Yap, yap, yap! Despite her dismay, her heart did a happy little leap at that familiar sound.
It was coming from the front yard. She leaped to her feet. But as she made her way to the gate that divided the backyard from the front, she slowed, suddenly feeling clumsy, unsure of her footing.
“Everything okay?” Jake’s voice came at her as if through a fog.
She must have looked as unsteady as she felt because suddenly he was at her side—which was a good thing. When Rufus appeared from around the front of the house, Jake had to physically hold her up. But just for a second. She ordered herself to get her act together and took a step away from him and toward Rufus. Generally speaking, toward Rufus was not her preferred direction these days, but she needed to assert her dominance. This was her territory. Her crappy house. Her new life.
Which did not include Rufus.
So she walked the last few steps to the gate, put her hands on her hips, and summoned her best ice queen tone. “What are you doing here, Rufus?” She tried to keep her eyes—eyes she hoped were radiating judginess and disdain—on Rufus, but she couldn’t help dropping them for a second. As soon as she made eye contact with the little basset hound in Rufus’s arms, he yapped happily at her in greeting. She suppressed a smile.
Which wasn’t all that hard to do, because Rufus had started toward her. She held up a hand. She was the one regulating how much distance there was between them. “I asked you what you were doing here.”
That galvanized Jake, who covered the short distance between them until he was once again at her side. He didn’t do or say anything, though. He just stood there, his eyes moving between her and Rufus, assessing. It occurred to her that some men, in the name of honor or chivalry or whatever, would rush in and be all, “The lady asked you a question, asshole,” but Jake merely stood there, his solid, wordless presence having the same steadying effect it’d had during the emergency birth.
But she wasn’t going to lie. The fact that her silent support system was a gorgeous man-god was not going unappreciated here.
She turned and raised her eyebrows pointedly at Rufus.
“I need you to take the dog,” he said quickly.
It was all she could do not to lunge for the little creature she had come to love so much. She forced herself to be cool. “Why?”
Rufus was clearly uncomfortable, alternately kicking the ground in front of him and eyeing Jake like a bratty little boy who’d been caught doing something stupid by a cool, older kid. “It turns out that basset hounds are one of the worst breeds for people with allergies.”
Oh hell no.
She knew exactly what he was getting at, but she decided to play dumb. “But you’re not allergic to dogs.”
“It’s not their fur so much as their dander, which I guess is extra potent or something.”
“And you have that vacuum cleaner that cost as much as a used car. You do love that vacuum cleaner.” It was one of the objects he’d insisted on. A top-of-the-line Miele even though all they’d had to vacuum were area rugs—the actual floor of the apartment had been hardwood.
“And basset hound drool is a factor in allergies, too. You remember how much he drools.”
A wave of revulsion washed over her. He couldn’t seem to find the strength or the balls or the whatever in himself to take responsibility for what he was actually saying. To say what he was actually saying.
Her sister had told her that there was a formula for how long it took to get over someone—a month for every year you’d been together. By that metric, it was supposed to take five months for Rufus to be in her wake. As much as she hated the fact that he had just shown up uninvited at her house, she also kind of appreciated that his doing so was putting her on the accelerated plan.
Okay, she was done here. “Rufus, I think what you’re trying to say is that the resident you cheated on me with is shacking up with you a month after I walked in on said cheating, and that she’s allergic to dogs?”
He turned bright red, which she enjoyed, but he didn’t answer.
“Is that right?” she goaded. She felt a hand on her lower back. Jake’s, resting lightly. A visceral reminder of his presence, should she need it.
“Chloe is allergic to dogs,” Rufus mumbled.
She laughed.
Then she laughed some more, because she was happy that she could laugh about this so soon. She was totally on the advanced track here. She might be lonely, but she wasn’t lonely for Rufus, which she was going to take as a win. “Hand him over.”
Jake leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You want this dog?”
She nodded. She did want the dog. The dog was the only damn thing in the whole split she’d wanted, but she hadn’t presumed to ask because he was Rufus’s—from way before she came on the scene.
Although…even though she had just been thinking how she appreciated Jake’s low-key approach, his silent but steadfast support, part of her wanted to see what he would do or say if she said no, she didn’t want the dog. How fast would Jake have Rufus running away with his tail between his legs—pun intended?
But no. She was happy to play power games with asshole ex-boyfriends, but she couldn’t do that to loyal canine companions.
Rufus edged forward and handed her the dog over the gate, keeping his eyes on Jake. Once the transfer had been made, he took a big step back and said, “I have a box of his stuff in the car. I’ll leave it on the porch.”
“Hang on,” she called, and he paused in his retreat. “Repeat after me. ‘I’ll leave a box of his stuff on the porch, and I swear on Chloe’s perfect, perky resident boobs that I will never contact you again, Nora.’”
Jake guffawed, and Rufus rolled his eyes.
“I’m not kidding, Rufus. Say it, or find someone else to take the dog.” It was an empty threat, but she was banking on him not knowing that.
“I’ll leave a bag of his stuff on the porch, and I swear on Chloe’s perfect, perky resident boobs that I will never contact you again, Nora,” he mumbled, not making eye contact.
She turned away from him for the last time. It really felt like the last time, and it felt…good. She smiled.
Jake whistled and took a step back.
“That,” she said, “was Rufus. Species: disgusting ex-boyfriend who makes me question my taste in everything.” She pressed her nose to the fur on the dog’s head, inhaling his comforting, familiar smell. “And this is Sir Mick. Species: miniature basset hound.”
“Sir Mick as in Jagger?” Jake asked, still reeling a little from watching Nora take down her ex in such spectacular fashion.
“Yep.” She kissed one of the dog’s long, floppy ears, and she must have interpreted Jake’s snort correctly, because she added, “Named by Rufus long before I came on the scene.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with the Stones,” he said, following her around to the front of the house.
“I know, but they’re not the Beatles—am I right?”
“You are right.”
She eyed the box on the porch.
“Let me get that.”
They went in the front door, and Nora set about unpacking the box and filling a water bowl for Mick.