Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
My breath catches in my lungs as Van takes that first step. He’s also holding a crowbar in one hand and a hammer in the other, which isn’t at all ominous. He’s not soaked now—duh. In fact, he’s very well put together now with his hair smoothed back, tanned skin glowing with health under the early afternoon sun, black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and jeans riding low on his trim waist, hugging his leg muscles just right. I try not to have an eyegasm right there in the flower garden, but of course, my whole body gets uncomfortably warm on top of the scorching heat. It becomes even warmer as Van takes another step and then another.
I brace myself for it. For the inevitable, awkward moment where we talk about what happened last night, he says it was a mistake that should never happen again, and my heart breaks into a thousand tiny, hopeless, silly little pieces, crushing all the dreams I should have given up on a long time ago—okay that I thought I had given up on a long time ago—into a thousand pieces.
A bark splinters the air, and Curly Cookie comes bounding over from the side of the yard where’s he’s been doing official inspection business for the past hour that he’s been out here. At first, I think he’s going to run to Van, but he changes directions halfway and runs up to me instead, wagging his tail so hard that it whaps against each side of his body as usual. Whap whap, whap whap. Mr. Whap Whap keeps coming, wriggling his way over to the freshly turned dirt.
He’s coming over for pets and rubs in the most adorable fashion. He’s so cute that I forget all about how it’s so hot out here that it’s actually sucking moisture out of the ground from the rain last night and creating a hazy fog of humidity hell that makes my clothes feel damp and sticky.
Curly Cookie’s feet hit the earth, and suddenly I know for sure that, nope, it’s not pets or rubs he wants. He digs a hole in the garden, shooting dirt in all directions.
“Curly Cookie!” Van drops the tools and races across the yard right as I get a dirt shower. I try to turn away from the onslaught of damp earth, but clods hit me all over my shirt and jeans. A few land in my hair. I taste dirt, but at least I get my eyes shut in time to prevent getting a good up-close look at it.
Van leaps over to the flower garden right as I turn back since the dirt has stopped flying, all just in time to see Curly Cookie doing the doggie squat over the massive hole he’s dug. Which, okay, isn’t the end of the world. It’s kind of nasty, but I can just scoop it into a trash bag with the shovel and get on with what I’m doing here. Even if my nose is wrinkling up because it’s kind of fresh and the smell is wafting.
Van stops abruptly and gags. Hearing him gag makes me want to gag, but I swallow repeatedly. “Curly Cookie!” Van coughs, wheezing for air. “Get over here right now. Please.”
I like that he tacked on “please” at the end, especially for a puppy.
Curly Cookie finishes up his business and turns to give me a proud look and an adorable puppy smile that makes me forgive him for doing business right there in the flower garden, which I now have to clean up. And then, he circles the hole. He turns around and kicks at the dirt with his front paws.
Aww, he’s going to bury it like a gentleman. How considerate.
Except that’s not the plan.
Or maybe it is, and the plan just goes wrong because Curly Cookie is a puppy—a large, overly excited puppy.
Anyway, plan or no plan, he gets going with those front paws, covering eagerly, and then he backs up, still shooting, scooting, and digging. Awwww, no, he’s going to bury it like a gentleman. How not so considerate! It’s all happening so quickly that I don’t have time to get out of the way or duck and cover before I’m hit with a dirt shower that isn’t just dirt. Nope. Definitely not just dirt. Curly Cookie hasn’t just flung earth at me. He’s flung doggy doo all over my jeans. And my shirt. And maybe my hair. At least I manage to turn around to avoid getting it in the face, and my back takes the brunt of it.
“God, no!” Van scoops the puppy up with a single catch, throwing him over his shoulder and carrying him to the house. “Nanny!” he calls, and I hear the woosh of the patio door opening. “Curly Cookie needs a bath. He’s in trouble. He’s a poop thrower, and Remi is coated.”