she’s okay. I yank the door open.
“What’s going on?”
She flaps her hands, and I’m almost distracted by her new manicure—delicate flower illustrations cover her shiny white nails.
“Shortcake…my boyfriend…me,” she stammers, barely able to get the words out.
“Did he knock him into a lake?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
Veronica snaps her head toward Sawyer, standing behind me in the doorway, apparently just now noticing him. They met the other night, when Shortcake was a background actor.
“Hey there,” Sawyer says with a nod, then glances at me, silently offering to retreat to the living room.
“Come in,” I say to my distraught client, then usher her inside. Sawyer shuts the door, glancing at the sleek hot-pink car in the driveway. Shortcake, all one hundred and forty pounds of him, sits in the backseat, staring out the car window like he’s planning his next move.
“‘Dog style’ is on. That’s what the carmaker calls it,” Veronica explains. “It’s set to sixty-nine degrees.”
“The carmaker has a good sense of humor,” Sawyer adds.
“And perhaps a mixed sense of metaphors,” I add.
“That’s true too,” Veronica says, then pauses in the foyer, waving her hand in front of her face and taking a calming breath.
“Okay, talk to me,” I say.
“I started seeing someone recently—it happened fast, he swept me off my feet. But now, every time Javier comes over…” She winces. “Shortcake tries to hump my leg. Not even his leg—mine.”
I nod, taking it in. “And it only happens when Javier’s there?”
“Yes. And now my new love life is practically a disaster! It’s like Shortcake is jealous, maybe? Or he’s trying to show Javier he’s the OG boyfriend? Like…he’s out-manning him?”
“All good observations,” I say, mentally flipping through solutions. “But to me, it sounds more like insecurity.”
Her brow knits, and Sawyer watches me with avid interest, maybe even pride.
“It sounds like your dog thinks Javier is trying to replace him. So he’s…nervous. And a little possessive.”
Veronica’s eyes widen. “Oh. He’s…clingy, you mean?”
“Exactly,” I say. “But we can work with this. I can’t promise a total fix in an hour, but I can show you how to start reshaping his reaction.”
“I hope so,” she says. “Javier is such a sweetheart. I hope Shortcake can get past this.”
I glance at the wall clock, a retro illustration of two girlfriends clinking wineglasses and the words It’s Wine O’Clock Somewhere on it. A plan forms. “Can we go to your house right now?”
“Of course.”
But I need Sawyer too. I spin toward him. “What time is your dinner?”
“I’ve got an hour and fifteen,” he says, and he’s in all-business mode now, especially when he says, “How can I help?”
My heart does a little waltz at his willingness. “Perfect.”
Veronica beams. “Are you sure?”
It’s kind of adorable that she’s asking me if I’m sure—when she showed up at my house at seven-fifteen at night.
“I’m sure,” I say. “We’ll follow you,” I add, already moving.
No time to ask Sawyer what the hell we’re doing in the middle of this dog training emergency—because we’re hustling to my car seconds later.
“Who’s the real efficiency expert now?” he asks as he opens my door, his tone laced with…innuendo.
“This woman,” I say, hopping in.
“And it’s hot,” he whispers, and so much for innuendo. He’s clear.
When he slides into the passenger seat, he gives me a look like he really wants to fuck me again.
It’s a very good look.
When I turn on the car, I say, “Thanks for doing this. I appreciate it.”
His gaze holds mine and his eyes flash with warmth, something deeper than desire. “Like I said, I can’t stay away from you.”
My heart flips.
“And you owe me, Chloe. Ducks. You’ve got to juggle those ducks. For me.”
The organ in my chest flips yet again.
But I can’t get caught up in this feeling—not when I’m apparently the head of the emergency department in Darling Springs. From community theater chaos to dog drama, Chloe Rivers is the one to call.
Who would’ve thought the hot mess would be the problem solver?