The Dog Sitter: The new feel-good romantic comedy of 2021 from the bestselling author of The Wedding Date!

by Zara Stoneley

  Oh, and I do have another worry. The painting of the boathouse.

  Actually, if I’m honest, I’m sure I can put my nerves down to the painting. It’s got nothing to do with my family, or snogging, or my future. It’s this painting. When I put the last touches to it, I stepped back and welled up. There was an actual lump in my throat. I felt like a proud parent.

  It speaks to me, even though I’ve never actually seen the boathouse in real life.

  And I want to know it speaks to him. I want to see the look on his face and know I’ve got it right.

  Which is making me nervous.

  I feel sick.

  What if he hates it?

  What if it’s like Teddy all over again; he thinks my work is crap and just like that, any attraction between us is knocked on the head as well? Double rejection.

  I feel like I’m setting myself up to be knocked down.

  Except I have to, don’t I? I did this for him. It’s good, I’m sure in my heart that it is. Which would make it even worse if he doesn’t agree – because I’ve just realised, his opinion really matters to me. It is more important than any opinion of Teddy’s, because that was just linked to cash and my career. This picture is personal.

  I’ll just move the picture to a slightly better angle, for the twentieth time, but the light does keep changing at this time of day and—

  ‘Hi, I’m not too early, am I?’

  ‘Shit!’ I nearly drop the painting on the floor, and then fumble like mad with shaking hands to prop it back up again safely. ‘You made me jump!’ I fold my arms to hide the fact that my hands are trembling.

  ‘Sorry.’ He grins, and one side of his mouth is lifted, dimples deeper than ever. He is standing at the open window and he’s not looking sorry at all, but sexy and chilled. Unlike me. I am a hot mess.

  I wish he wouldn’t grin like that; it makes me think dirty thoughts.

  ‘You don’t look sorry!’ He doesn’t. He looks fit. Totally fit, he is the dishiest man I have ever known. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I want to jump him in a totally indecent way.

  His hair, which is normally all messy (like Bella’s) has been tamed, which makes me really, really want to run my fingers through it and make it scruffy again. Its dishevelled texture is calling out to me. Just the thought is making me all dry-mouthed and hot and bothered. ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘The front door was locked.’

  See? I can follow some of Georgina’s instructions.

  I open the patio doors and Bella, who has been bouncing about barking, shoots out. A bundle of frantically wagging tail, flopping ears and lolling tongue, as she winds round his legs, jumps in the air up to chest height and then sets off on zoomies round the garden, crashing through the borders and flattening flowers as she goes.

  She is excited.

  That makes two of us. I am trying to contain mine though. Boy, it would be much easier if I was a dog. A joyous, happy dog. Though to be honest, I think I am catching a bit of her loopiness. Life somehow seems much better than it used to. I used to be a glass-half-full type of person. I’m not quite sure when I switched to half-empty mode, but it’s impossible to stay that way when you’re around a dog like Bella.

  ‘I brought wine?’ He holds a bottle up. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Great, fine!’ Brilliant. Although, is it friendliness, foreplay or part of a dastardly plan? And do I care either way?

  ‘So, this is it.’ He takes a step inside, passes me the bottle then folds his arms and stands, legs wide, staring.

  The silence lengthens. It goes on. And on.

  Forever.

  My chest starts to constrict uncomfortably, and I realise I’m holding my breath. I let it out as quietly as I can, so I don’t disturb him, and bite my bottom lip instead.

  He finally takes a step back, hands on hips now. The muscles in his forearms ripple, then he lifts one hand to his chin, his forefinger resting on his bottom lip.

  He really is quite beautiful in profile.

  Beautiful as in full of character.

  And he has this stillness about him. A solid stillness that makes my heart constrict and my fingers twitch. If I was a portrait painter, I’d have to capture him.

  I’m not, but I want to anyway.

  ‘Well.’ His lips thin, then relax back, the corner lifting in that now-familiar quirk.

  My God, this is like the most terrifying interview ever.

  ‘Do you, er…’ I clear my throat. ‘Do you think it’s okay? Is it like, well, like it was?’

  ‘Becky.’ He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them, and half turns so he is looking straight at me. And I mean straight. It’s like he’s interrogating my soul and it’s exciting, not scary. I’ve gone all trembly inside. Again. ‘This is bloody brilliant.’ There’s a gruff edge to his voice. I register the smallest shake of his head, but his gaze is still holding mine. ‘I don’t know how the hell you did it, from one crappy picture, but it’s spot on. You’re a genius.’

  I think I feel like Bella does when he’s cuddling her, tickling her tummy and telling her she’s the best. If I was a cat I’d be purring. I’m glowing inside and out.

  This is why I paint.

  Right now, at this moment, I know I’ve got it right. I’ve proved I can do it. Even if ‘it’ isn’t what Teddy thought it should be. I want to punch the air, or hug Ash.

  But I settle for grinning inanely.

  Ash turns back to the picture, leaning in to study it more closely, and the moment for hugs has gone.

  ‘I’ll get some glasses for the wine.’

  I don’t think he hears. All his attention has been diverted.

  When I return, he is standing in the open doorway, leaning against the door jamb, one hand in his jeans pocket. Looking out at the lake.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude, it just kind of blew my brain a bit.’ He runs his fingers through his hair, then grins sheepishly and takes the glass of wine from me. The touch of his fingertips makes my heart race even faster than it did the first time. ‘Who knew looking at a picture could be that intense? Cheers.’ We clink glasses, and all words appear to have been evicted from my brain. He is so intense, so deep. ‘Shall we sit down?’ He motions towards the chairs and table on the patio, and all I can do is nod mutely and follow him.

  Bella crashes out at his feet, one of her paws on his trainer as though she wants to be sure he can’t sneak off unnoticed.

  ‘It’s amazing here, isn’t it? Timeless.’ Okay, as first words go, they aren’t very impressive, but it’s the best I can do. I just want to stare at him. But my brain does seem to be kicking up a gear, closer to normal. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but I feel the need to fill it, maybe to stop myself from grabbing him. ‘I feel like we’re just visitors, here briefly, passing through leaving only the tiniest of marks.’ I’m starting to ramble, so I let myself pause. Try to copy his stillness, something I’m normally brilliant at. ‘We’re an unwelcome blip on nature’s perfection.’

  He smiles broadly, showing white teeth. They’re not perfect, one is chipped. But they’re bright white against his tanned features. ‘I like that.’ He chuckles, and it comes straight from the centre of him. ‘You’re a constant surprise, you know?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah, you.’ He settles back more comfortable in the chair. ‘Who’d have thought you were such a brilliant artist and an incredible rock climber.’

  ‘Haha.’ I know the climbing comment is a joke, but I’ll take the artist bit. ‘Incredible?’

  ‘Maybe incredibly bad.’ He laughs again, but his eyes meet mine and it dies away. We’re both thinking about that moment. His hands on my waist, his body pressed against mine.

  ‘Incredibly.’ I clear my throat once more.

  ‘I had you down as one of Georgina’s groupies.’

  ‘I’m not a groupie!’

  ‘I know that now. Sorry, no offence intended.’ He shrugs, broad shoulders barely moving, but his
shirt tightens over his chest, making me even more aware of his maleness.

  ‘None taken. How were you to know? I’m a house-sitter, not a follower.’

  ‘No.’ He studies me more intently again, but this time I don’t feel uncomfortable, or want to squirm away. ‘You’re not, are you? As individual as they come.’

  I’ve never thought of myself as individual. ‘Is that an insult or a compliment?’

  ‘Interesting how you said insult first.’ His voice is a low drawl. I’m beginning to think he’s one of those people who is measured in every way, actions, words, all thought through. All there for a reason.

  I shrug. ‘I guess criticism is thrown out more often than praise, isn’t it? It’s more “don’t do that” than “do more”.’ I try to keep my voice steady. This is teasing, tempting, it’s an ebb and flow, one moment almost seductive, the next teasing, then almost dinner party conversation. The anticipation being ramped up slowly, notch by small notch.

  Is this what attraction is really about? Because I’ve never felt like this with a man before.

  ‘True.’ He nods. ‘Very true. We’re all quick to judge, aren’t we?’ There’s a long pause as we both drink our wine, then he sits up straighter and leans in, his forearms on his knees, and I resist the urge to creep in closer. His eyes are bright and there’s humour lurking in his face. ‘So what made you think I was SAS?’

  Oops. Embarrassing. Except, with one warming glass of wine in my stomach and emotion churning in my veins, I’m beginning not to care quite so much.

  ‘Sorry.’ I meet his gaze. ‘It was just I saw this picture of you on Georgina’s Insta account, in your combats, looking like, well, like you were in the SAS or something.’

  A shadow crosses his face.

  ‘You follow her Insta account?’ There’s a defensive edge to his question.

  Oh no, I knew this was too good to be true.

  ‘You’re into all that, are you? For your pictures.’ He adds the last bit as though to justify his slightly interrogatory tone.

  Well, bang, there go my chances of a good, well, bang. He’s managed to drop a bomb into the cosy camaraderie like an expert.

  ‘I don’t really follow her account, it was just to find out about the house, who she was, where I was coming. But, yes, I do post stuff on Insta.’ He’s giving me a slightly hostile look. ‘That’s a bit judgy, most people do!’

  ‘Most?’ His look and tone hold a big ‘most people like you’ side to them. He doesn’t need to know that most of my research, for house-sitting, work and lots of other things, is done via Instagram. And Google Images. And Pinterest.

  ‘Most!’

  ‘Doesn’t anybody have a private life these days, then?’

  ‘Well yes, stuff online is just an image, a pimped-up snap, it’s not real, you know. It’s pretend, make-believe. My best life, all that crap!’

  ‘It is real when somebody else starts to post photos of you, your home, everything.’ He sounds genuinely upset. I have a feeling this has been brewing. ‘And you don’t have a say.’

  Ahh. ‘That photo of you that Georgina posted…’

  ‘She shouldn’t have done. And—’ he looks at me intently ‘—the old Georgina, the one I used to know, wouldn’t have done that. It wouldn’t have been about “my best life” and fuck what anybody else thinks.’ Bella jumps on his lap and nuzzles in close. It seems to make him take a breath, pulls him away from his anger. He strokes her head, steadily, evenly. She looks up at him adoringly for a moment, and the artist in me wishes I could capture it.

  Talk about man’s best friend.

  ‘Some things aren’t meant to be plastered over the internet. Our privacy, our safety, is more important than a fifteen-second moment of admiration that you’ve got a boyfriend on a tour of duty.’ His tone is more measured again, but I hardly notice. Tour of duty!

  ‘Wow! So you are SAS!’ I can’t help myself, it just comes out. But all of a sudden, the tension is broken. He half smiles, relaxing slightly. Then he unexpectedly shakes his head and grins.

  ‘You’re not? Really?’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘You bugger!’ I thump him none too gently and he pretends to flinch. ‘You did that keep fit thing with me, had me climbing stuff and wriggling under things and getting mucky because I thought you were! You pretended—’

  ‘You thought I was, and I just let you! Not the same thing at all!’

  ‘You… you fraud! You had me doing all kinds that you said would test me out, and that wasn’t a proper workout!’

  ‘Nope.’ He chuckles. ‘Hadn’t a clue what I was doing, I just wanted to see you wriggle about in your tight top and shorts.’ Laughter lines fan out from his eyes.

  ‘Bugger. So I’m not going to be fit and ready for anything in five days? You could have broken me!’ I knew a five-day fitness plan had to be too good to be true.

  ‘I’d say you’re already fit.’ I’ve never seen such gorgeous eyes, I can’t stop gazing into them, and as for that low husky voice, it’s making parts of my body tingle. ‘And as for ready for anything, I reckon you always have been, Becky Havers.’

  I’m not quite sure what to say to that. I lick my dry lips. ‘I had you down as SAS or at least the gardener.’ Not a good seduction line, but it stops me climbing onto his lap.

  ‘I know you did!’ He throws his head back and laughs. Bella puts her paws on his chest and licks his chin, then jumps off his knee and curls back up at his feet.

  ‘Okay, okay, stop laughing at me! If you’re going to dress like a soldier one minute, but then lurk in the bushes the next, I reckon that’s reasonable!’

  ‘True.’ He’s stopped laughing, but he’s still grinning. Cute. ‘Sorry to be a let-down.’

  I’m not sure he’s that. ‘So you really aren’t in the SAS?’ I think there is a wistful edge to my voice. Up until now he’d laughed at me saying he was, but not actually denied it, which is what somebody in the SAS would do, isn’t it? Or kill you. So I secretly still hoped he might be. He’s now blown my fantasies right out of the water. Well not all my fantasies. That body of his is seriously hot. ‘You’re not even in the TA?’

  ‘You’re funny, come here.’

  To hell with it. With an invite like that, why am I resisting? I scoot my chair in closer to his.

  ‘Closer.’ His voice is soft as he drapes his arm round my shoulders and pulls me in. ‘You’re good for me, you know, I’ve not laughed with anybody like this for ages.’

  Nobody has ever said I’m good for them. ‘Nor have I.’ Maybe we’re good for each other.

  His chin rests on my head, his words gently vibrating through my body.

  ‘Georgie and I were happy once, but it seems a long time ago now. Way before she started posting pictures she shouldn’t. I guess I should have been more understanding, it was just her way of making it seem like we still had a chance.’ He sighs. ‘Bella was a bit of a sticking plaster to be honest, that’s partly why she wants to hang on to her. Why am I telling you all this?’

  I glance up.

  He gazes at me so intently that the world shrinks down to him and me. His eyes narrow slightly, blood pounds in my ears.

  I swallow.

  ‘I was in the Royal Marines.’ His warm hand has dropped from my shoulders, leaving a cold gap.

  ‘The Royal Marines?’ But… wow! Close enough for me!

  ‘I don’t talk about it.’ He shifts back slightly.

  Ahh. Right. I bite back my ‘why?’ and wrack my brain trying to think of something sensible to say. ‘So, you’re not my fantasy woodchopper. Disappointing!’ I’m not sure that’s sensible.

  ‘Always happy to oblige and get my chopper out for you if you’d like me to.’ His tone is dry, but his eyes have darkened and there is definitely a new kind of tension in the air. ‘If you promise not to post pictures on Instagram.’ The corner of his mouth quirks up.

  Oh. My. God. This man is gorgeous. I need him.

  This is heating
up again. There is so much deep undertone that it makes me feel like I could spontaneously combust. Instead I take a good mouthful of wine.

  Talking to Ash, being with Ash, is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. I’m not sure it’s good for my blood pressure.

  But boy, is it making me feel alive in a way nobody has before! I feel a bit light-headed. And fizzy. And giddy with anticipation. Maybe I need to invest in a fan, because I better not bloody faint again. If I do, I will never forgive myself.

  ‘My Insta account is purely for works of art.’ My throat is parched, raspy, so I glug back the wine, empty my glass. I reach blindly for the bottle, to top my glass up.

  ‘It’s empty.’ His deep voice and the way he’s studying me so intently is bringing goose bumps up on my arms and some totally different sensation in my pelvic region. I’ve not felt this tense since a particularly sadistic yoga instructor told me I needed to work on my pelvic floor, when she’d caught me joking to my best mate Kate that I had wet knickers.

  She’d got the wrong end of the stick completely – all that squeezing, relaxing and wobbling about, while thinking about Chris Hemsworth in Extraction (sorry, I can’t do the ‘empty head’ thing during yoga, I need something to occupy my mind) had made me wish I was in a darkened room alone. That’s what I was referring to, not incontinence.

  Ash puts his own glass down, very slowly, very deliberately and I forget yoga and can practically hear the thump, thump of my heart.

  ‘Shall I open another one?’ I squeak.

  ‘I don’t think so, do you?’

  He’s moved back in closer, he’s within touching distance. Groping distance. I shake my head and stare at the nutmeg-brown skin at his throat.

  ‘Well?’ His finger is under my chin, drawing it gently but firmly up so that I am gazing straight into his eyes – eyes that have darkened.

  I can smell the fruity wine on his breath, smell the earthy-woodiness that is him.

  ‘We could do something else?’

  He half smiles. ‘We could. Except last time we were at home and I kissed you, I seem to remember you passed out.’ He’s near enough to kiss. But it isn’t his mouth I want to taste first; it’s his neck. I want to breathe in his smell, taste his skin.