Normally he wouldn’t even be thinking about these things—it was too early in the relationship. He might change his mind. She might change hers. But with the wound of losing Hannah so fresh in his mind, he’d be lying if he said that the prospect of not having another chance at being a father didn’t burn him at the soul level.
“So, let me see if I can sum this up,” Cassidy said. “She likes you. But she loved Bradley. You won’t even tell us how you feel about her. Nor do you have a name for what you guys are. And you want us to help you with…?”
Lincoln threw a paper clip at Cassidy, surprisingly taking Nick’s side. “Shut it, Cassidy. I don’t seem to remember you having all your shit figured out with Emma.”
“I wasn’t this bad,” Cassidy muttered.
“Really? It only took you, what, eight years to lock that down?” Lincoln asked.
Cassidy threw the paper clip back. Hard.
Nick nearly smiled. At least he wasn’t the only one stuck in elementary school today.
“Ballantine, here’s what you’re really asking us,” Lincoln said, shifting his attention away from Cassidy. “You’re off balance because you’ve met the woman. She’s tied you up in knots, you can’t stop thinking about her, you’re terrified you’ll never be able to stop thinking about her. And you want us to tell you that it’ll get easier. That it’ll pass.”
Nick gave Lincoln a wary look. “Will it?”
“No.”
Nick winced and glanced at Cassidy, who shrugged and then shook his head.
“Shit,” he muttered. “So what do I do?”
“Only thing you can do,” Lincoln said. “Try not to fuck it up.”
Chapter 24
Taylor put her hands on her hips and looked at the belly-up dog at her feet.
The brown eyes clearly said love me, but it was more demand than was plea.
“I’m not going to rub your belly until you apologize for chewing my shoe,” Taylor told the dog, who’d come with the name Twinkie.
Twinkie wagged her tail, and Taylor relented, bending and running a tentative hand along the dog’s soft pink belly. “Promise me I won’t regret bringing you home,” she said.
The dog rolled onto her feet and licked Taylor’s chin. Promise.
“Okay, and you’ll protect me from Nick when he sees that I brought us a third roommate without asking him first?”
Twinkie’s brown tail swished furiously against the hardwood, obviously quite confident in her ability to charm anyone.
Taylor wasn’t so sure. To say that the dog had been an impulsive decision was an understatement.
One minute she’d been taking a YouTube break at work, planning to watch a makeup tutorial to give her brain something to think about other than mockups that all looked exactly the same.
The next minute she’d been watching a commercial talking about the thousands of dogs in shelters, with no home, no one to love them….
For some reason that damn commercial had just gotten to her—the dogs’ sad faces, the hopelessness.
She’d wanted to save them. And of course she couldn’t save them all, but she could save one….
So she’d done just that.
After work she’d stopped to pick up a leash and collar and called a pet store near her apartment to have dog food, treats, toys, and dishes delivered to her place.
Then she’d marched into a Manhattan shelter, faked confidence she didn’t have, and announced that she wanted a dog.
The twentysomething volunteer had asked what kind of dog, and Taylor had simply said, “The one that needs love the most.”
Twenty minutes later she’d walked out with Twinkie pulling giddily at the leash.
She didn’t know dogs, but she supposed that as far as conventional dog looks went, Twinkie wasn’t a beauty.
The shelter had told her that their best guess was that Twinkie was about five years old and part Lab, part German shepherd, and part pit bull. All attractive breeds in their own right, but mixed together? Taylor was utterly, thoroughly charmed.
No, more than that, she thought as she stroked the scratchy fur on Twinkie’s head.
She was already head over heels in love.
“Okay, let’s see what else that hundred dollars at the pet store got me,” Taylor said, going to the bag.
She pulled out an ugly-looking cow toy and laughed when Twinkie leapt high in the air and grabbed the toy out of her hand.
“Hold on there,” Taylor said, grabbing the toy right back. “We have to take the tags off.”
Twinkie whined mournfully as Taylor snipped the tags, then wagged her tail in gratitude before bounding toward the living room, cow toy in her mouth, thrashing it furiously.
“Make yourself at home,” Taylor muttered as Twinkie hopped on the couch and settled down to squeak the toy.
An hour later Taylor was sitting on the couch beside Twinkie, sipping a glass of wine and reading a blog for first-time dog owners on her iPad, when Nick got home.
She’d just finished a post about how dogs—especially older dogs who hadn’t come from good homes—often didn’t respond well to strangers. Especially men.
That apparently wasn’t going to be the case with Twinkie and Nick.
The door hadn’t even shut behind him when Twinkie launched herself at his knees.
Twinkie wasn’t particularly tall, but she was sturdy, and her brown body knocked Nick back a full step.
“What the—”
Nick stared down at the dog trying to climb its way up his body before his eyes searched the room for Taylor.
She gave him a nervous smile. “So. I got a dog.”
He stared at her, then back at Twinkie. “You got a dog.”
“Surprise?”
Nick didn’t respond, setting his bag on the floor before lowering to a crouch.
Twinkie gave him an enthusiastic kiss on the face, and his big hand stroked the dog’s head. “Hey, buddy. I’m guessing from the pink collar you’re a girl?”
Taylor took another sip of wine for courage. He didn’t sound mad. This was good.
“Nick, meet Twinkie.”
His head snapped up. “Oh, hell no. Twinkie? The pink collar is one thing. Let her have some dignity.”
“Wasn’t my idea,” she said, holding up her hands. “I had another name picked out, but then they told me she was five, and I couldn’t bring myself to change her identity on her.”
“What did you want to call her?” he said, obliging with a belly rub as Twinkie rolled to her back.
“Sprinkles.”
He laughed, his eyes still on the dog. “No. Seriously.”
She scowled at him. “Seriously.”
He looked up and saw from her expression that she was for real. “You lucked out,” he stage-whispered to Twinkie.
“Yeah, okay, it’s not the best name,” she said, getting up from the couch and joining him in the kitchen.
“It’s not bad,” he said, taking the wineglass from her and helping himself to a sip. “If you’re a seven-year-old girl with pigtails.”
Taylor looked away, but not fast enough.
He reached for her hand, pulled her closer. “Hey.” He waited until she met his eyes before asking, “Is this your first dog?”
She nodded.
“But you wanted one as a kid?”
She gave a rueful smile. “Yeah. A Yorkie. And yes, I was going to name her Sprinkles.” She held up a warning finger. “But I did not have pigtails.”
He kissed her finger. “The dog didn’t happen?”