by Anne Tenino
Am I desperate enough to exploit my dog’s charisma to rescue my romance? Why not? Against all the odds, Nate had found a third person who did it for him. He owed it to himself to give the relationship its best chance—and he owed it to Seth to prove he was more than enough for Nate, just as he was. To do that, he needed to stage the best effect of his life, but he couldn’t do it alone. He needed sidekicks who loved Seth as much as Nate did.
“You’ll help me, won’t you, boy?” Tarkus just looked at Nate from under his ridiculously long doggy eyelashes. “But we need someone else. You’re good, but you’re distractible. Plus, I can’t be anywhere near Seth’s place or he’ll smell a rat.”
A rat. Like the one who’d started this whole thing—their adventures with the Cult of Fennimore; Shannon, Morgan, Pearl—
Pearl. She’d hugged him the other day—seemed like she approved of him. She was undoubtedly close to Seth—and more to the point for Nate’s plan—she had Tarkus eating out of her hand . . . literally.
Now, the question was: did she think Nate was boyfriend material for her grandson? Because whatever the rest of the Larsons might think, Nate had no illusions about who had the most influence with Seth.
Only one way to find out. He had Pearl’s number: she’d insisted on giving it to him when they’d been setting up the haunting—“for emergencies,” she’d said. If this wasn’t an emergency, he didn’t know what was.
She answered on the first ring. “Nate, it’s about time you called. We have got to do something about my grandson. He’s miserable.”
Thank God. Well, not that he wanted Seth to be miserable, precisely—but still. “I’m with you, Pearl, one hundred percent. Here’s my plan.”
Seth woke up the morning after the big arguments—both of them—knowing immediately what he needed from Nate.
He’s gotta take me the way I am.
It took him two more days for him to work up the courage to find out if Nate could do that. He had no doubt Nate would agree, but Seth needed to believe. Basically, he was going to ask Nate to prove it to him. It wasn’t fair, but it turned out that was his hard limit for a relationship.
In the meantime, he suspected Grandma was piling more chores on him in his free time, not because they were actually getting the house ready to sell, but because she was trying to keep him distracted. He hadn’t said much to her about what had happened, in spite of her many veiled—and later very unveiled—questions. Mostly he’d moped and shrugged, even when it wasn’t a yes or no question.
That afternoon, when he came inside to fix an armoire, she waited until he was half-buried in it, about to tap some finish nails into the molding he was replacing, when she asked him, “Have you ever been in love with anyone? Other than Nate, I mean.”
He couldn’t answer—the way his throat seized up made it impossible. Crap, he couldn’t even be here. Straightening up, he set the tack hammer down on the dining room buffet and walked out of the room. Then he kept going, through the kitchen, out the back door, past his place and down to the edge of the garden, to the rim of the West Twin River ravine. He hadn’t been down there since he’d found the remains of the woodrat.
He’d left the house because he’d felt uncomfortably close to tears, but he didn’t manage to escape them outside. He ended up sniffling over a rodent. The one that had brought him and Nate together.
Fuck. Gotta do this, have to have the conversation with him. Except how do I start?
He needed information from someone who’d done it. He called Lucas and arranged to meet him at Ma Cougar’s.
Seth arrived first, at the beginning of happy hour, and ended up in nearly the same booth they’d had the night he’d met Nate.
Damn it. From here, he could see the exact spot it had happened. As he was scooting out of the booth to change sides, Lucas arrived.
“Hey there,” he kissed Seth’s cheek—seriously universe, I could do without all the ironic reminders—as Seth stood. “Are we changing spots?”
“No, I just want to sit on the other side.”
Lucas shrugged and slid into the bench seat Seth had just vacated. Thank God for self-involved, unobservant people. Seth had already ordered them two beers, and they arrived immediately after Lucas did.
“So,” Lucas began, lifting his glass in a toast. “Here’s to revenging yourself on me. Gabe told me.”
Oh. He’d forgotten all about that. “Sorry?” He tilted his head and studied Lucas’s small, self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, I’m not really sorry.”
“I wouldn’t be. It was a good show. Nate appears to be very talented.” He sipped at his beer, watching Seth attentively over the glass.
Sorry, man, no details forthcoming. At least not his details. “How did you and Gabe get back together?” he asked instead, tracing designs in the drink coaster with his fingernail. “After twelve years, how do you pick up where you left off?”
Lucas screwed up his brows. “We weren’t really seeing each other twelve years ago. It was one night. When I got back, we didn’t so much pick up where we left off as start a new relationship.”
“Seriously?” He’d been certain they’d been in love before Lucas had left town at eighteen. “He was so hung up on you I thought it had to have been long-term and major.” Every time Lucas’s name had even been whispered within Gabe’s hearing, the guy’s expression would subtly change. He wasn’t the most emotive person in the first place, but at the mention of Lucas Wilder, he’d blank out. “I can’t believe it took that long for you guys to work things out.”
“It didn’t take us that long.” Lucas flicked his fingers in the air. “We had it pretty much worked out in a weekend. What took twelve years was getting to that weekend.”
Seth’s stomach shriveled up into a solid ball of stress. Okay, so, the lesson is you can’t work things out if you aren’t together. The only thing he knew for sure was that if he never called Nate, he’d never be with him. Jesus, he needed to leave. Immediately.
But Lucas was still talking. “—mean, he was kind of an idiot a few times after that, so, like, everything wasn’t worked out in those few days, but . . .” His eyes went a little foggy, trapped in misty memories. “Sometimes he’s just an idiot. I can live with that as long as he can admit it later.”
Chills erupted all over Seth, everywhere at once. Yes, universe, I get it. “Dude, I need to—”
His phone rang. His grandmother’s tone. Shit, he had to answer. But if she had one more chore for him, she was out of luck. “Hi, Grandma?” He threw five bucks on the table and scooted out of the booth, leaving more than half of his beer. “Listen, I’m going to be—”
“Tarkus is here,” she interrupted him. “He came scratching at the door, and he’s limping, I think he might have a broken hind leg. You need to come home right now. Tell that Wilder boy your grandmother needs you.”
He was already waggling his fingers at a strangely unconcerned Lucas and walking away. “I’m leaving now.”
Tarkus limping, huh? A wounded animal had never made him so happy. Such an obvious ploy, it had to mean Nate was tired of waiting for him to think, didn’t it? He hasn’t given up on me.
He sent Tarkus because he knows I won’t reject the dog.
Which means he’s afraid I’m rejecting him.
“Grandma,” he began as he ran through the kitchen door thirty seconds later, “he’s probably faking it.”
Two guilty, startled faces greeted him, both of them hovering over a bowl of doggie treats on the floor. Well, maybe only one guilty face—Tarkus probably couldn’t make any faces while he was inhaling Grandma’s biscuits like that.
“Really?” He gave her a look. “After he came to the door—obviously injured—you took the time to bake him treats before calling me?”
“What makes you think that?” She straightened and peered down her nose at him (which she had to lift her chin to do).
Seth gestured to the potholder still on her hand.
She yanked her arm be
hind her back. “He was hurt! He’d limped all the way down here from Nate’s, I had to give him sustenance. Show him, Tark.” Once she had the dog’s attention, she twirled her finger in the air.
Tarkus immediately began to limp around his dish, head lowered, making pathetic eyes from under his doggy lashes. After he’d done a full circuit, he quirked his head questioningly at Grandma.
“Good boy,” she gushed, petting him as he started wolfing down treats again.
Uh-huh. “I thought you said it was his hind leg.”
Grandma didn’t miss a beat. “I was mistaken.”
“Oh my God,” Seth groaned and hid his face in his hands a second. “This is so him.” A move born out of desperation, but as always, with that edge of mischief. Even when he was in pain. “Why didn’t he just call and ask me to come over?”
“It’s my understanding that you were supposed to tell him when you were ready to talk.” Grandma sniffed and began straightening up her baking supplies. “Look at the extremes you drove him to. You should have gone to him already.”
“I should have,” Seth agreed, his heart perking up. Reminiscent of the piñata it became around Nate. “But I needed to . . . think.”
Grandma set her mouth and returned his earlier exasperation with interest. “And how did that work for you?”
Gusting a laugh, Seth checked his coat pockets—he hadn’t even taken it off after leaving Ma Cougar’s—for his keys and wallet. “You,” he said, squinting at her as if angry, “are the best grandmother.”
“Well.” She preened. “I think I know that.”
Crossing the kitchen, he pulled her into a brief hug and kissed her cheek. He could swear her skin felt less fragile lately. “I know we have a lot to do on the house, but I need a couple of days, at least—”
“Oh, no.” Waving a dismissive hand in the air, she chuckled. “I’ve already got a buyer. Charley Sykes is going to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. He’s already talking to Nate about continuing to ‘haunt’ it.”
Wait. “So, you have been giving me busywork?”
“I thought you’d get sick of it and it would speed up the process.”
“Honestly, I think if you’d let me mope all alone it would have worked better.”
“Next time,” Grandma said breezily. “Now, go. Get your man.” She shooed him all the way to the door, patting his back as he walked out of it.
He was halfway down the driveway path before he heard a dog barking. “Shit.”
Grandma had it under control though. When Seth turned to go back, she already had the door open again and was now shooing Tarkus out. The dog came loping over to him, no evidence of any injury. Seth crouched so he could pet Tarkus—he was a good boy, wasn’t he?—when the dog met him, but Tarkus galloped on past, not stopping until he got to Seth’s car. Smart, too.
Tarkus barked, urging him on, and Seth broke into a trot, absolutely certain about what he was doing for the first time since he’d left Nate’s.
If he wanted to be happy, he knew what he needed to do, and the things he needed to say. Yeah, he should have done this yesterday, or the day before. Then Nate wouldn’t have had to mess around with the ruse.
Bet he had fun planning it, though. Or if he hadn’t, Grandma definitely had.
“Let’s have a little fun ourselves, Tark, should we?” he asked as they were pulling out of the driveway.
Pearl hadn’t called him with any kind of heads-up on Seth’s reaction, so when car wheels crunched in the gravel of his driveway, he didn’t know who’d be there. Hell, without Tarkus’s early-warning system, it could be the UPS for all he knew.
Tarkus’s demanding yip at the door eliminated that option at least. Nate hobbled to the door, refusing to look out the window in case it wasn’t Seth’s Civic parked outside. He paused, hand on the doorknob, and took a deep breath. If I don’t look, then there’s still a chance it’ll be Seth. Tarkus whined and pawed at the door. Of course, if I never answer the damn thing, whoever’s there might drive off in disgust.
He eased the door open, and Tarkus wiggled through the gap, then dashed to his bed where he settled himself with the red Frisbee.
“Guess we know his priorities.” Seth’s voice. Thank God.
Nate let the door swing all the way open, and there he was. “You’re here.”
Seth shrugged. “Not like Tark could drive himself. I assumed that was why you sent him over. So . . . can I come in?”
“What? Oh. Sure.” Christ, Albano, get with the program. “I wasn’t sure if you’d bring him home or send him with your grandmother. I . . . ah . . . had contingency plans for both.” He gestured to the bar, where he’d lined up the entire contents of his liquor cabinet like a derelict regiment on parade, along with a bucket with champagne on ice.
“Interesting.” Seth strolled into the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his jacket. No touching. Guess I’m not out of the woods yet.
On the other hand, at least Seth hadn’t driven off immediately. Nate closed the door but stayed next to it, to see what Seth would do next. And Seth . . .
Was absolutely still, clearly waiting for Nate to get his head out of his ass and do something romantic or meaningful or at least halfway intelligent. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a damn thing.
Tarkus, however, leaped up, Frisbee in his jaws, and raced to the back door. Nate sighed and hobbled across the room before disaster struck. He didn’t seem to be making any points with Seth so far, but the chances of any kind of romantic interlude were nil if he had to spend the first critical moments up to his elbows in dog pee.
“Why are you limping?” Did Seth sound concerned? I can always hope. “I thought Tarkus was the one with the allegedly injured paw. Please tell me you aren’t faking it too.” He compressed his lips, an expression Nate couldn’t get a read on. But maybe that was the point.
Nate’s first instinct was to deny it or blow it off—after all, that had made it possible for him to fly under the radar most of his life. But it wasn’t as if Seth hadn’t seen him at his worst. Don’t hide the pain. Treat it.
“I kind of broke my toe.”
Seth’s eyebrows practically met his hairline. “‘Kind of’? You either broke it or you didn’t.”
“Then, yeah. I broke it. I ran into the coffee table leg when I was trying to answer the phone.”
“Must have been an important call if you were willing to risk maiming yourself for it.”
“It wasn’t.” Nate dropped his gaze, opening the door for Tarkus. “But I thought it might be. I thought it might be you.”
“Huh.”
Outside, Tarkus had finished watering the bushes and was flinging the Frisbee up in the air. Naturally, on the second fling, it landed on the cabin roof, so he whined and launched into full hurt-puppy mode. Nate sighed. “I guess if I have to choke down some humble pie, I’d better get that or we’ll never have a chance to talk.” He glanced over his shoulder. Seth wasn’t looking at him—he was studying the array of liquor bottles. “You do want to do that, right? Talk?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “It’s why I’m here. Take your time.”
Come on, Seth, give me something. I’m dying here. But his attention remained focused on the booze.
Nate closed the French doors behind him. Luckily, he’d had vast experience with Tarkus’s Frisbee solitaire, so he retrieved the long-handled rake from the side of the cabin and dragged the Frisbee off the roof. Tarkus caught it before it hit the ground.
“No more of that. Come back inside now and I’ll get you some chicken jerky.” Tarkus trotted over, and Nate ran his fingers down the dog’s spine until he wriggled in ecstasy. “Good boy. You deserve a special Rin Tin Tin medal for your performance today, but do you suppose you could give me a break now? I need to do a little tap-dancing if I want to keep Seth around, and that’s not easy with a broken toe.” Or a broken heart. “You want to keep Seth around, don’t you?” Tarkus wagged his tail. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
&nbs
p; He opened the door and followed Tarkus inside, but stalled, belly hollowing, when he saw Seth was pouring something into a highball glass. He didn’t pick the champagne. He’s cutting me loose.
Seth garnished the edge of the glass with a lemon round. “Don’t stand there gawking. Get over here and take what’s coming to you.”
Nate paced across the room, slowly enough that his limp wasn’t visible—much. The drink on the bar was layered—with a deep-orange bottom fading to cloudy pale at the top. Two bottles sat in front of Seth—the orange-flavored vodka and the Aperol.
“I thought you’d never seen Aperol before.”
“I looked it up.” He nudged the glass. “Come on. Try it.”
Nate picked up the glass and peered at the swirling orange liquid. “What is this?”
“A Humble Pie.” Then he grinned, and Nate’s heart turned over in his chest, relief and hope clashing together inside him.
“Does . . . does that mean you’re ready to listen to my apology?”
“First I have something to say to you. I want to work things out, Nate.” He picked up the cap from the Aperol, then set it down and wiped his palms on his jeans. “But we can’t unless you can promise me something. You have to accept me how I am, even if I’m a bartender forever.”
“Seth, I’m so, so sorry. I—”
“Unh.” He flung up a hand. “We’re going to play a drinking game. Every time you want to tell me how sorry you are, or beg my forgiveness, or ask a question, you have to take a drink first. And maybe afterward too. Beginning now.”
Nate blew out a breath. This glass wasn’t that tall, but knowing Seth’s skills, it could be lethal. How fast could he down this thing? He raised it to his lips, intending to chug it, but the first sip made him change his mind and savor it instead. He closed his eyes and took another sip, then a flat-out gulp. “It’s like a high-octane Italian soda. It’s delicious.” He opened his eyes and gazed at Seth. “But shouldn’t humble pie taste bitter?”
