Freckles

by Amy Lane

Carter nodded soberly. “Good rule. I can deal, what next?”

  “Rule two—you can’t sound all mysterious in texts and tell me we’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll think we’re breaking up, okay?”

  “But I adore you—why would I break up with you?”

  Oh. Wow. That was nice. Sandy couldn’t deny that sent a lovely wave of warmth up through his chest. “Well I know that now. Next time, just call me and talk, deal?”

  Carter nodded and sighed, flopping over to his back. “I . . . I mean, it’s not all solid in my brain,” he said apologetically. “And it’s not new-relationship sort of material. So I didn’t want to bother you with it, and I didn’t know what I was going to say anyway, but you’re the only one who would understand it—”

  “Hey.” Sandy scooted over so he could rest his head on Carter’s chest. “Hey—we’re officially a relationship now. Try me.”

  Carter stared at him with an expression reminiscent of Freckles chewing on her rawhide. “God, you’re pretty,” he said after a moment. “I mean, so pretty. A Carter Embree does not rank a Sandy Corrigan, you know what I mean?”

  Sandy’s chuckle was a little strained, because he’d thought the same thing about a Sandy Corrigan ranking a Carter Embree, but that wasn’t what they were talking about right now. “C’mon, Carter. What’s on your mind? Not that I’m bothered by rushing over to have sex, but what made you sad and set me off?”

  “I want to change my life,” Carter said.

  He tightened his arm around Sandy’s shoulder when Sandy jerked and squawked, “Wha—”

  “No, not just because of you.” Carter laughed and kissed him on the head, generally being gentle and thoughtful. Sandy settled down to listen. “I . . . I like what I did for your niece, right? Setting up her business like that—helping her out. I like what I’m doing for her friends. These things feel good to me.”

  “You’re a good person,” Sandy purred, because, hey, postcoitus with a guy who most obviously wasn’t a jerk.

  “I’m not,” Carter said, his voice full of shame. And then he proceeded to tell Sandy about the Clayburghs’ dog.

  By the time he was done, Sandy was sprawled, chin propped on his fist, but still on Carter’s chest. “Aw, Carter, it’s not your fault.”

  “But . . .” Carter regarded him with a deep unhappiness. “It’s awful. And I know it’s legal, but I hate it. And I hate working for this guy—he’s horrible. And I let myself do it—for years.”

  “Why?” Sandy asked. “I mean, you’ve got insurance and bennies, and I shit on no man’s livelihood, but if you hate it so much, why are you just thinking about change now?”

  Carter grimaced. “Well, I’m shitty in court for one thing.” He sighed. “I’m not . . .” He shot Sandy an apologetic look, and Sandy saw some of the camouflage that had disguised the dynamic lover from the rest of the world. “I’m not magnetic or convincing. I was always the good researcher. If I’m going to take the Burkes’ neighbor to court, I’m going to need some help.”

  Sandy shrugged. “There’s law associations and new hires. I mean, I don’t see that as being a big obstacle. What else has been holding you back?”

  Carter peered thoughtfully into the darkness over the bed. “I guess I just haven’t been able to think outside of the law office. Until now—until I got Freckles—and I realized I could change my life around a dog—” he turned his gaze to Sandy “—or around a nice man who likes dogs. I didn’t believe I had an alternative.”

  Sandy traced his mouth with a lazy index finger. “And now?”

  Carter’s lower lip curved, and the smile that burst forth was its own source of light. “Now I can do anything,” he said, his eyes growing hooded.

  “Anything?” Sandy challenged, running his tongue along the seam of Carter’s lips.

  “Anything,” Carter whispered, opening his mouth and letting Sandy in. Sandy kissed him briefly, the heat between them flaring up like the light from Carter’s smile.

  “Then do me again,” Sandy whispered.

  And Carter did.

  After the second time, Carter stumbled out of bed to get rid of the condoms, put on pajamas, and turn off the lights. When he got back to bed, he saw that Sandy had put Freckles’s cushion at the foot of the bed, and Freckles was curled up there now, accepting conciliatory scratches on the head from an unrepentant Sandy.

  “Do you have a toothbrush for me?” Sandy asked, yawning, and Carter nodded.

  “In the cabinet, over the sink. I’m getting up to walk Freckles in the morning—you can sleep in if you want.”

  “Nope.” Sandy flopped back against the pillows and watched as Carter slid into bed. He’d put on his boxer shorts and T-shirt, and Carter liked rubbing his body through his clothes with cold hands. Sandy was a sprawler, and a snuggler too, so he scooted closer into the touch.

  “Nope?”

  “Nope. I usually go running too, so we’ll do the morning thing with Freckles, and the set-up-the-lights thing like you planned. I may need to go get my books and some extra clothes afterward, but I can do that and take you out to dinner at the same time.”

  “Extra clothes?” Carter asked, bemused.

  Sandy nodded soberly. “The weekend,” he said.

  “I’m meeting with the Burkes again about their case Saturday afternoon.”

  “Alexis and I can make dinner while you’re doing that.”

  “Yeah? Good. I love your niece. She’s welcome anytime.”

  “Except that night, because we’re having sex again. All weekend, Carter.”

  “And then what?”

  Sandy bumped his nose with soft lips. “And then we see. We keep dating. We learn to fit. We see if you can take more cases, get people to help. We watch to see if I graduate, see where I can get a job. We grow together.” He captured Carter’s lips in a kiss that Carter fell into, softly as a small dog onto a big, fluffy cushion. “We potty train your dog.”

  Carter smiled against his lips and kissed him again. Oh, promises. Plans. The things they could do together.

  Carter didn’t need a magic carpet, or a backbone transplant, and apparently his soul was just fine as it was. But oh, how he really needed to be the sort of man who could keep someone like Sandy in his life.

  The sort of man who could care for a small dog.

  The weekend was not hitchless—but it was worth every bump. Sandy snored—but softly, and Carter could cope. He forgot and left dishes in the living room, but he picked them up when asked. He overloaded the washing machine, but Carter could deal with rumpled undies, so that was fine too.

  They put up Christmas lights, something Carter had made easy by installing hooks the first year he’d moved in. Sandy had been delighted—something about knowing that Carter always celebrated the same holiday and always put up lights seemed to satisfy something deep in his bones, but Carter wasn’t quite sure how he’d ask about it yet.

  He took Carter to his apartment, and introduced his two nice—if harried—roommates, both men in their twenties—one with a beginning tech career and the other with a teaching job. Carter met the giant frightening calico cat with the stumpy tail, who assaulted him with purrs and drool and general insta-lust, and he found that now that he owned a small dog, he could handle the affection of other animals.

  Valkyrie sat on his chest and licked his ear while he waited on the couch for Sandy to gather his stuff, much to the raucous laughter of Sandy’s roommates.

  “Oh my God!” howled the one with the scruffy beard (Cooper? Maybe. He was obsessed with soccer, whoever he was). “That cat hates everybody.”

  “Everybody?” Carter couldn’t believe it. The cat pressed her head against his jaw and purred some more. “Maybe just—”

  “She got out the other day and attacked the postman,” Thomas said. He had a light-brown man bun and beard, and looked exceptionally hip—Carter was pretty sure he was the darling of his students. “We didn’t tell Sandy because he thinks she walks on water, but I’m telling you . . .
man, that cat is bad news.”

  “I think you’re prejudiced,” Carter said firmly. “I think the postman was evil and she probably saved your lives. You just don’t know how lucky you are.”

  Sandy came out of his bedroom at that point with a knapsack of books and a gym bag with clothes, smiling when he heard Carter’s staunch defense.

  “I think you’re wrong about the courtroom,” he said, taking Valkyrie from him and rubbing his nose against her whiskers in what seemed to be a secret tribal greeting between cat and man. “I think you just got the cat out of the doghouse.”

  Cooper and Thomas high-fived in cheerful acknowledgment of Sandy’s burn, and Carter left the apartment feeling very much like he’d won something.

  Maybe Sandy—for life—if Sandy felt the same way about seeing Carter with his cat as Carter felt about Sandy when he helped to walk the dog.

  Alexis came over to admire the Christmas lights. She also brought the Burkes for their consultation, but she seemed to make that secondary.

  Carter knew it was important, though. For the afternoon, he was busy taking notes, outlining memos, asking about possible court dates. When he was done, he put his pride behind him and told the Burkes that he thought they had a strong case to take before civil court, but he admitted he wasn’t the best choice as a lawyer to present it.

  And they told him they didn’t want anybody else to present it.

  “You’ve been so nice,” Mrs. Burke told him earnestly. She was a pretty woman in her thirties, with an upturned freckled nose and a four-month baby bump. “You’re so organized. Please—please. As long as you don’t raise your rates, we can pay you to see this thing through. We just . . .” She looked at her husband, a shy, plain, and earnest engineer who worked up at Intel, and he looked back like she’d hung the moon. “We would really like another dog, especially before the baby comes. But we need to know our yard is safe.”

  Carter nodded. “Well, I talked to an environmental engineer about things you can do to keep his toxic waste out of your yard. I want to put most of the onus on him, because he’s breaking the law as it is, but if you want to keep your yard as safe as possible before we deal with him, here’s a list of things you can do, if that helps.”

  Mrs. Burke burst into tears and thanked him, and her husband promised to get right on it. Before they got up to leave, Mr. Burke said, “Hey, I know that this isn’t what you do regularly, but I’ve got some friends who took their cat to the vet and kind of got . . . Well, their cat was old, and probably should have been put down, but they ended up paying over five thousand dollars in vet bills and then lost the cat anyway. It may be nothing—but I told them I’d ask you, would you be willing to look into it?”

  Carter gave them permission to give their friends his number, and shook their hands and wished them a nice day and happy holidays. He’d call when he had a court date—probably sometime in the spring.

  And then he looked up to where Alexis and Sandy were making spaghetti, tossing salad, and crisping sourdough bread in the oven, and smiled.

  Sandy came into the living room, wiping his hands on a towel. “How’d it go?”

  “Well, I’m going to file for a hearing in civil court, and get them a date. But I may have another client after them. I’m going to have to research ethical veterinarian procedure.” He bit his lip, not trying to be coy but liking that he and Sandy could work on something together. “Think I know an expert there?”

  Sandy grinned. “I got an A in the class. Now come wash up and eat.”

  “Don’t forget to put kibble in the dog bowl,” Carter warned. “You know she feels left out if we eat without her.”

  Alexis’s laugh could be heard unapologetically from the stove.

  “Yes, Carter. We know.”

  They sat down to eat, and Alexis said, “So, have you drawn up a business plan?”

  Carter looked at her blankly. “A what?”

  “You know, a rate scale, a contract, a business card—that sort of thing?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him ingenuously, and he felt a flush start at the back of his neck.

  “I guess I’ll be doing that tomorrow,” he said with dignity.

  “After we get the tree,” Sandy told him, and this seemed to be important. Usually Carter just did outside lights and a little display over the fireplace, but Sandy had almost begged for a tree. Carter had a man in his bed, who for once did not seem like a mistake—he was weakening on the idea.

  “Ooh . . .” Alexis’s eyes got big. “A tree? Uncle Sandy, can I come? Mom never does a tree now that I’ve moved out and . . .” Those big eyes went limpid, and Carter did something then that he didn’t think he’d ever do.

  He took a leap of faith.

  “Sure,” he said rashly. “How about you come and help us with the tree, and then . . .” He pushed his glasses up his nose and tried to ignore the way they were steaming. “How about, uh, if it’s okay with Sandy, that no matter where Sandy and I are by Christmas, we do Christmas brunch here. Uh, you can invite your mom, and I’ll invite my mom and . . . you know. Just . . . Christmas.”

  The way Sandy and Alexis lit up from inside, Carter had to wonder that he’d ever thought loneliness was a thing for him and him alone.

  “Oh my God,” Alexis said, like she was seeing a heavenly light. “Sandy, you’d better say yes.”

  “Carter, even if we do break up, I will hang on to you through New Year’s just to have Christmas with people here in this house, do you understand me? I mean, what roommates? I’m moving in!”

  Carter tried to hold back his grin. “Maybe wait until at least after New Year’s.” And then he had a thought that had sort of been haunting him all weekend. “Or at least until after Freckles gets fixed.” He watched her eating delicately in her corner of the kitchen. “In case, you know . . . I don’t have the attraction of being a dog owner anymore.”

  It was a silly fear, really, because besides an allergic reaction to hand soap, Freckles seemed to be incredibly healthy. She had another round of vaccinations to go before they could groom her, but Carter was pretty sure she’d put on weight since he’d brought her home.

  “Carter?” Sandy asked, voice gentle and serious. “I know you’re worried—and you don’t think you’re a real dog owner because you looked at the terms of insurance and freaked out. What if she doesn’t make it her first year? You’ve lost a friend, and you’re heartbroken, right?”

  Carter watched her take another piece of kibble out of the bowl, drop it on the floor, then bite it neatly in half.

  “Yes,” he said through a dry throat.

  “But whether that happens or not, you need to ask yourself—is she going to be the last dog you ever own? I know she’s your first dog, but will she be the last dog you ever bring home?”

  She buried her nose into her food bowl again, making a snuffling piglet sound as she searched out the ideal piece of kibble to be her next victim.

  He smiled. “No.” His entire chest grew warm and thick with love and pride. “No.” He looked at Sandy as though he’d had a revelation. “No—I want to be a dog owner forever.”

  Sandy’s hand, dry and firm, settled over his. “Then even if something bad happens on Tuesday—or any day—she’s done her job, right? She’s not the only dog you can ever love—but she’s the dog you’re going to be with now.”

  “And I know I can do it,” Carter said. And they weren’t just talking about dogs or even boyfriends or jobs. Carter turned his hand palm up, and Sandy tangled fingers with him.

  “I knew you could,” Sandy said arrogantly, and for a moment, Freckles was forgotten and Sandy’s smiling green eyes were Carter’s entire world.

  That Tuesday, Freckles made it through the routine spaying procedure like a champ, coming out of the anesthetic right before Carter picked her up.

  Of course, Carter was a wreck. “It looks a little pink—don’t you think, Sandy?”

  “It is a little pink,” Sandy said dryly, checking her incision for
the umpteenth time. “She had surgery. It’s going to be pink. Now here’s her cone of shame—make sure she keeps it on until she stops trying to lick.”

  Carter smiled one of those insanely bright, geeky smiles that indicated his world had just been opened again. “A ‘cone of shame,’ really?”

  “Swear—all the other dogs will consider it a sign that she’s a real dog.”

  She still didn’t weigh more than a sneeze, and she licked Carter’s hand slowly, like her day had just been that hard. Well, Sandy had seen her little body opened up and her innards snipped. Maybe it had been.

  “Here’s your list of instructions, Mr. Embree,” Cedar said cheerily. “Now remember, she’s not going to be feeling so hot, so maybe the short walk for the next couple of days, and like Sandy said, be sure she wears her cone of shame when she’s not on a leash.”

  “Is that the official name?” Carter asked, apparently still stuck on the fact that it was a real thing.

  “What?” Sandy smirked. “Did you think it was just something you saw on cartoon dogs?”

  “We call it an e-collar,” Melissa said from behind the counter. “Short for Elizabethan collar, like Shakespeare used to wear. And don’t let either of them tell you differently. It’s only the cone of shame when they’ve done something stupid, like gone tiptoeing through the nail bucket in the garage.”

  “True story.” Sandy grimaced. “Don’t worry—your garage is practically a nursery, it’s so safe.”

  Carter smiled sunnily at him, and Sandy winked and went in for a quick kiss.

  “Ni-ice,” came a sardonic voice behind them, and Carter’s glasses steamed.

  “Thanks, Callahan, he is,” Sandy volleyed over Carter’s shoulder.

  “Didn’t say he wasn’t.” Surprisingly enough, Tommy winked. Sandy had the feeling that Tommy got it, about how the least likely guy could be the most perfect guy in the world.

  “So, uh.” Carter blushed, looking furtively over Sandy’s shoulder. Cedar and Melissa rolled their eyes and pretended to do other work, when the fact was, Carter was the last pickup of the night.