Nights and weekends. Well.
Since Our Gang officially became open for business, Lucas and his father had thrown the full weight of their animal hospital toward helping us get on our feet. They donated their time and services to any dog that came in, making sure they were healthy and doing any spaying or neutering for free. They also continued to spread the word in the community, and we’d already had three adoptions.
And Lucas? My nights and weekends were still spoken for.
We were spending a lot of time together. We’d fallen into this easy pattern of having dinner together, either on the patio at my place or on the deck of his, which had a killer view of the bay. We’d told each other stories about our exes, almost exorcising our collective demons. It had been many weeks since I’d walked out on my wedding, longer still for Lucas. We were divinely attracted to each other—and yet.
We had never moved beyond friendship, although I thought about that almost-kiss in the barn all the time.
We had never moved beyond friendship, although if I leaned across him to grab something off the kitchen counter and accidentally-on-purpose brushed my breasts across the back of his hand, his breath would catch and he’d clench his fists as if stopping himself from touching me.
We had never moved beyond friendship, although if he was helping me with my jacket on those chilly evenings out on the patio and accidentally (pretty sure also on purpose) pressed his body against my back while straightening out my sleeves, breathing magical puffs of salty, woodsy-scented Lucas air all around my head and pretty sure also nuzzling against my ear, sending a shockwave of sizzling heat straight to my bloodstream, enough so that I pressed back against him, feeling his warm body connecting to every part of my now very overheated body . . . wait, what?
Still just friendship. Rebounds without benefits.
Why weren’t we taking this relationship to the next level? A question with several answers.
Part of it was that he was getting ready to leave for another tour with Vets Without Borders. In a matter of weeks he’d be in Belize, and I’d be here. Okay, something to consider.
Part of it was the fact that in the beginning, I’d been adamant that this was friendship alone, because I needed time and space to process my breakup with Charles. Though I hadn’t regretted that decision once, I also didn’t want to jump willy-nilly from one relationship to the next. I almost wished I’d met some delicious and dumb guy that I could be all whammy bammy with, getting the rebounding done with someone I didn’t care about, and could then leave behind for someone pretty much like . . .
Oh, hell. Someone exactly like Lucas Campbell. Because there’d be no halfway, no “just for the sexing” with him. Hell, no. We’d be all in, 100 percent. I could fall for this guy—and he was leaving. I’d miss the fudge out of him. Speaking of which . . .
“Jenny, I’ve got to run into town. Carousel Candies is holding ten pounds of fudge under my name for the party tomorrow.” I set the puppy down reluctantly.
“Make sure I get to help taste test,” she said.
“Done!” On my way to my new truck, I signed off on two deliveries and took a call from a bakery that specialized in all-natural dog treats and was donating the tasty biscuits for the grand opening.
Hopping into my truck, I said another silent thanks to Lucas, who’d wrangled the car dealership into something much better. When we’d walked in they immediately knew who he was; the benefit of a small community. Within a couple of hours, my original contract had been torn up and I was back on the streets with a not-so-old Land Rover Discovery, with a custom cage in the back for transporting my four-legged residents. A car I truly loved and that fit my new lifestyle, which now included a rack on the top for my new kayak—something else Lucas had introduced me to.
As I was driving, I got a call from my cousin Clark, who was on his way down to Monterey with his fiancée for the grand opening, and to look at the puppies.
“Babies need a dog, Clark,” I heard her instructing him the last time we were on the phone. And with the new litter, it was perfect timing.
“What time do you think you’ll get in?” I asked, glad that Lucas had installed a new stereo system with Bluetooth.
“Looks like we’re due in around five, is that okay?”
“Perfect, cocktail hour.” I pulled into the parking lot by the candy store. “What’s Vivian drinking these days?”
“If you’ve got sparkling water, she’s fine with that.”
“She’s fine with root beer too!” the woman in question chimed in.
“Vivian, we’ve discussed this. Too much sugar can make the baby—”
“Oh, can it, Clark. A soda every so often isn’t going to make the baby anything. How’s it hanging, Chloe?”