The Foxe & the Hound

“Madeleine, there you are!”

“Mr. Boggs,” she says with a smile. “I was just going to come over and show you a few listings.”

He groans and shakes his head, acting every bit the old miser his name suggests. “Don’t bother. Already looked. There was nothin’ good. I’m going home. Tell that boss of yours she needs to serve more food at these things. Wine and beer galore, but not a damn bread roll in sight.”

Madeleine laughs. “I couldn’t agree more. I actually stuffed some granola bars in my purse if you want one.”

He perks up a bit at the mention of food. “They’re not those healthy ones are they?”

She laughs. “C’mon, you can pick which one you want.”

Without Madeleine, I weave my way through the party, recognizing a few faces in the crowd from the puppy class and the clinic. A few of them even stop to chat with me, but I try to keep an eye out for Madeleine the whole time. After she finishes up with Mr. Boggs, Carter grabs her attention again, cornering her over by a table with all of Hamilton Realty’s current listings. I swear she shows him every damn house twice before the man is satisfied, and though I’m tempted to step in like I did before, I know it won’t do any good. She needs to make sales if she wants to get Helen off her back.

By the time I’ve finished my second beer and strategically covered two yawns, she’s moved on to another potential client. I’m ready to head out, and I don’t want to interrupt. She scans the room and finds me so I gesture toward the parking lot and mouth, “I’m leaving.”

She juts out her bottom lip and mouths back, “Stay.”

I’m tempted, but I don’t want to take up any more of her time. She needs to mingle with clients and I need sleep. I wave and her bottom lip juts out a little more. I sigh and turn for my car, knowing if I don’t leave now, I probably won’t.

When I get home, I unlock the door to my rental house and flip on the light. Everything is quiet inside, not a single item out of place. The housekeeper must have come by today because the rooms seem even more sterile than usual. I toss my keys in the bowl by the door then flip on the TV and the living room light, not because I want them on but because they help disguise the fact that I’m home alone. The soothing sounds of ESPN barely do the trick.

I take a seat on the couch the previous owners left behind. The whole place came furnished, which is part of the reason why it feels temporary and, well, sad. Take the couch, for instance. It’s made out of fake red leather, a color that burns my eyes every time I look at it. The potpourri on the coffee table has likely been sitting in the same glass bowl for the last thirty years. A tapestry of Dogs Playing Poker hangs on one wall. In short, it’s not my style. I feel like I’m a guest in someone else’s home, which was the intention in the beginning. I didn’t want to dig in too deep too fast, but how long can I keep skimming the surface of my life?

Olivia and I had a house and a dog, two great careers, and a large circle of friends. I doubt anyone would have guessed we’d break up a few months before the wedding, that she would sleep with my best friend instead of telling me she wanted to end it.

And Molly. The fact that I let her have Molly has been eating away at me for the last few weeks. Maybe this house and its tacky furniture would feel a little more like a home if Molly were here to greet me at the end of the day.

Then again, maybe not. My life in Texas won’t start to feel right until I push myself out of this weird holding pattern I’ve fallen into. I set up parameters for my life—no dating, no getting too attached—because it seemed like the right thing to do after getting out of a long-term relationship, but maybe there’s a little more to it. Maybe Olivia didn’t just take scissors and shred our relationship, but did a hack job on my confidence as well. Hell, after eight years, I should have known what she was capable of, but I was blindsided and I don’t want it to happen again.

However, I also don’t want to sit on this stupid red couch for another day, pretending I don’t have feelings for Madeleine. She doesn’t want to be led on, and I don’t want her to slip through my fingers. So, it’s simple: it’s time to man the fuck up.

I text her.



Adam: Tomorrow. 8:00 PM. Be ready because I’m taking you out on a date.



I expect some sort of protest; instead, I get a joke.



Madeleine: UGH. A little heads up would be nice. All my sexy panties are in the dirty clothes hamper.

Adam: Do laundry. Or don’t…no one said you had to wear underwear.

Madeleine: ADAM FOXE, I think my phone just blushed.

Adam: Is that a yes?

Madeleine: ……………………………Fine. Okay. ONE DATE.





CHAPTER TWENTY


MADELEINE











Where have you been? I’ve been calling your office phone all morning!”

“Oh, sorry,” I reply. “I was just showing my new client a few condos downtown.”

Daisy squeals. “Are you serious? A new client other than Adam?”

I lean back in my chair and run my fingers across my desk calendar. It’s not as full as I’d like it to be, but it’s getting there, and tonight, after Company meeting, I have Date???? penciled in with a little heart. The four question marks seemed necessary this morning; a period at the end was too presumptuous. Sure, Adam called it a date last night, but I’m not naive enough to take his words at face value. Maybe he wants a date, maybe he wants to find another dark closet—either way, I’m game. I’m just going to keep my heart and my expectations in check. Simple.

“Madeleine?”

I cover the calendar with my keyboard as if Daisy is looking over my shoulder instead of lingering on the other end of the phone line.

“Yes! It was another new client. I met him at the mixer, the one you showed up to for five minutes before leaving. Still, I owe you.”

“Oh yeah, that sucked, but you don’t owe me. I stole some wine on my way out.”

“Classy.”

“It was the sauvignon we both liked.”

Genius.

“Good. Save it until we can drink it together.”

“I can’t promise it’s going to last beyond tonight. Just come over after work. I see my last patient at 4:30 PM.”

Date???? taunts me from beneath my keyboard.

“I can’t. I have plans.”

“Plans? With who? I’m your only friend. That’s how this works.”

“Lori.”

I hear her do a very ladylike spit-take. “Jesus, I just got coffee all over my computer screen. Tell me you’re kidding.”

I smile. “Yeah. I’m actually seeing Adam.”

“Seeing Adam?”

“Yes, for a get-together.”

“Just call it what it is.”

“He called it a date, but I’m calling it a casual dining experience between two consenting adults.”

R. S. Grey's books