“WAFFLES, WILL YOU PLEASE SLOW down?”
Our afternoon walk around the neighborhood is cut short when he catches sight of Lola on her way home from school. He has a one-track mind where she’s concerned. I tug on his leash, but it’s useless. This dog is on a mission, and nothing will deter him, me included.
My steps falter when I see Dylan is with Lola. Most days, she spends the afternoon at her grandma’s house until Dylan picks her up after work. On occasion, Kendra gets her from school and brings her back to the house.
Dylan is on the phone, his face twisted in a scowl. I don’t envy whoever is on the other end of that call.
Lola skips over to meet Waffles and me in front of her house. Her oversized backpack bounces up and down with every step. Waffles jumps into her arms when she gets close enough, showering her with affectionate licks. Dylan looks on, his disapproval clear by the clench of his jaw.
“You’re such a good boy, Waffles,” Lola croons while scratching him behind the ear.
“He was very excited to see you,” I say.
Lola glances up at me. “I made you something.”
“You did?”
She bobs her head up and down with a toothy grin and sets her backpack on the sidewalk. While she sifts through a stack of papers, Waffles sticks his nose inside to investigate.
“Here,” she exclaims, handing me a drawing of a rainbow covered with shimmering silver and pink glitter.
I crouch down on the sidewalk next to her, taking a closer look at the picture. “Lola, this is lovely. You’re so talented.” My heart swells with warmth at her sweet gesture. “How did you know I love rainbows and glitter?”
“Because you told me,” she says with a hint of sass. “And you always wear those.” She points to my silver sneakers.
My gaze darts to Dylan at the sound of his frustration. He paces the sidewalk a few feet away, as he huffs in annoyance. I stand. “Would you mind if I hang this picture on my fridge so Waffles and I can see it every day?” I ask Lola.
“I think Waffles would like that,” she says.
“You’re absolutely right about that. I have something for you too.”
She watches intently as I take out a sunflower from the front pocket of my overalls.
“You remembered,” she squeals.
“How could I forget?” I ask with a smile. Ever since I gave Lola a daffodil when we met, I always carry a flower with me whenever there’s a possibility that I might run into her.
“Daddy, look what Marlow gave me.” She lifts the flower to show him.
He quickly glances over, acknowledging her with a nod, before turning his attention back to his call.
“Hey, Lola,” I whisper. “Your dad is on an important call. Why don’t you play catch with Waffles until he’s finished?”
She shifts her attention back to me, and I hand her Waffles’ tennis ball that I had in my pocket. Lola tosses it into a patch of nearby snow, and Waffles chases after it, diving enthusiastically into the pile in search of his toy. When he retrieves it, he runs back to Lola, dropping the ball at her feet with an excited bark, eagerly waiting for her to throw it again.
Dylan shoots Waffles a stern look, covering his phone with his hand, attempting to muffle out the noise.
What has him in such a bad mood?
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I can’t resist eavesdropping when he speaks again.
“No, I don’t understand,” he says with irritation. “Your website says that your team can handle last-minute requests. I’m willing to pay a premium for your services, so I fail to see the problem.” He rakes his hand through his hair as he listens to the person’s reply. “Yes, I know that Aspen Grove is a two-hour drive from the city, but I told you that cost isn’t an issue. Like I said before, my nanny quit, and I need to find a suitable replacement as soon as possible.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine. As soon as you find a candidate willing to come to Aspen Grove, call me back.” He disconnects the call and snaps his head in my direction, catching me staring.
“Um… is everything okay?” I ask cautiously.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says, glancing over at Lola and Waffles.
Worry etches itself on his face, and the words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What happened to Kendra?”
I immediately regret asking when Dylan gives me an intense stare. “Do you make it a habit of listening in on people’s private conversations?” he asks in a clipped tone.
“Only when the person is on the verge of spontaneous combustion.” I backpedal when he purses his lips, clearly unamused by my joke. “You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not.”
He studies me a beat before saying, “Kendra had a family emergency and is moving to Florida indefinitely to be with her parents.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope you can find a replacement soon.”
I’ve heard Dylan runs Stafford Holdings, a real estate conglomerate, with his brothers. I can only imagine the stress that comes with that responsibility.
He relies on Kendra to take care of Lola in the mornings before school, due to his early work schedule. I know this because whenever I’ve pulled an all-nighter in the studio, I’ve seen him leaving the house while it’s still dark outside. If he’s not leaving at the crack of dawn, he’s working from his home office that faces my studio.
The idea crosses my mind to offer to watch Lola until he finds a permanent replacement. I decide against it, though, assuming my unsolicited offer wouldn’t be well received given his attitude toward me. Besides, Gavin wouldn’t appreciate it if I did anything to cause additional delays in my painting schedule.
“I’ll get it sorted out,” Dylan says briskly.
“That’s good. Lola is an exceptional girl, and whoever you hire should consider themselves lucky to spend time with her,” I remark warmly.
The corner of his lips lift into a ghost of a smile. “Thanks for saying that.”
He might not have given me a full-on smile, but it’s more than I’ve gotten in the past, so I’m taking it as a win.
“Of course, she’s my neighbor,” I say fondly.
Dylan visibly relaxes, and I find it difficult to breathe when he moves closer. His typically serious and brooding demeanor momentarily fades, and I’m drawn to this glimpse of his gentler side, usually reserved for Lola.
An expression I can’t decipher flickers across his features, and my heart rate speeds up when his gaze flits across my face, lingering on the spot just below my mouth.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“You have paint on your face,” he says softly.
My breath hitches when he slowly reaches out and drags his thumb across my chin, grazing my lower lip, his fingers resting lightly on my jaw. A spark of electricity ripples through me at the unexpected warmth of his hand. I’m frozen in place, confused by my body’s reaction. The intensity in his eyes mirrors how I feel.
Dylan snaps out of it first, blinking rapidly, and shaking his head. He jerks his arm back to his side, flexing his hand. Did he find it that repulsive, or could he be as equally stunned by the intensity of the moment we just shared?
“I shouldn’t have touched you,” he says in a serious tone. “It was a reflex, given how often I have to wipe things off Lola’s face.”
“That’s alright.” I give him a tentative smile and attempt to keep my voice steady. “If you hadn’t, I probably would have spent the rest of the day with paint on my face.”
He dips his chin in a firm nod and avoids my gaze. “It’s time to go inside and wash up, ladybug,” he calls out to Lola. “There are celery sticks and apple slices in the kitchen waiting for you.” He glances down at his watch. “I have a call with your Uncle Harrison in fifteen minutes, so we need to hurry.”
“But Waffles and I are still playing,” Lola protests.
Oh boy.
Dylan won’t be happy if my dog interferes with his meticulously planned schedule.
“You know what, Lola,” I interject. “Waffles and I just got back from a long walk, and we need to get home so I can give him his afternoon treat.”
Waffles halts in his tracks at the mention of his favorite word “treat.” He ditches his tennis ball in the snow and sprints to our front door, barking at me to follow.
“Silly Waffles.” Lola shakes her head and picks up the slobbery ball he left behind. Dylan visibly winces when she wipes it off on her leggings. Those will undoubtedly be tossed in the washer on the sanitize cycle as soon as they get inside.
“We have to hurry, ladybug.” Dylan gestures to their house.
Lola hands me the ball. “Bye, Marlow,” she calls out as she skips ahead and goes inside. I’m puzzled when Dylan doesn’t follow her right away.
“I hope you both have a great night,” I offer warmly.
I notice him flexing his hand again, a smear of red paint on his thumb. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak but doesn’t say anything. After a few seconds, he nods curtly before turning around and going inside his house—the snick of the door closing loudly in the empty street.
