“But why kindergarten? Why not be a high school art teacher?”
“I thought about doing that. I taught teens as part of an extracurricular program at the art center near where I lived. But as much as I loved doing it, I wanted to work with little kids more.
“I still teach art classes for teens, but I save that for the summer when I have more time.”
“Teaching during the school year and volunteering at the seniors’ residence must keep you busy.”
“It does—especially since I volunteer with the seniors several times a week.”
“Wow, you must really enjoy it.”
She points to what looks like a 2016 red Honda Civic. “That’s my car. And yes, I do really enjoy it. I don’t have any grandparents, or at least none who are still part of my life. The residents at the seniors’ home are like surrogate grandparents to me. I love them as if they are my grandparents. And they treat me like I’m their granddaughter.”
She smiles at me. It’s a gorgeous smile—one that causes a spark deep in my gut, two live wires briefly touching.
“What about you?” she asks. “Are your grandparents still part of your life?”
“They are. My granny lives with my parents. And is always keeping them on their toes.” I mentally laugh at how much she does that. “She told me once that it’s how she keeps herself young. My grandfather, her husband, passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Me too. He was a great guy. I’m positive you would’ve liked him. My other grandparents live in Texas, near one of my sisters and her family.…Did you want to come with me in my vehicle or follow me?”
“I’ll follow you. But in case I lose you, what vet clinic are you going to?”
I tell her the name. It’s not exactly close to here. My home is on the other side of the city from the school.
For a second, I think she’s going to change her mind, and maybe she would have if we weren’t both friends with Ava. Ava has already vouched for me, which makes my life a helluva lot easier when it comes to the mission.
We eventually arrive at the clinic where Whiskey has spent the past thirty-two hours.
“Do you have any supplies for him?” Chloe asks as we enter the building.
“I picked up some stuff for him this morning.” The convenient thing about having a colleague who’s a dog lover is that Jayden could tell me what to get. He also gave me pointers when it comes to taking care of a puppy.
Rule #1 when it comes puppy obedience: Show him who’s boss—which works for me.
I approach the front desk. “Hi, I’ve come to collect the injured puppy I dropped off yesterday morning. The cockapoo.”
The receptionist’s mouth breaks into a soft smile. “Ah yes, the sweet puppy who has stolen everyone’s heart here. Have you come up with a name for him yet?”
“Whiskey. And if he’s stolen everyone’s heart, does that mean someone wants to adopt him?” I smile hopefully at her, pouring on the charm like hot fudge over a sundae.
“Sorry, we’re all maxed out on pets right now. Otherwise, I’m positive one of our staff members would. Interesting choice of name, but it’s also very fitting.”
She tells the woman behind her, wearing cartoon cat scrubs, that we’ve come for the puppy. The woman disappears through the doorway and re-emerges a minute later, carrying him in her arms.
“Oh, aren’t you the just the cutest bundle of fluff?” Chloe coos, letting him sniff her hand, then scratching him behind the ear.
The puppy releases a little bark and attempts to lick her face.
“Looks like you’ve already won him over,” I say. Now I just need him to win her over enough so she takes him off my hands.
The vet assistant gives me directions on how to care for Whiskey’s wound and answers all my questions.
“And you’ll let me know if the situation changes and a foster home becomes available?” I’ve already left a description with the humane society in case someone turns up there, searching for the puppy.
“Yes, we have him on the list.”
“And if you hear of anyone looking to adopt a puppy…”
“We’ll give them your contact information. But are you sure you don’t want to keep him? Given his rough start, he really is a sweet little dog. And this breed is a great family pet.” The woman’s gaze shifts to Chloe.
“I’m positive.” I’m the kind of man who likes to be in full control of his life—and something tells me Whiskey is the opposite of what I need.
I take him from her, and after the woman has said her good-byes to him, Chloe, Whiskey, and I head out for the next part of my mission: a date with Chloe.
Whiskey’s going to be the perfect sidekick for that. Chloe will have a hard time saying no to being my girlfriend when I have him in my life. She’s already opened her heart to him, so the rest of this should be easy.
I practically high-five myself for the stroke of genius in rescuing the little dude and deciding to be his foster home for the short term.
Chloe helps me put Whiskey into his crate, and I load it into the back seat of my jeep. It only takes ten minutes to arrive at my place, and I park in the garage.
Chloe parks on the street in front of my town house and joins me in the garage.
“Look familiar?” I ask Whiskey. “I found him by the bush,” I tell Chloe, pointing to the plant. “I have no idea how long he’d been there or where he came from. I only know he doesn’t belong to any of my neighbors, and they didn’t recognize him.” I lower his crate to the ground and open the trunk to collect his supplies.
“Let me help,” Chloe says.
“That’s okay, I’ve got this.”
She doesn’t listen and grabs the big bag of puppy food.
“I can get that. It’s heavy.”
“It’s not that bad. I can manage. I’m stronger than I look.”
Strong isn’t the word I’d use to describe Chloe. She’s all soft, warm woman.
“I’m sure you are, but how about you bring his bed instead? Or maybe the bag with the toys I bought him?”
She shifts the oversized bag to one arm, grabs the handle of the cloth bag containing the puppy-friendly toys, and tosses me a smug, get-over-it-caveman grin.
Shaking my head to myself, I remove the rest of the supplies from my vehicle and close the trunk.
Once we get everything into the town house, I put Whiskey’s crate in his temporary bedroom and open the wire door. Happy to bail on it, he climbs out and places his paw against my calf.
“You’re supposed to rest,” I tell him. Vet’s orders.
I scoop him up, taking care not to hurt his leg. He gives me a little puppy bark, and I carry him into the living room like he’s a football, one hand supporting him under the belly, the other carrying his dog bed.
I set it on the hardwood floor and carefully lower him on top of it. “Stay here while I get dinner started,” I tell him. To Chloe, I ask, “Would you like some wine?”
“No, I’m good.”
“You sure? I’ve got an open bottle of Zinfandel from Enchanted Springs Winery.”
If the winery name sounds familiar, Chloe keeps the recognition off her face.
“I love wine, but I prefer to save it for the weekend.”
“Do you have a favorite brand?”
She shrugs. “Not really. We might be in wine country, but I really don’t know much about wine. I always order Riesling from whatever mid-range wine is listed on the menu.”
“Riesling? That’s your favorite white wine?” It’s not one I remember being part of the Enchanted Springs inventory.
She nods.
“What about red wines?”
“Syrahs.” Another wine that isn’t part of the Enchanted Springs inventory. “But I’m more of a white-wine girl.”
You would think if you owned a winery, you would favor the wines you produce.
So maybe the Feds are right, and she really is clueless abou
t the winery in her name.
“Do you do your own taxes?” I ask.
“That’s kind of an odd question to ask someone you haven’t known for long.”
“Maybe tax talk turns me on.”
That makes her laugh. “How can anything to do with taxes turn anyone on? I mean, I get it if you’re an accountant, tax season might possibly make you horny. But for most people, that’s not the case.”
Whiskey gets off his bed and limps toward me.
“Stay,” I tell him in my SEALs tone.
He doesn’t listen. He just looks at me, head cocked to the side, and keeps hobbling forward.
Chloe crouches next to him and scratches behind his ear. This causes him to stop and flop onto his side, a happy puppy grin on his face.
“But to answer your question,” she says, “no, I don’t do my own taxes. A family friend has been doing them for years. Math isn’t my thing, so I’m happy to hand everything over to him during tax season.”
Whoever’s filing them knows about the winery Chloe isn’t aware she owns. And the person might know a lot more about her family’s dark side than she’s aware of.
And this includes the truth when it comes to Nikolai.
“My accountant retired a few months ago, and I’m looking for recommendations.” The lie forms easily on my lips. “Is your family friend accepting new clients?”
“I’m not sure. I can ask him if you want.”
“That would be great. Assuming you’re happy with him, of course.”
“I can’t say I have any complaints. The IRS hasn’t been knocking on my door, so I guess he’s doing a good job.”
I walk to the kitchen. “So we’ve established you like Riesling and Syrahs, and you don’t do your own taxes. That’s probably more than I know about most of my dates.”
She laughs, stroking Whiskey’s fur. “Yes, we’re definitely getting into deep territory. But that’s more than I know about you. All I know is that you used to teach high school math, and you’re now a substitute teacher and a puppy foster father.”
I remove the chicken breasts from the fridge, along with the other ingredients I’ll need to make dinner, and set them on the counter. “I also play hockey whenever I can.”
When it comes to going undercover, the closer you can keep to real life, the easier it is to maintain your story. You’re less likely to slip up and say something that will give away that you’re not who you’re claiming to be.
“Are you on a team?”
“Yep. We play in a competitive adult league. We all grew up with aspirations of playing in the NHL, but then reality didn’t quite pan out that way.” All that is true. But what I’m not going to admit is that we’re all in the same field when it comes to our careers.
My teammates are comprised of FBI agents, cops, and former military who still work at keeping the bad guys at bay, including one who’s a prosecutor.
“Kiera’s husband used to play hockey. She and I went to his games all the time and cheered the guys on. They were really good.”
“He doesn’t play anymore?”
“He died last year, around the holiday season. He went skiing with some friends, lost control, and hit a tree.”
That sounds familiar. “Stephen Ashdown was her husband?”
She nods. “You knew him?”
“Not very well. He was a great player, and as far as I could tell, a nice guy.”
“He was a very nice guy. Sweet. A real romantic. Those guys are a rare breed.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “You saying I can’t be a romantic, too?”
Because if that’s what she’s saying, she’s not too far from the truth.
I’m about as romantic as the next guy.
Chloe shrugs. “In my experience, most guys aren’t that way.” She pauses fussing over Whiskey; he whimpers, begging for more. “You’re too adorable for words,” she tells him.
“I’m not used to being called adorable, but I’m sure my masculinity can handle it,” I say on a laugh.
She looks up from Whiskey and shakes her head, a grin on her lush lips. “Adorable is definitely not how I would describe you.” She returns her attention to the puppy. “I’m going to help Landon with dinner, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to fussing over you. Okay?”
Whiskey gives a little bark.
“I’ve got everything under control here,” I tell her. “You don’t have to leave him just yet.”
“Are you sure? I’m more than happy to help.”
“You are helping. With him.”
She smiles softly at me and then at the puppy. “All right. I’ll stay with you while Landon makes dinner.”
“I take it you’ve never had a romantic boyfriend?” I ask, mostly because the more I know about Chloe, the more I can use it to gain her trust. And if she trusts me, maybe I can eventually discover where Nikolai is hiding.
“I did. Or at least I thought he was romantic until he one day decided he’d had enough of being my boyfriend. He didn’t love me like he’d thought he had. A few days later, he texted me to tell me he didn’t love me after all. And that was the last I heard from him. So that kind of trumped the romantic stuff.”
“He’s the only romantic boyfriend you’ve had?” The guy sounds like a douchebag.
“I had a boyfriend in college—years before I dated Mark—but that boyfriend was more like a frat boy. He wasn’t known for being romantic. I’ve dated a few guys since Mark, but I’ve pretty much decided having a boyfriend isn’t worth the time. I’m so busy with my job and my artwork and my volunteering, I don’t have time for a boyfriend.” Her gaze returns to the puppy, and she scratches him behind the ear. “Isn’t that right, Whiskey?”
He gives her another little bark, and I inwardly cringe—and curse her fucking ex-boyfriend. He’s making my job a lot more challenging.
“What about you?” she asks. “Has a girlfriend ever broken your heart?”
I shake my head—since it’s mostly true.
“Are you the heartbreaker, then?”
And this is where I’m suddenly royally screwed. Because my answer might ruin the mission—or at least my part of the mission. I don’t expect Chloe’s the kind of woman who likes dating a man who was at one time a player. And I’m not referring to the type that plays hockey.
“I’m not a heartbreaker. I’ve been in relationships that died out over time, and we mutually agreed to go our separate ways.”
Again, all a lie.
I begin chopping the vegetables.
“Have you had many girlfriends?”
“Just three. My last girlfriend had a great job offer in New York City, and there was no way she could turn it down. I wasn’t interested in…I wanted to remain in San Francisco and teach here. So we went our separate ways and remained friends.”
“Has she been back to visit?”
“Yes…with her fiancé.” No point in having Chloe believe I’ve got some sort of fuck-buddy arrangement with my fictitious ex-girlfriend.
“Are you interested in falling in love and having a family one day?” she asks.
That’s the kind of question women who are looking to adorn their ring finger ask. They don’t want to waste their time with a man with commitment issues. But since Chloe’s made it clear she isn’t interested in having a boyfriend, I have no idea what she’s hoping to hear.
“Yes, one day.”
I assume being a kindergarten teacher doesn’t give you superpowers…like the ability to tell when someone’s lying.
“And there’s no special woman in your life you’re hoping to one day be the mother of your kids?”
“Not yet.” I give her a meaningful look. “But I’m hoping that changes soon.”
An adorably sexy blush spreads across her cheeks. At least my not-so-subtle hint didn’t go right over her head.
Whiskey places his paw on her lap, requesting her attention.
“I think he’s hoping the same.” I cluck my chin at him.
“And what’s that exactly?”
“That you’ll agree to see if this thing between us will go further than dinner.”
8
Chloe
At Landon’s hint that he’s hoping things will progress beyond dinner, my body turns Arctic cold. I wouldn’t be surprised if tiny polar bears are playing tag in my gut.
It’s not what you think, I tell it.
“You mean you want to have sex with me?” I didn’t intend to say it out loud, but that’s got to be what he’s thinking.
His eyebrows tug up his forehead. “I’m not the kind of guy who has sex on a first date.”
I manage to hold back a snorted laugh. He looks exactly like that type. He exudes sexuality.
“That’s good to know.” My girlie parts have the opposite opinion—they want to jump him now—but they don’t have a say in this conversation.
“So, are you interested in having a second date after this?”
“Technically, this isn’t even a first date.”
“Sure, it is. I’m making you dinner, right?” He gestures at the food spread out on the counter. “That counts as a date.”
I laugh—he really is funny. “But talking shop kind of negates that. And shop talk is the reason I’m here. We’re discussing the show, and I’m sharing tips on how to deal with kindergarteners.”
“Well, how about we have a date tonight and not talk shop?”
I shake my head. “I don’t date.”
“Not at all?”
“Nope. Not at all. Men tend not to stick around in my life for long.”
“You’ve obviously gone out with the wrong men.”
“Oh, it’s not just the men I’ve dated. My biological father and my stepfather weren’t any different.”
A frown creases Landon’s brow. “They both actually told you they were leaving your mother because of you?”
“No, but after they left us, they never tried to contact me. I thought they loved me. I was wrong. So clearly, I’m a terrible judge of character.” Although in the case of my father and stepfather, it was my mother who’d been the terrible judge of character.
Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover Book 2) Page 5
