After a few more hours working in the church library, Blair realized with a start that she had very little time to make it home and get ready for her puppy outing. First on her agenda, she would find out the officer’s name. She rushed home only to realize that she didn’t need to change. What she was wearing was suitable not only for cleaning the church, but for viewing puppies, too.
The officer arrived at six exactly. His hair was wet as if he had just showered. Now that he was out of his uniform, she judged him to be about her age or maybe a few years older. He wore a short sleeve shirt even though it was cool outside. When the wind blew toward the house, Blair caught the scent of tangy aftershave, making her feel a little guilty for not putting more effort into her appearance. She didn’t look bad, per se, but she probably didn’t look as good as he did.
“Hi, Blair. Ready?” he asked. She hadn’t given much attention to his mustache before then; it had seemed like part of the uniform. Now that he was dressed like a civilian, she was mesmerized by the thick spray of hair over his lips. The hairs bristled when he spoke, as if punctuating his words with hundreds of tiny exclamation points.
“Ready,” she said. He smiled. She stared at the mustache again. Some of the hairs splayed to the side when he smiled, snagging her attention when she tried to look away.
He led her from the house. Blair had a sudden panicked feeling that he might have brought the patrol car. Would she have to sit in the back like a criminal? She glimpsed the car from behind his back. It was a normal-looking sedan. Of course he wouldn’t bring his patrol car. This wasn’t Mayberry; they had more than one car and more than one officer.
He held the door for her. The only person who had ever held a car door for her was a valet. She knew she wasn’t supposed to tip the officer, but the action flustered her so much that she reached for her purse. Thankfully he closed the door and went around to his side before she could pull out a dollar and stuff it in his palm.
He started the engine. Blair broke out in a cold sweat as she tried to figure out how to ask his name. How was she supposed to find out now? Asking after she had agreed to look at puppies and was already sitting in his car seemed more than a little awkward. But she couldn’t keep referring to him as “the officer,” even in her head. This was yet another example of why she dreaded social interaction. How did other people make this look so easy? For her, even learning someone’s name was a trial.
Calm down, Blair. Tristan’s voice popped soothingly into her head. There’s nothing done that can’t be undone, no social faux pas that can’t be fixed.
Blair took a breath. She could do this. She took another breath and dove in. “This is going to sound awkward, but I can’t remember your name.”
He shot her a sideways glance and smiled. The hairs of his mustache pointed in her direction as if bestowing their full attention. “How could you remember when I haven’t told you? I realized after I left yesterday that I forgot to introduce myself.”
Blair blinked at him, confused. She was the one who forgot to learn his name, and yet he was the one who apologized.
“It’s Tim,” he added.
“Tim,” she dutifully repeated, letting the name sink in so she wouldn’t forget it. “I like that; it’s sensible.”
He chuckled. “Thanks, I guess.”
Blair gazed out the window, biting her lip. She sensed she had said something odd, but she didn’t know what. She had simply meant that Tim was a much more sensible name than Sully, or even Tristan.
“Blair’s a different name,” Tim commented.
“It’s a bad girl’s name,” Blair blurted. Where had that come from? Her cursed neighbor, of course. What else had he inadvertently planted in her brain?
Tim sputtered a laugh again. “Is it, now?”
“I heard that somewhere once. I’m not really a bad girl,” Blair hastened to add.
“You’re kidding,” Tim said.
“I’m prim,” Blair continued. She was going to kill her neighbor. First she would muzzle him, though.
“Not too prim, I hope,” he said. His mustache sprang into the air before lying flat again.
Blair had no idea how to respond. “I guess I do like things to be tidy,” she admitted. Ask something about him, Tristan’s voice prompted. She went to the failsafe that had worked on Susan. “Do you have children?”
“I have a little girl,” he said. “She’s three.” He paused, his mouth hovering open as he decided whether or not to say more. Blair waited him out. He took a deep breath and plunged in again. The whiskers worked in and out like bellows as he spoke. “I didn’t know about her until a few months ago. Her mom and I weren’t married. We were barely even together. The whole thing was a mistake, and I was glad to have done with it. Then I found out about Natalia when her mother left her on my doorstep. She rang my bell, handed me the baby, and took off. What kind of woman leaves her child?” He scowled at Blair. Was she supposed to answer? He continued before she could decide.
“I went from bachelor to father with no in between. I have no idea what I’m doing. Her hair is always a mess because I can’t seem to comb it right.”
“It sounds like you’re trying hard,” Blair said.
“I’m trying with everything I’ve got, and I’m still failing.” He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles popped and turned white. “It’s time to try something else.”
“Are you buying her a puppy?”
“She would probably love that, but I’m already in over my head. A puppy wouldn’t help the situation,” he said.
Blair was confused again. If he didn’t want a puppy, then why was he taking time out of his busy life to look at them?
“I need help,” Tim declared. “Someone who is good with kids.”
Blair nodded her agreement. Too bad he was a police officer; there was no way he would be able to afford a nanny on his salary.
“Someone nice and stable,” Tim continued. He pulled into the restaurant, parked the car, and turned to look at her. “Maybe even someone a little bit prim.”
His mustache was pointing again, at her. Was he talking about her? Had he been flirting? With her? Why? She didn’t find the answers to her questions. Instead Tim got out of the car, came to her side, and opened the door while Blair remained frozen, staring at the space he had just vacated as she tried to work through his last statement.
Maybe she had it all wrong. He hadn’t been flirting with her; he had been teasing her. Blair wasn’t sure what the difference was except that men didn’t flirt with women like her. Men flirted with pretty blonds who knew how to giggle.
Men didn’t usually tease her, either, except Surly who was the exception to all rules. He seemed to delight in pushing her buttons. But other men, normal men, didn’t tease her. She wondered why Tim was doing it now. She pondered as they walked to the table and he held her chair. As she sat, she bit back a sigh of impatience. So far this evening she had let him hold all her doors and her chair as if it was something she expected when the truth was that it was a baffling surprise. She wasn’t accustomed to being treated so. Instinct told her to appreciate his good manners, but her innate shyness warned her to back away.
The waitress came as soon as they were seated, saving Blair the agony of small talk. The woman left, and Tim picked up the conversational ball. “Have you ever been married, Blair?”
“No, not even close.”
He nodded and started to drum his fingers on the table. Blair stared at his fingers. Repetitive noises annoyed and distracted her. He asked another question, but she was so focused on the fingers that she didn’t hear. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Do you have any children?”
“No, I’ve never had children,” she said. His whiskers were working overtime again. They seemed to keep pace with his moods. Right now he was intent; the whiskers were intent. Blair’s gaze felt torn between the mustache and the drumming fingers. The meal hadn’t begun, and she was already worn out.
“But you like kids, right? I
mean, all women like children, don’t they?”
“I suppose most women like children,” Blair said. Why did the conversation suddenly feel like an interrogation? Was it the questions or the way he was asking them, leaning forward, the mustache on high alert? Maybe it was because he was a police officer. Maybe this was the way he conducted interviews. “So your job,” she blurted, suddenly desperate for a topic change. “That must be interesting.”
He leaned back and relaxed. The mustache settled back into place and lay quietly as he talked about what it was like to be a policeman. Once again Blair found herself caught up in what he was saying. She hadn’t given much thought to what it was like to be a police officer, but as he spoke, she was able to put herself in his shoes. She felt the frustration of the never-ending bureaucracy, the fear of the unknown, the anger and injustice for the innocent who suffered. He talked so long about his job that the meal came and went before she realized it. She had been able to eat and listen without needing to think of something to say.
When the food was finished, he looked in dismay at his plate. “I talked the whole time. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I wanted to get to know you.” The mustache flapped dejectedly in the wind created by his breath.
“There’s really nothing to know,” Blair said. “I much preferred to hear about your job. That was interesting.” If he knew her, then he would know how rare it was for her to deem a long conversation with a stranger as interesting. She wasn’t one to involve herself in other people’s lives.
Blair was puzzling the change in herself when the check came. Tim stuffed his credit card in the holder and handed it to the waitress before she realized what he was doing. “I didn’t give her my card,” Blair said.
“Why would you do that?” Tim asked.
“To pay for my food,” Blair said.
His head quirked to one side, his mustache to the other. “You believe in going Dutch?”
Blair had heard the term, but couldn’t remember what it meant. She had almost forgotten her anxiety while he talked about his job, but now she was flustered all over again. The mustache twitched, prodding her for an answer. “I just like to pay my own way for things,” she said. There. That sounded reasonable. Didn’t it?
The mustache appeared satisfied. It relaxed, and so did Tim. “You can get it next time.” The waitress returned with his card. Blair stared at the top of his head while he signed the receipt. Next time? Next time what? Next time they looked at puppies? How many friends with puppies did he know?
He finished with the receipt and closed the book. Blair stood. Tim stood. She was determined to beat him to the car so he didn’t have to hold her doors, but he overtook her, grabbed the door, and used his hand on the small of her back to usher her through. In books, men were always putting their hands on the small of a woman’s back and the women always liked it. Blair wanted to moo; she felt like a cow being herded toward the slaughter house. She bit her lip to resist the urge to shake off the prodding touch.
A quick glance at Tim’s profile showed her that he wasn’t watching her, but the mustache was. It was on high alert for any signs of rebellion. She kept her feelings to herself, but it was a relief when they reached the car and he dropped his hand from her back.
The ride to the house was short and silent. They arrived, and Blair realized she was clutching her purse like a lifeline. As the night wore on, she felt more nervous instead of less, as if the evening were leading somewhere. But where? She had no idea. Maybe she was nervous about seeing the puppies. People were often taken in by cute furriness. She didn’t want to make a snap decision she would later regret. For that reason, she steeled herself against their cuteness.
Tim introduced her to his friend, Bruce. They shook hands and she followed him to the puppy room. The first thing that hit her was the noise, followed closely by the smell. Five puppy voices yipped loudly and in unison, the boisterous noise echoing loudly down the hall. They were being kept in a laundry room. As soon as their trio stepped through the door, the smell of dog urine slapped Blair in the face so she had to keep from pinching her nose. The puppies turned in unison to stare at her a second before running over to try and nip at her shoes.
They were cute little puffballs, but the shoes were leather. Blair reached down to shoo them away, and they attacked her fingers instead. She drew back her hand with a sharp breath. How was it possible that such little bodies had such sharp teeth? She wanted to back out of the room and keep going; she wasn’t up for a dog.
Bruce’s wife appeared and was either perceptive or Blair’s face showed everything she was feeling. “They’re a handful,” the woman said. “But this is them at their worst, and they’re overwhelming when they’re together. Their mother is calm and well behaved.” She pointed to a larger dog that lay in a box looking exhausted and overwhelmed. Blair thought of Tanya for some reason. The mother dog looked up with pleading brown eyes, either asking to be petted or to be relieved of the constancy of her pups.
“I don’t know anything about dogs,” Blair admitted. She was far more attracted to the mother dog than to the puppies. “I’m not sure I could handle a puppy.”
“They’re a lot of work,” the woman said. “I’m Gloria,” she added as she corralled two of the puppies back into the room. “You need to be willing to housebreak them, go through the teething stage when they’ll chew everything, and be up most of the night as they whine and adjust to being alone.”
“I don’t want to do any of that,” Blair said. Her first instinct was right; she was not a dog person.
“You can do it,” Tim said. “You have to like puppies. All women love puppies.”
Blair bit her lip, gazing down at the sea of puppies. One squatted right next to her foot. She watched the liquid soak into the newspaper, ready to jerk her foot away if it got too close. “They’re cute,” she said, more because it seemed to be what everyone expected than because she meant it. “But I’m not sure they’re for me.”
“You’re wise to realize before you take one home,” Gloria said. “Maybe you’d do better with an older dog. My friend runs a rescue, and she gets dogs that are already trained.”
“Really?” Blair asked. She glanced at the mother dog again; she was sleeping now. A dog that was out of the puppy stage sounded much more appealing.
“I’ll give you her number,” Gloria said.
“No, you want a puppy,” Tim insisted. “Puppies are like kids. Who doesn’t like puppies? Everyone loves puppies.” The mustache twitched its disapproval at her.
“It’s not that I don’t like them,” Blair said, though she wasn’t sure why she needed to explain herself to him. Did he get a cut of the puppy sales? Why else did he care so much? “It’s just that I’ve never had a dog before. I think a puppy isn’t a good place to start. I’m not even sure I’m up for an older dog, but I could at least look.”
“What’s so hard about a puppy?” Tim continued. He sounded agitated. “You learn by doing. You get a puppy, and you learn. Just like with kids. All women like puppies and kids.”
The mustache has spoken, Blair thought as she watched it jump up and down. “Okay,” she said. She didn’t want to argue with him, both because she was disturbed by his demeanor and because he was making her feel like a circus freak. Gloria returned with a piece of paper and held it out to her. Blair took it quickly before Tim could do something crazy like snatch it away and tear it up. “Thank you,” she said.
“I’ll give her a call and let her know you might get in touch,” Gloria said. “Make sure and give her a call. Just because our puppies didn’t suit doesn’t mean there isn’t a dog out there for you. There are too many good dogs, and not enough good people to take care of them. I can tell you would take excellent care of a pet. Darlene, that’s my friend, is really good at matching dogs and people. She can help you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thank you,” Blair said.
“Don’t rule out the puppies,” Tim said. “She’s still going
to think about taking a puppy,” he added to Gloria.
“They’re very cute,” Blair said in case she had somehow given offense.
“They are,” Gloria agreed. “We won’t have any trouble getting rid of them. You do what’s best for you.” She poked Tim. “Stop trying to manhandle her into getting a puppy. Not everyone loves puppies.”
Tim’s eyebrows slammed together as the mustache settled into a disapproving pout.
Blair said goodbye to Bruce and Gloria. She thanked Gloria for the dog rescue information and promised to call. Tim stood silent and stoic in the background. His stony silence remained on the drive to Blair’s house. She usually enjoyed silence; this one felt ominous. They arrived at her house, but she made no move to get out. Though she had no idea why he was so upset with her, she felt the sudden need to make amends.
“The puppies were cute, but I’ve never had a dog. I should start smaller, I think.”
The grim set of his mouth relaxed as the whiskers relented and resettled. “You would learn how to handle a puppy. It’s just like with my daughter. I didn’t think I wanted kids so soon, but I’m learning how to do it.”
“You’re doing it because you had to,” Blair said. “And I’m sure you’re doing a fine job. But I have a choice, and I don’t choose puppyhood.”
He blew out a breath. “I still think you would be good at it.”
Blair didn’t respond. She eyed her house with longing. The light she had on a timer hadn’t come on yet; the house looked dark and empty. In contrast, her neighbor’s house was blazing. The light spilled from a window, casting a welcoming glow on his lawn. Looks were deceiving, though. She knew for certain his home wasn’t as welcome as it looked, especially because she had been unceremoniously tossed from its borders when she needed sanctuary the most. The memory left her feeling bereft somehow. Would a dog make her home feel more welcoming and secure?
“Look, I’ll take you to the rescue place if you want,” Tim offered.
Blair tried to find a polite way to tell him that she would rather have a puppy use the bathroom on her shoe than to ever look at dogs with him again. “I’ll probably go during the day next time. I’m a morning person.” That didn’t make sense, but it was true, and she knew he slept late because of his job.
Won't You Be My Neighbor? Page 7
