From here on out, I should leave her the hell alone. I should stop calling her and get someone else to cover the puppy training classes. I should bury my head in work and focus on myself.
Instead, as I walk back to the clinic after lunch, I try calling her work phone, half expecting her to screen my call.
On the third ring, she picks up.
“Good afternoon, Madeleine Thatcher at Hamilton Realty.”
“Madeleine.”
There’s a long pause, and I wonder if she is about to hang up.
“Can we talk for a second?” I ask before she can.
She sighs. “I’m at work, Adam. What do you need?”
She clearly wants nothing to do with me, but that’s to be expected.
“I think we should talk.”
“Okay, and I don’t think we should talk. Is there anything else?”
I’ve never heard her voice so devoid of emotion.
“So you’re not upset with me about the other night?”
“Not at all.”
She’s bluffing.
“All right, then I’d like to come by and run Mouse tonight.”
“I have plans.”
Another bluff.
“I’ll come by before your plans.”
Someone on her end of the line warns her about a meeting starting in five minutes in the conference room. She tells them she’s headed there now.
“If you say no,” I continue, “I’ll assume you’re still upset about the other night.”
I’m not proud of myself, but my underhanded tactic works.
“Fine,” she says. “Be there at six.”
Okay, maybe I’m a little proud.
…
I’m standing on her doorstep at 5:55 PM and I can hear her shuffling around inside. After I knock, she scurries to the door and unlatches the lock. I’m a little taken aback to find her standing on the other side in a skimpy red cocktail dress. It’s fitted around her waist and the short hem falls to mid-thigh—barely.
She’s putting in her second earring and waves me in with a small nod.
“Come in. I’m almost done getting ready.”
“For what?”
Maybe she doesn’t hear me, or maybe she feels she doesn’t owe me an answer. She disappears into her room and I hear her shuffling through her closet. Mouse tries his best to monopolize my attention, winding through my legs while holding a ball in his mouth, desperate to be pet. I rub behind his ear, sinking my fingers into his soft puppy fur, and crane my neck to get a look inside Madeleine’s room. She’s sitting on her bed, strapping on high heels. Her dress has ridden up, barely covering her upper thighs.
“Do you have a date?”
She jerks up and sees me watching her.
“No, I just like getting dressed up like this for fun.”
Her words drip with sarcasm. She pushes off her bed and closes her door, cutting off my view. She might as well be telling me to fuck off.
It’s just Mouse and me for a few minutes. I could leave and get started on our run. Instead, I help myself to a glass of water and take a seat back on the couch. Her apartment seems smaller than the last time I was in it, or maybe I didn’t pay attention before. Now, with her hidden away in her room, I have nothing to do but snoop.
Her antique coffee table is cluttered with books. There are stacks of paperbacks piled underneath and layered on top. There’s no bookshelf that I can see—it’s not like one would fit—and it seems she uses the table instead. Spines face me and I scroll down the list, recognizing one out of the ten titles: All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. On a whim, I reach for it, appreciating the worn spine. There’s a yellow sticky note tucked between the pages and I flip to it, wondering what passage she found important enough to refer back to. Maybe I liked that passage too.
“Rooting through my things?”
I drop the book like it’s on fire.
She chuckles and comes over to pick it up, and her silky dress brushes my leg as she bends down, straightens. My fingers catch the hem and I brush it between my thumb and pointer finger; it’s softer than I could have imagined. I drop it before she can notice.
“Aren’t you going to apologize for snooping?” she quips, finally meeting my eyes. I realize I’ve been waiting for her to acknowledge me ever since I first arrived. Now that she has, I have nothing to say. I lean back on the couch, taking in every detail she’s prepared for another man. Her long brown hair falls in loose, silky waves. Her makeup is heavier than I’ve ever seen it, though it’s still not much. Her lips have a soft pink color on them and as I stare, I remember what she tastes like.
“Guess that’s a no,” she says with a shrug.
She’s turning to back away, and I reach out for her hand. I don’t have the right, and her expression confirms that.
“Who are you going out with?”
Her brow arches in annoyance. “Why do you care?”
I tug her hand and she stumbles forward. It’s a warning: Tell me or I’ll pull you down onto this couch and you won’t make that date and I won’t run with Mouse. We’ll repeat the same mistake we made a few days ago.
“It’s just a guy,” she answers lamely.
“Where’d you meet him?”
She looks away. “The singles event.”
I drop her hand.
“Which one was he?”
“Tall, blond.”
I scrunch my brows, trying to recall someone with that description. Was the cowboy blond?
“I don’t remember him,” I finally admit.
She smiles, but it looks more like a sneer. “Probably because you weren’t at the event. You were on a double date.”
I have a hundred more questions, but she heads back into her room and comes out a second later with a small clutch. Mouse rushes over; he knows she’s about to leave and doesn’t want to be left behind. She leans down and reassures him she’ll be back.
“It’s kind of chilly out,” I say, pointedly staring at her spaghetti straps.
She laughs and stands. “I think I’ll manage.” She’s heading to the door when she adds, “Listen, don’t wait around for me after your run. I probably won’t be back until late, if at all.”
With that sendoff, she’s gone, and I’m left sitting on her couch while Mouse whines at the door, sad to still be here when she’s gone.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Tell me about it, buddy.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MADELEINE
“This is the best date I’ve ever been on,” I announce with a sated sigh.
I’ve got a hot pepperoni pizza propped up in a box in front of me, enough chocolate ice cream to last me for days, and best of all, old reruns of The Office playing on the TV. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
“Don’t ever say I don’t know how to wine and dine a girl.”
I smile and glance over to Daisy, who is currently wearing a hideous pajama dress, fuzzy socks, and some of those weird under-eye moisturizer strips. My slinky red dress is tossed across the back of her couch, replaced by an oversized t-shirt and Daisy’s pajama shorts. I’m rocking my own pair of fuzzy socks, but I drew the line at moisture masks. After all, my makeup looks killer and I’d like to preserve it, even if no one but Daisy and Lucas will see it.
That reminds me.
“Hey Lucas! Could you bring us another bottle of wine?”