Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
It’s another thirty minutes before I feel like I’ve told her everything that comes to mind. The whole process doesn’t seem so daunting anymore, and I want to start looking right away.
“How about we start this Saturday?” Madeleine asks, looking at her calendar on her laptop. “That’ll give me enough time to compile a list of homes, and you can sit on some of the decisions you made today and see if they change.”
“Sounds good.”
It’s Thursday, so Saturday is only two days away, but it seems like too long.
“Could I come by and run Mouse tonight?”
She stops taking notes and peers up at me from beneath her lashes. “Really? You don’t have to run with him just because I offered.”
I insist, though I know I’ll be regretting my decision in the morning. I’ve worked out, but I haven’t run any long distances since I left Chicago. My legs are already burning just thinking about it.
“Okay.” She smiles shyly, focusing once again on the notes in front of her. “You can come by around six. And I might have you sign a waiver—I think Mouse has put on 10 or 15 more pounds just this week.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MADELEINE
I have no earthly idea why Adam wants to come over and run with Mouse. Sure, he mentioned that he loves running, but he can run by himself any time he wants. Does he really like Mouse that much, or is there more to it? I ponder this question while zipping around my small apartment, tidying up at warp speed. The only person who ever comes over is Daisy, and I never bother picking up for her. She has seen this place in its full glory, but Adam hasn’t, and he shall never see the full extent of my bachelorette barbarian lifestyle—not if I want him to think of me as a functioning adult. I start with the vacuum, but that takes twice as long as I thought it would thanks to all the puppy hair Mouse seems to shed at alarming rates lately. I zoom through the house, tripping over the vacuum cord three times before I’m finally finished. I am sporting nice bruises on my knees and a seriously jammed baby toe, but there isn’t a speck of hair on my floor.
After that, I scrub the bathroom and the kitchen. I take out the garbage and load up another trash bag with things I should have been tossing on a regular basis: empty shampoo bottles, old magazines, an adult coloring book Daisy bought for me that I never got around to actually using. I did rip the pages out and use them as gum receptacles a time or two, which had a very soothing effect on my stress levels. Thank you very much, adult coloring.
The second trash bag is remarkably heavy—like drag it on the floor and groan heavy—and I decide right then and there that I’m going to clean my house more.
“Do you hear that Mouse?! We’re cleaning this place up at least once a week—well, if we don’t get kicked out first!”
He doesn’t respond, and when I walk out of the bathroom, I find him chewing on the vacuum cord. Good dog, save me from the prospect of weekly cleaning.
I am losing my mind and suddenly it’s 5:50. I’m still in my work clothes, and I can’t decide how that makes me look. I consider changing, but Adam is due any minute and I still have to take out my second bag of trash, put up the vacuum, light a candle, and somehow teach Mouse how to behave like a good dog before Adam arrives.
It’s no use. I’m running back to my apartment when I spot Adam pulling into the parking lot. If possible, his car is shinier than it was the last time I saw it. I really wish he wouldn’t park next to my clunker. It’s just cruel.
“Hey Madeleine,” he says as he opens his door and steps out.
He’s in running shorts and a t-shirt, sneakers and a ball cap. He is suddenly sexier than I’ve ever seen him, which makes no sense considering half his face is covered by the hat and his aviators.
“Oh hey Adam. C’mon, Mouse is inside waiting for you.” And probably terrorizing my apartment in some new and creative way.
“Where did you just come from?” he asks, turning behind me to look at the apartment complex.
“Oh, the dumpster. Had to take some trash out.”
“Ahh, that explains the ice cream wrapper stuck to your dress.”
I look around, and sure enough, there’s a Snickers ice cream bar wrapper stuck directly to my hip. When I pull it off, chocolate sludge clings to the fabric.
“Ugh…gross…that must’ve come from someone else’s trash. I don’t really do desserts, just lean protein and broccoli.”
He chuckles and follows me inside. Mouse goes crazy when he spots Adam, jumping and whining until Adam eventually gets him under control. I don’t even bother apologizing or trying to explain away the behavior. Adam knows what kind of beast Mouse is by now, and unless a miracle occurs, he’s not going to come into manners overnight.