The Designated +1

by Ellie Cahill

“Hi there,” he said thickly.

  “Hi.”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well.”

  He smiled. “I bet.”

  I covered his face with my splayed hand. “Don’t start out the morning at this level of smugness.”

  He laughed, and tugged my hand down to plant a kiss on the palm. “Don’t worry. You can be a little smug, too.”

  “A little?”

  Lifting the blankets, he slid closer to me, then pulled me into his arms. “A lot.”

  “That’s better.”

  We kissed, and it didn’t take long for almost innocent good morning kisses to turn into something more. Something I welcomed. Wanted.

  Soon, he had me stretched out, our interlaced fingers above my head, and my ankles crossed behind his back. I was practically helpless in that position, but there was no trace of fear in it.

  From a distance, an old-fashioned dinner bell began to ring—the same one that had called the guests into the barn last night. Breakfast, maybe? Probably.

  We ignored the bell in favor of each other. It wasn’t even a contest.

  But when we were finished, and lying in a sweaty pile, panting, it only took Will about a thirty seconds to raise his head, and ask, “You hungry?”

  I burst out laughing. “Wow, I guess I know where I stand. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am, and pass the maple syrup.”

  “You think they have real maple syrup?” he asked.

  “Probably.”

  He kissed me then, hard and enthusiastic. “You’re great. Let’s do this again as soon as humanly possible. Now let’s eat.”

  24

  There’s An Asshole Born Every Minute

  The week passed in it’s usual blur of miles and miles of road disappearing under my feet as I walked dogs. I had three single-night dog-sitting gigs that week, and the other days I went out to Will’s property to help him. There were no ant bites, but a seemingly endless supply of boards as we laid new floors in the entire house. My back and knees ached, and my fingers all had splinters, but I didn’t mind. On the nights I stayed at client’s houses, he would come over when he finished for the day.

  In my solitary, itinerant life, he was the constant. There was a different bed almost every night, but he was in it. I still didn’t know what to call this thing. This relationship we’d somehow +1’d our way into. I didn’t ask Will what he thought. Maybe I didn’t want to know his answer.

  My phone had been chirping and buzzing more than usual this week. Most of my clients communicated with me via text, so it wasn’t unusual for me to get multiple messages, but the volume increased dramatically with Will. We both had our hands full a lot to the day, so conversations between us could take hours to complete and we waited for the other to have a chance to respond.

  I was expecting a response and looked at my phone with an anticipatory smile, but the message came from an unknown number.

  Unknown: need a dog sitter. my parents gave me your number.

  Me: Hi, I’d love to know more. Who are your parents?

  Unknown: Pat and Heather Brady. It’s James.

  James? What in the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster was this about? Why would James Brady want to hire me?

  I ignored his text for a while, shoving my phone out of sight while Boney Maroney finished drinking his water. I gave the cattle dog a treat and told him to have a good day, leaving one of the report cards on the counter for his owners. Boney followed me to the door and whimpered when he realized I was leaving. Poor guy did this every time. He hated to be left behind. I gave him an extra pat on the head and told him I’d be back soon.

  James’s text stayed Read but unanswered in my phone through another dog visit while I tried to pump myself up to reply. I could say no. I was under no obligation to take on a new client. Especially one who I’d spent years trying to avoid.

  Except his parents were clients. Good clients, who I’d really like to hire me again. I liked Estelle and Getty.

  Plus, I was now sleeping with his brother. How would I explain why I didn’t want to work for James? Could I get away with just not saying anything?

  Awkward times a million.

  Okay, so I had to answer. In all likelihood, I wouldn’t be able to take the job anyway. I was booked out weeks in advance. There we go, that was a simple solution.

  Me: What day are you looking for?

  He didn’t answer for a while. Probably not obsessively watching his phone for a reply. Like a normal person. When he finally answered, the date was closer than I expected. Just over a week from now. And as luck would have it, I was free.

  Well now what?

  I let my drive to my next client’s house be my excuse for not answering this time. This was a daytime potty break for an elderly mini-schnauzer named Gandalf. His owner usually worked from home, and only called me when she had to take meetings that would keep her out of the house for too long. Gandalf was 18 years old and didn’t need a walk these days. All I had to do was put the poor old man out in the yard for long enough to take care of his business. Then it was water and a treat and I left the little dog to snooze away the afternoon.

  Finally I answered James: I’d have to meet your dog. Would you like to set up a time?

  This time he replied immediately: Can you come now? I’m not far from my house.

  Me: Send me the address.

  Well wasn’t this just the peachiest damn thing that had ever happened? Back in my car, I sat with the engine running, typing and then deleting text after text to Will.

  Deleted: FYI your brother wants me to watch his dog and I’m going to his house right now.

  Deleted: Would you be upset if I said I didn’t want to watch your brother’s dog?

  Deleted: Going to your brother’s house. It doesn’t mean anything.

  What the hell was I supposed to say? Everything seemed suspicious. Everything felt weird and stupid and out of place. I could barely explain my own hesitation. Why did I even feel like I had to explain myself to him? This was my real, actual job. And even if I would tell someone who was, like, my boyfriend, I didn’t know what the heck Will was to me. Telling him might make it seem like I thought we were at some level of seriousness that we weren’t.

  James and Sara’s house turned out to be a condo. I had to check-in with a doorman who didn’t find my name on the approved list of visitors and had to call up to “Mr. Brady.” I fought the urge to just leave while he was on the phone.

  Finally the doorman told me to go through to the elevators and ride up to the 14th floor. I found his door but it took me an extra courage-building minute to knock.

  James opened the door, looking like he’d just left the set of a commercial. He was wearing a sporty golf shirt with the Brady Construction logo embroidered on the chest. It was tucked into tailored dress pants and his belt matched his shoes. In short, he looked like the perfect business man.

  There was a delayed reaction before a burst of barking announced the arrival of a black and white french bulldog beside James’s right leg. The little tough guy barked at me angrily, while being sure to keep his distance.

  “Hadley Bradley,” James declared.

  I forced myself not to flinch. “Hi there.” Then I turned my attention to his canine companion. “Hey there, little man, what’s your name?” I squatted down and held out my hand, the back of it facing to the dog so he could come forward at his leisure and give me a sniff. It only took a few seconds. I’m basically irresistible to dogs, being covered in the scents of all my other clients.

  “This is Mazzy,” James said. “It’s short for Maserati.”

  “Hi Mazzy,” I said, and produced a treat from the pouch on my hip. “Look what I’ve got.”

  Mazzy snuck forward and seized the little bit of kibble from my hand. That was all it took to convince him I was a-okay, and soon he trotted closer to sniff the pouch and let me scratch his head.

  “Do you want to come in?” James said.

  Nop
e. I don’t want to be here at all. “Sure.” I straightened up, and followed James and Mazzy into the condo. He showed me where the dog’s food was kept and his leash and told me roughly what his schedule was like. Turns out, Mazzy was going to be a kennel for most the week, but they didn’t have room for him on Saturday night.

  “Man, I thought I was so screwed. Sara asked me to handle everything for the honeymoon and I forgot about the damn dog until just a few days ago.”

  The honeymoon. Right. That’s where they were going. Because their wedding was on Saturday. I was going. I should have put that together.

  I asked a few more questions, and explained how I normally handled dog-sitting.

  Looking around the condo, I was hit by a horrifying realization. This was a one-bedroom place. If they wanted me to stay here, I’d have to either sleep on the couch, or they actually thought I was going to sleep in their bed.

  Hell no.

  “Um, actually, you know what? Since he’s used to kenneling, I can just do my drop-in care schedule for you guys, and leave him overnight.”

  “Let me check with Sara,” he said. “See if she’d rather have you stay…”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine—” I said weakly, but he was already typing up a message to his fiancée on his phone.

  While we waited for an answer, my brain seemed to freeze up. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, or ask. It was embarrassing! Normally I was so good at this.

  James was unbothered by the awkward silence, leaning against the breakfast bar and looking me up and down. “Hadley Bradley,” he said with a tone of wonder. “Man, I still can’t get over how grown up you are.”

  “What can I say?” I muttered, looking around for any kind of distraction.

  “You know I should talk to Sara about keeping you on,” he said. “Mazzy could use more exercise. Maybe you could walk him a few times a week.”

  See more of him? Have to come to his house again? It didn’t sound good. “Hmm. Yeah, maybe.”

  Suddenly he smiled, showing off his perfect dimples. “That might be kind of fun, having a hot, young dog walker. It’s like one of those rich guys with the hot nanny, right?”

  “What?”

  He didn’t answer, putting up a finger to pause me while he checked an incoming message. It wasn’t the one he was expecting, apparently, though, so he blanked the screen and grinned at me. “You know, like getting a hot Swedish nanny. You can be my sexy little dog walker.”

  I laughed weakly. “Yeah, I’d have to check my schedule to see if I could even take on another dog.”

  This was it, this was the dream of my 18-year-old self come to life. James Brady thought I was sexy. I wasn’t a ‘cute kid’ to him anymore.

  So why did it feel so wrong?

  25

  A Great Opportunity to Make a Bad Decision

  Something made me not tell Will about my meeting with James that night. I was overnight sitting for a blue-tick coon hound named Lolita so I didn’t see him until almost ten. Lolita made a big fuss over him, wagging her tail and wrapping herself around his legs in the full-body hug that hounds specialize in. She made some of her sub-barking talking sounds and herded him toward the nearest chair so he could pet her more effectively.

  “She likes you,” I said.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good thing,” he said.

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever asked if you even like dogs,” I said. “I just keep dragging you to places full of them.”

  “Dogs are great.” He massaged Lolita’s ears. “I like the big ones better than the little shits my parents like.”

  “Oh!” I laughed sadly. “I love Estelle and Getty!”

  “They’re fine,” he said. “I just like the big guys.”

  That fit. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he thought of Mazzy, but that would send my careful plan not to talk about James down the drain.

  “How’d things go at the house tonight?”

  “Good. You’ll have to see it. I got the tiles up in the shower.”

  “Nice.” The house had been such a disaster when I saw it for the first time, but he’d made huge progress. I was proud that I’d been part of the work, and I was weirdly invested in the outcome now. He was hoping to get it back on the market by the end of August, and I was fully prepared to keep pitching in to make that happen.

  We talked a bit more about the work left on the place, and what he wanted to do next. He was already keeping his eyes open for another place, but needed the sale of this one to afford it.

  “So…when does this become your actual job, instead of the one you kill yourself doing after working a full day?” I asked.

  He sighed. “I don’t know that it ever will.”

  “Will, that’s crazy,” I said. “You can’t do this in your free time forever. You’ll exhaust yourself.”

  “Ultimately, I’d love to be able to have a crew that could get work done on my projects even if I’m not there.”

  “So you’re just going to run a business all by yourself while simultaneously taking over your dad’s company?”

  He gave me a look that said I was meddling. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay.” I put up my hands in surrender. “Not my business. I just want to see you happy.”

  “That’s new,” he said.

  Now it was my turn to give him a look. “Excuse me, but I have always offered you nothing but support.”

  “Except when you pulled a knife on me.”

  “I didn’t know that was you.”

  “True. But it took you a while to put it down after you recognized me.”

  I grinned. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Spoken like a true Murderino.” He’d started listening to my favorite True Crime podcast on my recommendation, and it warmed me down to my toes to realize he’d gotten far enough into the feed that he knew the fans called themselves Murderinos.

  I smiled and stepped between his knees. Lolita was still trying to keep his attention, but she’d gotten tired and was now lying at his feet with one of her paws resting on his ankle. She made a sound of discontent when I nudged my way into her territory, but she was too lazy to get up.

  “You’ve been listening.”

  “I have.”

  For an absurd moment, I thought I might cry, but instead I kissed him. He was definitely on board with that plan.

  Lolita was not, and I had to pull away to attend to the hound. She wanted to be let out one last time for the night. I gave Will a raincheck and took Lolita outside, looking up at the stars while she paced on the end of her leash.

  When I got back inside, Will was leaning on the kitchen island, staring intently at his phone.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “Nah, just my brother. He sent out this long-ass text to all the guys in the wedding party. I’m trying to figure out if I actually have to care about any of this?”

  James again. I was being haunted by my failure to mention seeing him.

  I leaned down beside Will, looking at the lengthy message. It was full of details for the rehearsal dinner, including what time to get there, what to wear, and more.

  “So much fun being in a wedding, isn’t it?”

  Will sighed and clicked his screen off. “It wasn’t so bad up to this point.”

  “Yeah, now you have to actually show up and stuff.” I made a sound of disgust.

  “I know. Sucks.” He smiled. “Are you sure you can’t come to the dinner?”

  “I have dogs.” It was true. Friday nights were often dog-sitting nights. But I also didn’t want to go, so it was working out well for me.

  “You’re supposed to be my +1, though.”

  “We made no deal about rehearsal dinners.” I nudged him with my shoulder. “Besides, you’re abandoning me to the Singles’ Table again on Saturday.”

  “Just for dinner,” he said.

  “That’s the part I hate!”

  “I don’t know w
hat they did for seating. Maybe you’ll be at the table with your mom.”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh.

  He smiled and leaned in to kiss my temple. “You’ll live. I’m the one who has to sit at the head table.”

  “And then you’re gonna have to do the first dance with some bridesmaid and all that crap. I’m basically dateless. You know it, I know it.” I was uncomfortable leaning on the cold stone of the counter, and I pushed myself back up.

  He mimicked me, rising to his full height and dwarfing me again. “And you’re going to be there, looking sexy as hell, and I’ll only be able to stare at you. How is that fair?”

  “Are you flirting with me, William?”

  He looked over his shoulder and cautioned the dog, “Cover your eyes, Lolita,” before he lifted me onto the counter and kissed me.

  26

  The Eat Your Heart Out Dress

  Looking at my reflection, I wondered if maybe this particular little black dress was a little too much. I’d had it for over a year and I hadn’t yet managed to talk myself into wearing it. It wasn’t scandalous, it just wasn’t me. Short, backless, and with a deep v neckline. The twirly skirt kept it from looking like I was a professional escort—at least I hoped it did—but it was definitely the most “Look at me!” dress I’d ever owned. Paired with strappy silver heels, and my long red hair loosely curled down my back, it was definitely an Eat Your Heart Our dress.

  I’d been planning on this outfit as soon as I’d sent the RSVP in for James’s wedding. After four years of nursing my wounded pride over the head pat, I’d wanted to strut into his wedding and watch his jaw hit the floor.

  Now, though? His talk about me being his ‘sexy little dog walker’ made me feel like putting on a trench coat and sunglasses.

  My mom called from the living room. “Hadley! We have to go now or we’re going to be late!”

  “Coming!” I grabbed a thin shawl in case it was cold in the church and my clutch purse, and hurried out the door.