by N. R. Walker
“I’m multi-tasking. Watching TV and talking to you at the same time.”
I heard him talking to someone else, and I wondered if he had company. I mean, clearly he had company, but I wondered what kind of company he had… Then he said, “Wicket’s here on my lap. I told him I was talking to you, so say something so he can hear your voice. I’ll put you on speakerphone.”
Oh, he was talking to Wicket. The relief I felt was insane…
“Okay, you’re on speaker, so talk to him.”
God, okay… “Hey, little buddy. I miss you like crazy, but I’ll be home tomorrow. You wanna go home? I promise lots of walks and trips to the beach because Griffin tells me you love it.”
“He’s staring at the phone,” Griffin said. “He’s listening.”
So, I babbled like an idiot for a full five minutes. I told Wicket how Grandma was really worried and how she went walking all the streets to find him. I asked him how on earth he got to Coolum, and if he hitched a ride, what were the people like? I told him I was glad Griffin found him, and how their adventures together made me happy and a little bit sad that I was missing out on all their fun.
I had to wonder who exactly I was telling this to. Wicket? Or Griffin?
After a beat of silence, Griffin said, “Ah, he’s uh, he’s gone back to his bowl.”
“Sounds about right.”
“He was listening though. He could really tell it was you.”
I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse. “Thanks.”
“How was your last day at the course?”
“It was okay. We had a celebratory dinner but it’s always an early night because people have to leave the next morning.”
“Was it fun though?”
“Yeah, it’s always good value. I only see these people once or twice a year, so it’s nice to catch up with them.”
“Sounds fun.”
“The course itself isn’t too bad. You know, team-building, productivity, reporting, how to more efficiently manage time and people. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Sounds like HR’s wet-dream.”
I snorted. “I’m sure it is. Somewhere, in some HR office in some far-off city, someone plans this shit and gets off on it.”
He laughed. “Thanks. Not quite the visual I wanted to go to bed with.”
And now I had the visual of him going to bed. “Sorry.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. Tends to help if you don’t sound so cheerful when you say sorry.” He was smiling, I could tell in his voice.
“I was just—” God, I almost admitted to having visuals of him going to bed. “I was just not going to say anything because then it would be weird.”
He chuckled again. “And we can’t have that.”
I smiled. “Well, I better finish getting packed and organised. I’m meeting a few of them for breakfast tomorrow, so I suppose I should go to bed.”
“I suppose I should too.”
“I’m looking forward to tomorrow afternoon,” I admitted.
“Me too. Though I have to say, I’m going to miss Wicket. He saved my arse this morning by waking me up. I forgot to set my alarm. Could have been a disastrous second day if I’d slept in.”
Now I was thinking about his arse that Wicket saved. Great. “I’m sure he’ll miss you too. And yeah, he’s a great little alarm clock. When he was a puppy, he’d wake me at two, at four, and at six. Every night.”
“He would have been the cutest puppy.”
“I’ll find some photos and send them.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay, I better go.”
“Can I ask something real quick?”
“Sure.”
He let out a breath. “I don’t mean this to sound weird. And I am looking forward to meeting you. And I think we get on well over the phone, but…”
“But?”
“But what if we meet and it’s… weird. Or what if you meet me and think ‘he’s not Joe Jonas’ and you’re disappointed?”
“Or if you think I don’t really look like Stephen Amell?”
He snorted. “I won’t care, honestly. But you know what I mean? I have this horrible feeling that I’ve built up this crazy-perfect scenario and nothing in reality will match up. Does that sound… crazy?”
“No, I get it.” And I did. I had him pegged as Mr Perfect, and in reality, that wasn’t likely at all. Had my expectations skewed my chances with him? “What if we have a code word for failure to launch?”
“Failure to launch?” He snorted. “I’ve never had that problem before.”
Now I laughed. “Well, if you had, there are pills for that.”
He chuckled, then said, “I like the idea of a code word. If one of us isn’t feeling it or if it gets weird and we want to bail, we need a word. All we have to do is say it, and we can both walk away.”
“Sounds fair.”
“Do you wanna pick the word?”
I looked around the room. “Um… avocado.”
“Avocado?”
“It’s as random as any word, I guess. And the socks I just threw in my dirty clothes bag have avocados on them.”
He chuckled again. “Okay, avocado it is.”
“Righteo then. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Out the front of the surf club.”
“I’ll be the one with your dog.”
I smiled at that. “I’ll be the guy who’s looking for a guy with my dog.”
“Night, Dane.”
“Goodnight, Griffin.”
He disconnected the call, so I slid my phone on to the bedside table and stared at the hotel wall. It was comforting to know that he was on the same page as me. We were both nervous, excited, but wary. Cautiously optimistic but wise enough to know better. I switched on the television but couldn’t tell you what I watched.
I was too distracted wondering how on earth I was going to get through the next twenty-four hours.
The breakfast meeting finished on time and a few of the others were keen to stay around, do some sightseeing, catch up some more. But not me. I was itching to get on the road and get home. I spent most of the drive talking to my assistant manager at the store. She had a lot to fill me in on and I was grateful for the heads-up before I turned up tomorrow morning. It was just the usual stuff: staff issues, budgets, sales reports, marketing goals.
But none of it could hold my interest.
I asked her to email me the reports and spreadsheets, telling her that trying to concentrate on percentages and drive at the same time was too distracting. Not technically a lie, but not the whole truth. I was distracted, that much was true, but not for the reasons I could tell her.
My mind was on getting Wicket back, of course. But also on golden sand, clear blue water, and a guy with a killer smile.
By the time I got home, I’d called everybody I had to call: Mum and my brother, then Scott, my friend to ask about maybe a game of basketball sometime. Bluetooth and long-distance driving were productive, at least. And pulling into my drive was the best feeling ever. I walked inside and dumped my bags, only for it to hit me that Wicket was not there. Usually he was in under my feet, doing crazy jumps and excited burnouts. The silence, his absence was unnerving.
Not long now, little buddy.
I checked the time. I had two hours.
Doing all the chores that needed doing, and after a trip to the supermarket, I grabbed a quick shower to freshen up, changed my outfit five times, and finally—finally—made the fifteen-minute drive to Coolum Beach.
God, I was nervous.
I was also a little early.
I sat in my car for a bit knowing Griffin only finished at five. He’d need a good twenty minutes to get home, get changed, grab Wicket, and drive to the surf club. And that was if he left work on time.
But the beach looked too inviting. The ocean was an incredible shade of turquoise today. The waves were perfect. Surfers dotted the breakline waiting for the perfect crest to call theirs. The sand was white gold in the
afternoon sun, people were walking the mile-long shoreline, some were jogging, kids were splashing in the shallows, dogs were playing fetch.
Why would anyone want to live anywhere else?
Deciding I needed to be closer, I got out of my car and walked over to sit on the sandbank instead. The salt air hit me like a memory, visions of childhood summers and laughter played through my head like a movie. The breeze was warm, a lovely contrast from where I stuck my feet into the cool sand, and I almost forgot what I was waiting for.
Until, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of movement. Something was moving fast and coming right at me.
“Wicket!” someone yelled, and I turned at the name just in time to catch Wicket as he launched himself at me.
He knocked me backwards. Luckily I was sitting down, but he jumped and licked and yipped and licked me some more. I sputtered from the kiss he gave me, laughing and trying to right myself. “Hey, little buddy. I missed you too.”
“Guess I didn’t need to worry about Wicket not recognising you.”
Still trying to contain an over-excited Wicket, I looked up then to see a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed guy with a killer smile.
Griffin.
Jesus, he was even better looking in person.
Holding Wicket in one arm, I scrambled to my feet, brushing myself down with my free hand. I was now covered in sand, thanks to Wicket. And dog slobber. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and then had to wipe my hand on my shorts; my hair was a lost cause. Goddammit.
So much for a good first impression.
Chapter Seven
Griffin
* * *
It was as though Wicket knew we were going to find his daddy. I mean, I’d told him a dozen times, but I didn’t actually think he understood me. But he stood up on the front seat of my car, pulling at his harness, looking out the window with his biggest grin yet.
The day had dragged painfully toward five o’clock. Even with the still-new-job excitement and learning curve I was on, I’d spent every spare moment mentally going through my wardrobe so I’d know what I’d wear when I met Dane. By the time I finished, I’d envisioned myself in about fifty different possible outfits but decided to go casual but still stylish. The winning outfit was navy cargo shorts and a light blue button-down shirt covered with tiny pineapples that had cost me a small fortune.
I had a belly full of butterflies and, once I’d pulled into the car park at the surf club, had to take a few deep breaths. I did a quick scan of the surf-club balcony that I could see but couldn’t see anyone who might be waiting…
Wicket barked, fixated on something outside his window. His little paws on the car door and his tail a frantic metronome. I followed his gaze, wondering if he could spot his owner. There were a lot of people on the beach this afternoon, and I could see some dogs down by the water chasing a ball or a stick. “Yeah, okay, okay,” I said, getting out. I went around and opened his door, and he normally sat and waited patiently for me to clip on his leash, but as soon as I undid his harness, he was gone.
He zipped out of the car, darting around me, and jumped over the post and rail fence. Oh no…
“Wicket!” I yelled, shutting the door and racing off after him. “Stop!”
But it was too late. He didn’t run down to the other dogs or the water like I’d assumed he would. He ran straight over to a guy who was sitting on the sandbank enjoying the view, and I watched like it happened in slow motion. Wicket ran as fast as he could and launched himself at the poor guy, who was slowly turning around. “Wicket, no!”
Wicket hit him with so much force, the guy fell on his back, trying to hold Wicket back from licking his face. His legs sprawled out and sand bloomed out from his feet. But as he slowly sat back upright, I could see the guy was laughing, and Wicket was wiggling so hard I thought he might hurt himself.
Then I took a closer look at the guy as I walked toward him. Short brown hair, a bit of stubble, blue eyes.
Oh.
It was Dane.
If I had any worries about turning up here today and Wicket not warming to the guy who was supposed to be taking him, they disappeared right then and there. When I was about a metre away, I said, “Guess I didn’t need to worry about Wicket not recognising you.”
Dane got to his feet, trying to hold a squirming Wicket, who was still trying to lick his face. He brushed himself down and wiped his face. Wicket had made a mess out of him; sand and slobber, and if he wasn’t dishevelled before, he certainly was now.
I’d never seen anyone so handsome.
He held out his hand. “Dane Hughes.”
I shook his hand, warm and strong. “Griffin Burke.”
His smile, slow spreading, became a grin, and my stomach did some weird somersault. I think the butterflies were planning a mutiny. “Did you think Wicket wouldn’t recognise me?”
“No, well, I just dreaded turning up here and Wicket not wanting to go near you. But I needn’t have worried.”
Dane just kept on grinning and put Wicket down. He dusted his hands off on his shorts but was quick to pat his dog again. Wicket did a dance between us, up on his back feet, trying to get closer to his daddy.
“He’s missed you,” I said.
“Probably not as much as I missed him.”
He kept bending over to pat Wicket, so I said, “Wanna sit here till he’s sure you’re really here?”
Dane hadn’t stopped smiling yet. “Yeah.”
He parked his arse where he had before, and Wicket was quick to jump back in his lap. The sandbank was a bit of a rise, so it gave a great view. I sat beside him, putting maybe two feet between us. “He spotted you from the car,” I explained. “He barked, and he doesn’t bark very often. At first, I thought he was looking at the dogs, but he ran straight to you.”
Dane gave him a bit of a squeeze. “You went off on some great adventure while me and Grandma feared the worst.”
Wicket jumped off his lap and onto mine, then jumped off me and stood between us, looking at us with his tongue hanging out. “I think he’s trying to tell me he found you,” I said, ruffling the fur on Wicket’s head. “You found your daddy, huh?”
Wicket bounced, and Dane laughed. “That’s a yes.”
Then Wicket climbed back onto Dane’s lap and plonked himself down. Like all the excitement was over and he didn’t want Dane to leave him again. “Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be leaving your side anytime real soon.”
Dane looked at me. “Thank you. For finding him, for looking after him. And…” He made a face. “And for treating him like I do.” He stroked Wicket’s fur for a quiet moment. “I’d hate to think what could have happened if anyone else found him.”
I took out my phone and scrolled through the photos. Admittedly, I’d taken a lot of photos of him, but I got to the very first and handed my phone to Dane. “That’s what he looked like when I found him.”
The picture was of a very different looking dog. Muddy, wet, straggly and clumpy fur. It didn’t even look like him. “I didn’t think it was the same dog I’d seen the day before.”
Dane frowned and his eyes went wide. “Is that him?”
I nodded. “The first day I found him, I just thought someone who was hiking owned him. It was hot, so maybe they left him by their car in the shade. He was friendly, had a collar. I didn’t look too hard, to be honest. I gave him some water, though. Then the next day I went back to hike again and it had rained, so there was a lot of mud. He was under one of the tables near the public toilets. I didn’t think it was the same dog. I got out to see if he was okay and he jumped in my car.”
Finally Dane smiled. “That’d be right.”
“He sat himself in the passenger seat, and that’s when I saw your number on his tag.”
“Thank God you did.”
“So I took him home, gave him a bath, and who knew there was white fur under that mess?” I reached over and gave Wicket a pat.
“I’ll never be able to repay yo
u,” Dane said quietly. “I mean, I can give you money for what you spent on dog food or whatever, that’s no problem. I just mean, for finding him and taking such good care of him.”
“You don’t owe me anything. He’s been the best thing, really. He got me out and about, having a look around. Being new here, I didn’t really know where anything was. Now I can tell you the best parks and best dog-friendly beaches up the coast.”
Dane chuckled and then he looked at me for a few seconds. “Well, I still do owe you dinner. That was the original plan, wasn’t it?”
Was he asking if he owed me dinner as thanks or if I was still interested in spending more time with him? I smiled. “It was. And yes, I’ll let you buy me dinner.”
He smiled right back at me, and I noticed a slight dimple on his cheek. “Wanna go for a walk along the water before dinner?” he asked.
“Sure do.”
I stood up and Wicket looked up at me, his ears pricked. “Come on,” I said to him. “You too.”
Wicket scampered off Dane’s lap but looked up at him expectantly. “Yeah, I’m coming too.”
And the three of us walked down to the water’s edge and headed north, up the beach. Wicket chased the ebb, and the flow chased him back, and we laughed at him for a minute as we began to walk.
I tried not to ogle, or at least, I tried not to get caught, but it was hard not to give Dane a once over. He was hot. There was no other way to put it. He was shorter than me by a few inches but much broader in the shoulders. He was athletic looking, thickset, like he probably played league or union at school. Or maybe he still did, I had no clue. There was so much I didn’t know.
“So,” he started. “You like to hike? And going to the beach?”
“Yeah, love being outside. It clears my head and keeps me fit. I’ve tried gyms, but weights aren’t really my thing and I get bored with treadmills. I like to swim too.”
“Oh, I like swimming too,” he said. “And hiking. As long as it’s not too uphill, I’m good.”
“Have you ever climbed Mount Coolum?”
“Once, in high school as part of the sport program, but not since.”
