Marcel still hasn’t come around, and of course it bothers me, so I go upstairs and fetch my laptop. When I’m back on the sofa, I send him an email.
Mr. Ward,
I realize you called me Mrs. Moore before you left the night you dropped me off. That was a week ago, and I haven’t heard from you since. I realize that it was your way of saying you’ll keep your distance after what I told you. I hate that you actually stuck to your word, then again you are a man who does only that.
Truth is, it’s not the same around here without you, and I’m sorry for hurting you. I do enjoy being around you, but not in the way you’re thinking. I simply enjoy your company and your presence. You have a good energy, and I could use more of that in my life.
I also know you’re thinking that I’m just emailing you because my husband isn’t around, but you’re wrong. I’ve been tempted to email you all week, but waited because I didn’t want to look like I was overreacting. Your guys say you’ve been working on a big commercial job, but I know you’ve been avoiding me, which is totally understandable, and I can’t blame you for it.
Please let me make it up to you. I’ll cook tacos and make Jell-O tequila shots, if that’ll help. You can even choose the flavor. I’d hate to ruin our friendship over my stupid, drunk words.
Talk soon…I hope.
Miss Gabby
I wait all night for an email back. I even make dinner and some skinny banana pudding to distract myself, but nothing comes through.
By eleven p.m., I know he isn’t going to respond so I give it up, putting my laptop back where it belongs in my studio and going to bed.
TWENTY FOUR
MARCEL
I STARE at the email on my screen, my elbow on the arm of my chair and my chin resting on my knuckles.
I read over it repeatedly—four times to be exact—and then I close the lid of my laptop.
“Fuck that.” I push out of my desk chair, collecting some paperwork and designs to look over at home. It’s late now, nearing one in the morning. I need to get home.
During the drive, of course I can’t stop thinking about the email she sent. Shit, at least she’s noticed that I’m not around. After what she told me, that if I had a problem then I shouldn’t come around so much, I realized she was right. I shouldn’t have been coming around. My men could handle the rest of the job.
She had just gotten married and was obviously living the life she always wanted. Who was I to interfere with that?
Some fucked up part of me still wants her, even while knowing she’s tied to another man. That part of me can shut the hell up, because I’m not doing it. I’m not torturing myself by being around her, craving her even more than the day before, and I damn sure am not about to end up with my hands stuck in my pants with all of her fucking teasing.
I admit, when she turned me down, I was pissed, but I went home, got in the shower, and realized my dick was getting hard. I showered and ignored the rock between my legs as much as I could, but my cock was throbbing. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. That short dress and her legs. Her perfect tits. Hell, even watching her smoke the joint turned me on.
I couldn’t fight it anymore. I stroked my hard cock back and forth, slow at first, and then sped it up, and came right on the shower wall. It was a powerful orgasm.
I park in front of my house, shutting the headlights off and killing the engine. After I collect my paperwork from the passenger seat, I get out, my keys jingling as I walk to the door. All I want to do is have a stiff drink and go to sleep. This week has been hell.
A whimpering noise comes from my right, and I frown, looking toward the wired fence. I hear a scraping noise and then another whimper.
“What the hell is that?” I place the paperwork down on my porch chair, then walk over to the fence. The motion light by the garage turns on and shines right on a puppy. Judging by its long, floppy ears, I think it’s a beagle.
The puppy whimpers even louder when it sees me. One of its legs is caught under the fence. That leg is bleeding badly, there’s a small hole beneath the puppy, like it dug its way under the fence.
“Oh, man. How’d this happen, pup?” I crouch down in front of the puppy and pull the wire of the fence up. The puppy shrieks, but it rushes out and limps its way to my boot. It’s still whimpering. Whining, now. I pick the puppy up—he or she can’t weigh more than about five or six pounds. I check its leg, glad it’s no more than a small gash. Nothing too bad.
“Poor pup. How long you been trapped there?” I rub some of the blood away with the pad of my thumb. “Runnin’ from somebody? Did they try and hurt you?” The puppy whines again and looks up at me. Those damn eyes kill me. “Come on. Let’s clean you up and find you some food.” I pick the puppy up and carry it inside. When I’m in the kitchen, I place the puppy on the floor but not before checking its belly area.
“You’re a girl. Good to know.” I grab the first-aid kit on the counter and then pick her up. I don’t have any alcohol so I grab a bottle of vodka, dab it on a paper towel, and wipe it over her leg. She does a cry-whine, and I shush her. “Sorry. Gotta clean all that dirt out.” I place her on the counter. She’s shaking now. Poor thing probably thinks I’m going to hurt her. I clean her leg really good, smear it with ointment, then wrap it with some gauze. She tries to bite at it. “No, no. Keep it there. You remove it, and it might get infected.” I pick her up from the counter, tucking her beneath my arm, and then open the fridge. I search but don’t have a damn thing for a puppy to eat. There’s more beer and old takeout than anything.
I sigh and look down at her. She runs her tongue over her muzzle. I grab an empty bowl from the cupboard and fill it with water, then place her and the bowl down on the floor.
“Go on. Drink up.”
She sniffs around it, then she starts sipping. She’s so thirsty she practically drinks the whole bowl.
Sighing, I look down at her as she peers up at me. “Stop lookin’ at me like that. I can’t keep you,” I mumble. “Everything around me always ends up destroyed or worse…” I pretend I’m cutting my own throat with my thumb. She cocks her head, clearly confused.
I huff a laugh. “Let’s get you some food, figure out where the hell you came from.” I pick her up and go back outside, locking my door and then hopping into my truck. I place her on the passenger seat and head to the nearest store to find some dog food.
When we’re back home, she demolishes the food, and after she’s eaten, she walks to me, sniffing my boot and then laying on top it. Right on top of my boot. Her head is still up, eyes wide. For a puppy, she’s calm. Or maybe she’s tired after fighting that fence all day.
With another sigh, I pick her up and carry her to the couch. I don’t even get the chance to go over any of the paperwork. I rub her head as she rests on my chest. I have no idea when I fall asleep, but it’s peaceful.
However, I wake to the sound of liquid spilling.
I sit up straight and look around, and the puppy is pissing right on the middle of my floor.
“Aw, hell! You serious? I thought we were friends!”
She looks at me then dashes away from the spot, running to the kitchen and sniffing around her bowl. “Jesus.” I grab paper towels from the kitchen and clean up the mess. “Yeah, I gotta figure out where you came from. Pissin’ all over my floors is not cool.” After I feed her, I pick her up and decide to make my way around the neighborhood before heading to work. She’s a beautiful puppy. I’m sure someone is looking for her.
TWENTY-FIVE
GABBY
STILL NOTHING FROM MARCEL. It’s ten in the morning and his crew arrived three hours ago. I’m in my studio, watching them work. It’s coming together nicely, and all the piles of dirt that were around before, are mostly gone now. My chest feels tighter as I watch some of the men carrying dahlias to one of the bigger flower beds.
Turning away from the window and going to my laptop, I check my emails one more time. Nothing. My phone buzzes, and there’s a tex
t from Kyle.
Kyle: I want to make you happy, any way that I can. Let’s go see your family for Easter. I know how badly you want to.
His text makes me smile. I’m glad he thought about it. I text him back, saying thank you with a heart emoji, then I place my phone down. I look at the dahlia I was working on. I need to paint and glaze it then stick it in the kiln out back.
To distract myself from my thoughts, I get right to it, putting on my apron, tossing my hair up in a bun, and glazing the flower.
When I’m done, I place it on the tray I always use and carry it downstairs. When I get outside, the men are louder. They’re so used to me coming out that they simply wave or ignore me.
I smile since I can’t wave, making my way to the shed. I slide the flower into the kiln carefully after covering it with aluminum pans, then sit on the yoga mat in front of it after setting the timer.
As I wait for the flower bake, I hear a rapid panting noise, followed by a tiny bark.
I look to my left and see a puppy dashing through the backyard. It’s tiny, with sandy-blonde ears and a spot on its bottom and tail to match. The rest of its body is a pure white. It’s clearly a beagle, but I’ve never seen one like it. They’re usually covered with more black and brown, than white.
“What the hell!” Alex yells as the puppy dashes around with a limp, like it’s having the time of its life. I laugh as it runs past some of the workers. It zooms back in the direction it came from, and I stand. As if it notices me for the first time, it comes my way and stops right in front of me. It sniffs and sniffs, and I laugh, bending down to pick it up.
“What are you doing here?” I giggle, rubbing its head and then scratching behind its ears. I lift the puppy above my head to check it out. “A girl? You’ve got so much energy, girl! Who do you belong to?” I check the black collar around her neck, but there is no tag.
“She’s yours if you want her,” a familiar voice says, and I look up quickly. The puppy wriggles in my hands, and I place her down. She dashes for Marcel, who scoops her up in his large hands. One of his hands is big enough to hold her.
“Marcel,” I say, and I don’t know why I can’t process the fact that he’s here right now. I shake my head, pulling myself together. “Where did she come from?” I ask.
“No idea. She was stuck in my fence last night. She got cut up pretty bad, but I think she’s much better now. Wound wasn’t too deep.” He points to her leg, at a little cut that I hadn’t even noticed before. “I went around my neighborhood all morning and asked if anyone owned her or knew who did, but none of my neighbors had a clue. She’s been with me since.”
“So why don’t you keep her?” I ask. I reach for her again, and she finally settles down. I cradle her in one arm, stroking her head and back with my hand.
“I work too much. I leave early and don’t get back home till late at night. Wouldn’t have anyone to watch or look after her.”
I scratch behind her ears again and she turns her head. She really likes that. “I’m not sure if I can keep her, either. Kyle isn’t a big fan of dogs. He loves them, but doesn’t like the idea of owning one.”
Marcel almost looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head. “The last thing I want to do is put her in a shelter. She seems like a good puppy. Playful. Sweet. Not only that, but she clearly likes you.”
I smile, placing her down. She rolls onto her back by accident, and I rub her belly. She loves that too, because she stays there with her tongue halfway out. “I don’t know…I’ll have to check first.”
“Well, in the meantime, you think you can keep her here? Just ’til I can find her a good home? I’ll keep askin’ around and if nothin’ comes up, I’ll take pictures, put her up for sale if I have to. I refuse to put her in a shelter.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Sure, I’ll keep her until then.”
Marcel nods. “Good.” He bends down, and the puppy jumps up, rushing for him. She starts nibbling on his hand. “Think she’s teethin’,” he laughs, letting her chew on his fingers.
“Have you named her?”
“No. Don’t want to get too attached.”
I nod and look away. “I’m already getting attached to her,” I admit with a small laugh.
“You like dogs.” It’s a statement not a question, but I answer as if he asked.
“I used to have a chocolate lab when I lived with my parents, but she got really sick. She was a sweet dog. Her name was Cammie.”
“Cammy?” He looks up, squinting a little when the sun hits his eyes.
“C-A-M-M-I-E.”
“Ahh.”
We’re quiet a beat. His crew is talking, and the puppy is snarling adorably, trying to bite his finger harder.
“I’ll just keep her,” I finally blurt out. “I wanted another dog so bad after Cammie died. This one doesn’t have a home. I’m sure Kyle will understand why I took her in.”
“You sure? I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
I shrug. “It’ll be fine. She’ll be my responsibility.” Marcel pulls his hand away from the puppy and stands tall. She comes my way, and I bend down again to pick her up. “Cammie had a sister named Callie when we adopted her. I always loved that name. I think I’ll name her that.”
“Callie.” He smirks. “Hmm. I like it. It fits her.”
Callie yawns.
“Well, I have to get some work done. Came by because they told me the hot tub is finished.” Marcel looks around. “Backyard will be all yours pretty soon, give or take another two weeks or so.”
“Yeah.” I don’t know why hearing that makes my heart drop. “Your guys will be finished early.”
He winks at me. “Best crew around.”
I shift on my feet, rubbing Callie out of nervousness now. “I, um…I emailed you last night.”
“I know.” He looks into my eyes, unwavering.
“Did you read it?”
“Yep. Didn’t know what to say.”
“Just say yes,” I murmur. “To dinner, I mean.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You tend to freak out whenever we’re alone.”
“Well, after what happened last time, I’m sure my freak outs are within reason. This time will be different. It will be cordial.”
“You’d freak regardless, but it’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. I’ve already let it go. I’m just here to check a few things out and then head to my office.”
“Marcel.” My frown has grown deeper. “Weren’t you the one who told me to stop pretending?”
He shrugs.
“Stop pretending you aren’t interested in eating tacos with me. You and I both know it would be a lie if you say you aren’t.”
“I’m not pretendin’,” he mumbles, stepping back.
“Sure. Okay.” I roll my eyes and turn for my kiln. The timer for it has gone off. I place Callie down and open the oven door. Heat escapes, but I use the oven mitt hanging on the wall of the shed to take it out.
“I’ll go home, get the dog food I bought if you want it,” Marcel says.
“Nah. That’s okay. I’ll go grab some stuff for her. I don’t mind.”
“You sure keeping her is okay?”
I force a laugh. “It’s fine.”
He looks me over with a nod before going to meet with Alex and Jacob by the bed of flowers. They start filling him in about work, so I take my dahlia sculpture inside and tell Callie to follow me. I think she follows me more out of curiosity than obedience.
I place the hot tray on two pot holders on the island counter and watch as Callie prances around. She stops by the table and I hear a pitter-patter noise, like liquid has spilled.
“Are you peeing?” I shriek, and she kicks her leg before running away.
I rush to the double doors. “Marcel! Are you kidding? She just peed on my kitchen floor!” I yell.
Marcel looks up at me, and when he takes in my shocked expression, he breaks out in a smooth l
augh. “I think that’s her way of saying she likes it there!”
I laugh then shut the door. I grab some cleaner wipes and paper towels and use them to wipe it up as she trots into the kitchen again. “You’re going to give me hell, aren’t you?” I ask, dumping the towels in the trash bin, then drumming my fingers on the counter. I need to get her some supplies and a dog bed, at least, but first I have to break the ice with Kyle.
I rush upstairs and grab my phone. Callie is waiting at the bottom of the staircase, her head tilted, like she’s been waiting for me to come back the entire time. I snap a picture of her and send it straight to Kyle with the message “We have a puppy now!”
That’ll break the ice for sure.
I pick Callie up and go to the door, sliding into a pair of flip-flops. I leave the house, but not without locking up, and go to the maps app in my phone to search for the nearest pet store. There are three around.
I go to the closest one and fill my cart with dog food, a dog bed, chewing toys, puppy pads, and even little treats. By the time I check out, my buggy is full.
“You’re spoiled already,” I tell Callie on the way to the car. She’s on the seated section of the buggy, loving her surroundings.
When we make it back home, I’m surprised to see Marcel is still in the backyard. He’s standing close to the door, hands planted on the folded table in front of him as he reads over a blueprint. I watch him while pulling out Callie’s dog bowl and toys.
Like he feels my gaze, he looks up, but I look away, handing a squeaky ball to Callie. There’s a knock on one of the double doors and I look at it again. Of course, it’s Marcel. I go to open it.
“Can I come in?” he asks. “Just want to go over the final layout for the wet bar again.”
“Yeah, come in.”
He steps inside and looks at Callie, smiling as she does her little growl while biting the ball. It’s too big to fit in her mouth, and she’s clearly upset about that.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I’m looking over the prints for the bar. Just wanted to know if you wanted shelves built into it or to keep it counter-like?”
The Man I Can't Have (Ward #1) (Ward Duet) Page 16