Hiss and Make Up

by Leigh Landry

  Marc took her hands in his. “I know you’re scared. I know I hurt you, even if it was a long time ago, and I know you’re scared to open yourself up to hurt again. But I’m not your mom. I’m not going anywhere. So what’s it going to be?”

  As her eyes filled with tears, she slid her hand along his side and took a step forward, erasing the space between them. They stood there for a moment, their bodies touching and neither of them breathing.

  Then, she pressed her mouth hard against his, unsure if she was saying goodbye or not. Desperate to find the answer in his lips.

  He cupped the sides of her face, and she relaxed as he returned her kiss. If she had to make a choice, she would choose to stand there kissing Marc on the back porch forever. That’s what she’d choose.

  His phone rang. “Arson investigator. He’s next door. Denise doesn’t have anyone to watch the kids, so I need to talk to him.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No.” He slipped his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck and pulled her in for one more kiss. It mimicked hers, hard and desperate. When he stepped back, he looked into her eyes and said, “Choose. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Every muscle fought to follow him to the gate. She couldn’t just stand there and wait. Or choose. She wanted to go with him. To keep moving. She didn’t want to sit-and-think-and-debate. She needed to be in the middle of the action with him, not waiting around for him to return.

  Her heart raced and her mouth went dry. If she was already panicking, her body poised and ready to bolt, how would she feel ten minutes from now? Ten days from now? Her body had already made the decision for her. She just had to convince her brain that it had been a goodbye kiss.

  “If it makes a difference,” Marc said, closing the gate latch from the other side of the fence, “I really hope you’re still here when I get back.”

  20

  Sierra fluffed the dog’s fur with a dry towel and steadied herself while he licked her face. He already smelled better after a plain old bath with the garden hose, even without any dog shampoo. She’d have to do something about the doggy breath, but defunking his coat was a massive odor improvement.

  “You need a name, buddy.”

  The dog licked her nose while she considered options. She’d found him on the edge of the woods, and he was playful and bouncy. Kind of sprite-like.

  “Puck? How does that sound?”

  He wagged his tail. When she wiped his ear with the towel, he dropped down into a play bow and barked.

  Puck. Definitely a Puck.

  She brought the towel inside, keeping Puck out a little longer. Bathing him had improved the situation, but she was pretty sure Marc wouldn’t be pleased with wet dog prints across his kitchen floor. She pushed her foot in the doorway to block him while she slid the door closed.

  “Later, dude. I promise.”

  She avoided looking at the clock or the window as she walked past the living room. Worrying about Marc's walk-through with the arson investigator wouldn’t speed anything up.

  Besides, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to the conversation she needed to have with Marc. He’d told her to choose, and she’d chosen. The only choice she could live with.

  Sierra threw the towel in the washing machine and turned it on. When she closed the lid and turned around, Marc was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. The running water must have drowned out his footsteps on the linoleum.

  “You’re still here.” His face was tight, but his dark eyes were hopeful.

  “I am,” she said. “What did the arson guy say?”

  He shook his head. “Later. This is more important.”

  “Does that mean that how much you tell me depends on what my answer is? Are we back to that?” She crossed her arms. “Are you writing me off again?”

  “No. Again, I’m sorry about that.” He bit his lip for a second, and she’d never been so jealous of someone else’s teeth. “After you tell me your decision, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’m not playing games, and I’m not going to try to be your protector. I want you safe, but if you want to help with this investigation, that’s your choice. I’m not going to push you away or block you out. Not anymore. I promise.”

  She swallowed, feeling her mouth going dry again. He was saying everything she needed and wanted to hear, but it wasn’t enough to change her mind about anything. She still had to tell him how she felt, and she had to live with his reaction.

  “Then I choose you," she said. "Us. I choose us.” His face lit up and his mouth rose with the beginnings of a smile. She raised a hand. “Wait. Let me finish.”

  He set his jaw and nodded.

  “I choose us today. Not a second chance for those kids on that swing. A first chance for us. You and me. Right now.”

  Marc took a breath and his shoulders relaxed. “I like that.”

  “Good.” She picked at nonexistent dust on the top of the washing machine. “But you also need to know that I can’t live up to any serene, domestic fantasy you might have. I’m promising me as I am. I can’t change for you. I won’t. So if you’re looking for the kids, the picnics, the block parties, or me baking cakes…I can’t promise those.”

  She took a deep breath and swallowed again. The words tumbled out of her mouth, but with every pause for breath, the urge to run grew exponentially. Every cell in her body screamed at her to run before he could reject her.

  But she held her ground. She was tired of running, and she was finally ready to accept that Marc was worth sticking around for. He was worth the risk and the heartbreak and the fear.

  Her stomach lurched and that orange soda fought to come back up. Now she was the one holding her breath, waiting for his move. For a while, he didn’t do or say anything. He only stood in the doorway, staring back at her.

  After a few torturous moments, Marc walked across the laundry room until he was nose to nose with her. He put his hands on her hips and said, “I’m more of a pie guy, anyway.”

  Sierra fought a smile and shook her head. “No pies either. Unless you plan on making them.” He leaned his forehead against hers, but she pulled her head back to look him in the eyes. “I mean it. I’m not changing my mind on the whole kids and family thing. I know that’s jumping the gun here, but I need you to know that from the start.”

  He moved back until there was a foot between them and only his fingertips touched her hips. Twice he started to say something and stopped himself.

  “Just say it.” That orange soda really would come up if he didn’t hurry up and tell her he’d changed his mind. She could live with his decision, but she couldn’t live with him dragging this out.

  “I’m thinking.”

  She crossed her arms and frowned. “Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

  “Give me a break, huh? You had the whole time I was next door to think of your answer. Can I at least have a few seconds to process this?”

  “Fine, that’s fair,” she said with an edge to her voice. If he was going to turn her down anyway, this was a cruel way to do it. “But you’ve had a few seconds now. Thoughts?”

  He tilted his chin up and looked down at her, his eyes playful and devilish. “I think making you wait is fun.”

  “And I think you’re a jerk.” It was her turn to grin, despite herself. “So are you in or not, Dugas?”

  He moved in to kiss her, his lips only a few inches away. Sierra placed a hand against his chest and pushed him back.

  “That’s not an answer. No more making up answers for each other. You’re going to have to say it. Out. Loud.”

  “Fair enough.” He grinned. “Sierra Menard, I choose you. I choose us. Today, tomorrow, however long this lasts. I don’t want the kids or cakes or picnics. I never have. That was Denise’s dream, and I like being with them, but I don’t want that for myself.”

  “Are you sure? Because you have to be sure,” she said. “Is life without kids going to be enough for you?” />
  “Plenty. Hell, I’ll even give up pie. Pecan pie, even. And you can bring along snakes or skinks if you need to, I don’t care. I only care that you’re with me. Today and however long I’m lucky enough to have you in my life.” He took a deep breath. “Because I love you, Sierra. I always have.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not that same girl.”

  “Kind of. The new stuff I’ll learn. And I’m not that same boy you knew either. You’ll have to learn new stuff about me too,” he said.

  “I know. I finally figured that out.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll say that I’ve always loved you…since three days ago.” He leaned forward and gripped her hips again. His eyes were dark and intense. “Now can I kiss you?”

  She grabbed his shirt and pulled him even closer until their lips almost touched. “You’d better.”

  There was no hesitation this time. No second guesses.

  Her lips met his, and their bodies pressed together with a deep, aching need to connect more than clothing and skin. She slid her hands up to his face, feeling the rough, late-day stubble along his jawline.

  Marc pressed her back against the rumbling washing machine, leaning deeper into their kiss. Then he took a step back.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, missing his warmth already.

  “I’m taking you to my bed.”

  She pulled him back. “I don’t need a bed.”

  A devilish smile spread across his face, and her knees went weak at the sight of it. “That’s all well and good, but I don’t exactly have a condom stash in the laundry room.”

  She sighed and narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”

  He gave her a playful kiss and pulled her backward, their fingers intertwined and palms pressed together. They inched toward the hall as Puck jumped and yipped, using his paws to leverage himself against the sliding glass door.

  “Dang it.”

  “Ignore him,” Sierra said, urging him toward the hall.

  Marc tried to plead his case between kisses. “He’s going to keep doing that until he slides the door open. He did it last night.”

  “Then he’ll be waiting for us in the house.” She wasn’t letting Marc get away from her. Not now. Not even for a second. “He’s had a bath, and he should be dry now. The weather’s cool this evening. It’ll be like leaving a window open to freshen up the place.”

  He pulled his head back and narrowed his eyes. They were still playful but had a spark of a challenge. “You saying my place needs freshening up?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I’m saying, if you don’t take me down that hallway right now, I’m going to start taking off your clothes and jump you right here in front of the dog.”

  A flash of horror washed across his face, but he laughed. It was deep and soft and magical. “You win.”

  “Actually, I think we’re both about to win here.”

  He put his hands around her waist. “Yeah, we are.”

  She lifted his shirt, while the dog barked in the background. Marc kissed her again, more deeply this time, and she followed him toward the bedroom, finally ready to admit that she’d follow him anywhere.

  Marc watched Sierra zip her jeans and clasp her bra. He’d tried three times to convince her to stay in bed. If it was up to him, they’d stay naked in bed together until tomorrow morning, but she insisted she needed food.

  She threw his pants at him. “You can tell me what the arson guy said while I make dinner.”

  “You’re making dinner?” He raised an eyebrow at her while fumbling to get one leg in his pants.

  “I still stand by my no-cake-baking clause of this relationship.” She slipped her T-shirt over her head, momentarily hiding her smile, and left the room.

  Marc sighed. He wasn’t hungry, but he wanted to be in whatever room she was in.

  He carried his shirt with him and found Sierra chasing the dog around the sofa. The mutt would dash around, then stop to bow and wag his butt in the air and take off again. It was downright adorable. He never thought he’d say that about a stray dog who’d somehow weaseled its way into his life. But coupled with Sierra? Irresistibly adorable.

  He was definitely keeping them both. Somehow.

  “What’s with him?”

  “He’s a dog,” Sierra said, lunging for the dog and missing again. “He’s being dog-ish.”

  “Well, the dude needs to chill out.”

  “His name is Puck.”

  “We’ve named him?”

  “No,” she said. “I named him. And I gave him a bath earlier, so he’s getting some proper couch snuggles later.”

  “Do we need to talk about not getting attached to…Puck?” He walked to the small bag of dog food on the counter near the door and shook it. The dog abandoned his game with Sierra and ran to put his paws on Marc’s legs.

  “Nice trick,” Sierra said.

  After he scooped food into a bowl and gave the dog a good scratching, Marc slid the door closed and locked it. The dog ignored the food and hopped and barked in front of the glass.

  “That’s gonna get old fast,” he mumbled.

  Sierra dug through his pantry and cabinets, frowning. She pulled out a strainer and a saucepan, then waved a box of mac and cheese at him.

  “Sounds good.”

  “So what did the inspector guy say?” she asked.

  “Arson. Definitely. Started in the back of the house. Looks like someone broke one of the back windows to get in and started it in one of the kids’ rooms.”

  Sierra mumbled a heated string of swear words drowned by the dog’s escalated barking.

  “Sheesh, can we get a muzzle for old Puck out there?”

  Sierra waved a large spoon at him as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. A second later, he pulled his head back and sniffed the air.

  “Do you smell that?”

  “Smell what? I told you, I washed the dog.”

  “No, it’s not the dog,” he said. “Did you turn on the stove?”

  “No.”

  She placed the pot on the stove and reached down to turn on the burner. That’s when he noticed the knob was already turned. He slapped her hand away.

  “Stop it.” She swatted him back. “I told you, I’m starving!”

  She reached for the knob again, so he grabbed her by both arms and yanked her away from the stove. With his heart and brain both racing, he dragged her back, out of arms reach of that stove.

  He made sure she was looking at him and said, “Gas.”

  “Gas? Seriously? You want me to smell—”

  She caught a whiff of the same thing he did. Her eyes widened with panic. He held her until the reality of what almost happened set in.

  He nodded. “We need to get out of here.”

  21

  “Wait, Puck.” Sierra lunged for the back door, refusing to leave another animal to a death sentence.

  Marc grabbed her arm before she could take more than a step. “We’ll get him from the gate. I know I said I’m not saving you anymore but this is different. Outside. Now.”

  She couldn’t even muster annoyance that he was herding her through the front door. Once outside, she called Puck to the gate, scooped him into her arms, and grabbed a leash from her trunk.

  They stood together at the edge of the street, far away from that death trap of a house, while Marc called 911. Sierra kissed Puck’s head and wondered how the hell the gas got turned on.

  She hadn’t turned that knob. Not yet. That she was certain of. And Marc hadn’t touched it either. They’d been…occupied. Possibly the best occupation of her life, if she were keeping track. Which she wasn’t. Because this was it. There was no one before, as far as she was concerned, and she couldn’t imagine anyone else after that. Sex with Marc had ruined her for anything else.

  So, yeah, they’d been a little busy, and neither one of them had gone anywhere near that stove all afternoon. She was sure of it.

  If Marc had left it on
earlier that morning, they would have smelled gas the second they walked in the house.

  So what happened? That knob sure as hell didn’t turn itself on.

  I warned you.

  That email. The last warning. It wasn’t referring to the fire. It was referring to this. The first email had warned Marc to leave, and he didn’t.

  Only this mystery woman wasn’t scaring anyone away anymore. She’d tried to kill him. More accurately, she’d broken into the house and tried to kill both of them.

  Sierra looked down at the dog in her arms, content to be held like a baby, and remembered how frantic he’d been a few minutes ago.

  They’d left the back door unlocked. Puck had jumped until he'd opened it enough to squeeze through. And this woman—whoever she was—must have walked right in.

  It wasn’t Chloe. Sierra was almost positive of that. And it didn’t look like Adrien had a female roommate. Maybe a girlfriend with a key? Then again, Adrien didn’t seem like he could score a girlfriend who wore power heels.

  A moving truck drove past them to the end of the cul-de-sac. It passed the Millers’ house, then beeped as it backed into the driveway. A “for sale” sign still stood in the front yard.

  Power heels.

  Marc couldn’t think of a reason the woman would come after them, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a reason. She sure as hell had the perfect opportunity living right there on this very street. And she would know Denise’s schedule.

  Marc was still on the phone. Sierra waved her arms, but he swatted her away while he gave the operator his information. She put Puck on the ground, the leash was still wrapped around her wrist. She could wait for Marc to finish his call, but he’d try to convince her to wait for the police.

  If falling hopelessly for Marc Dugas had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t want to wait around any more.

  With Puck trotting beside her, Sierra marched down the street to get some answers.

  Marc stayed on the phone with the operator, while he waited for the fire department. Again. It wasn’t long before he realized he was short one smart-mouthed, tattooed, irresistible girlfriend.