“Evie!” Sam’s voice breaks from the top of the stairs, and she comes barreling down, all teeth and sparkling brown eyes. She really is adorable. Her face looks open and excited today. I remember that feeling well.
“Hey there, darlin’!”
For a brief moment, I think Sam is going to run right up and hug me, but in the end, she doesn’t. She looks like she lost the courage to do it.
I glance back at Jacob, and he looks puzzled—as if he were wondering the same thing. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks more than uncomfortable—like he has no intention of ungluing himself from the front door. He’s re-enacting an 1800’s BBC movie where the gentleman is afraid of being caught alone in the room with the lady.
Don’t worry, Jacob. You won’t be forced to marry me.
Sam looks up at me. “Can—can I pet her?” She glances down at Daisy—whose tail is wagging and looks as if the only thing she wants out of life is for Sam to wrap her up in a hug—and then back up at me.
I know why she’s nervous. Everyone is at first. They see the big, scary Do Not Pet patch on the bright-blue vest and worry that they are going to be doing something wrong.
“Of course you can. Daisy is your dog. I want you to pet, snuggle, and play with her as much as you can.”
“Really? That’s not against the rules?”
I shake my head, trying not to smile too big and make her feel silly for asking. “No. Not against the rules at all. The more you and Daisy bond, the better care she will take of you.”
“Okay, cool.”
Sam drops down to her knees in front of Daisy and reaches out to pet her. She’s cautious at first, running her hand over Daisy’s head and neck, and then something snaps in Sam, and her restraint flies out the window. She wraps her tiny little girl arms around Daisy’s neck and shuts her eyes with a peaceful smile. The sight tugs somewhere deep inside me.
I know this feeling.
Suddenly, my back feels hot, and I’m aware of a new presence. Jacob has peeled himself away from the door, and he is now standing right behind me, looking over my shoulder at his daughter. I don’t want to look at him. Honestly, I’m too attracted to him. I’m afraid that if I look into his eyes at this close proximity, I might burst into flames.
Out of my league.
“She looks happy,” he whispers close to my ear, doing nothing to help my buzzing nerves.
I turn my head ever so slightly and see that he is looking down at Sam, and to be honest, he looks like he could cry. Training camp weeks are always emotional for everyone involved—including me—but this…this feels different. I feel what he’s feeling, and I want to cry too.
I now understand what it’s like to be those weird blue people in Avatar that touch tails. I so misjudged them.
“Can my daddy pet her too?” Sam’s voice feels like a bucket of water.
I shake myself from my emotional connection with Jacob and focus on the real reason I’m here. “Yep. He sure can. Seizure-assist dogs have to be working 24/7, and because of that, we want Daisy to be able to be a dog sometimes too. It’s best to not let other people pet her while you’re in public because we want her to stay focused on taking care of you. But when you’re home, she can definitely enjoy some TLC from your daddy and friends.”
We spend the next few minutes going over what we will work on that day, and Sam looks like she could combust from excitement. Before we move into the living room, Jacob speaks and makes me fall in love with him in a single statement.
“Oh, by the way, there are chocolate-chip muffins in the kitchen.”
Chapter Seven
EVIE
I’m running behind. Great. Mama’s going to love when I show up to this swanky restaurant in my tennis shoes and a whole (gasp) five minutes late.
I can picture her now, sitting at the table, tapping her French-manicured nails on the table, apologizing to the waiter for her inconsiderate daughter causing such an inconvenience to him and his fine establishment. As if he really cares that I’ve delayed their ordering by five minutes. She’s also probably given him at least one other instance in which I’ve let her down during my lifetime.
As Charlie and I spring from the Uber and dash into the restaurant, I’m almost willing to bet all twenty-six dollars in my bank account that our waiter knows I turned down THE Tyler Murray’s hand in marriage.
I approach the table just in time to see my mama finishing up a monologue. The waiter looks at me with pity swimming in his eyes. I smile at the poor man who will have to wait on us this evening, because I know that no amount of money will be enough to erase the backhanded compliments my mama will offer our lowly servant tonight.
“Well?” I ask him. “Do you think I should have accepted his proposal or not?”
He presses his lips together in an apologetic smile. Listen, lady, I just want a good tip tonight.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Evelyn Grace, don’t be so dramatic.”
I turn my eyes to the woman I’m forced to call mother and suppress my overwhelming desire to laugh. I’m dramatic? The very lady who has probably alerted the whole serving staff of this restaurant to the fact that I’m five minutes late is calling me dramatic?
“Hi, Mama. Daddy.” I pull out my chair and sit down, and Charlie takes his rightful place at my feet.
Daddy gives me a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and grunts, going right back to perusing the menu he has held in front of his face like it’s Captain America’s shield. He’s been to enough of these “family” dinners. He knows how it’s going to go down, and he is not excited about it. That makes two of us, buddy. I wish I could check out like he has since I was sixteen years old.
Charlie senses my tension. He lays over my feet and keeps glancing up at me.
“I assume you have a good reason for being late to our dinner?” says Mama, not even waiting for my butt to warm in the seat before she begins her berating.
“Yep. I sure do.” I lift my menu and begin reading. Goodness, I hope they are paying for dinner tonight; otherwise, I’ll have to ask for a nice crisp water and a side of free cherries from the bar.
“Do you care to explain what that reason might be?” She’s blinking at me so rapidly I consider suggesting some eye drops.
Setting down my menu, I say, “Honestly, Mama, I don’t think any reason I give you will be good enough in your eyes for my disgraceful tardiness. So, let’s just pretend that I had to save a child from a burning building and leave it at that.”
That does NOT make Melony happy. Her bright-pink lips are pressing into a line. “Must you always act as if I’m the devil? Is it really so horrible of me to wish for my daughter to be punctual to an event one of these days?” Got it. We’ve started the manipulative portion of the evening. That was quick.
I look to my daddy, waiting to see if he’s going to perform a miracle and intervene. His menu seems to have only become more engrossing. Stephen King has nothing on this restaurant’s list of dinner options.
I sigh, mentally deciding to just say what needs to be said to get through this dinner as fast as possible. “I’m sorry I was late. I was across town training a little girl and the new service dog we just matched her with today. Training went a little later than I had anticipated, and I had to return the dog to her volunteers for the night.”