Page 24 of Wag More Bark Less

For the first time since I pulled out of the driveway of Jason’s place four days ago, I felt a pang of sadness.

I wasn’t going back—not that he was even asking me to.

Luanne was likely pressuring him to get money from me for all the deposits she was out. But I refused to pay a single dime.

Not only had she violated my trust by trying on a dress I strictly forbade her from even peeking at, but she was the one to insist the simple wedding I wanted wasn’t grand enough. Jason convinced me to accept her money to help elevate the event, but he failed to mention the strings that decision came with. The venue, the caterer, the DJ—hell, even the cake—were Luanne’s choices. Any objections I made were overruled by the pair of them reminding me who was footing the bill.

In hindsight, I should’ve called things off long before she destroyed my wedding dress, but I’d been clinging to the hope of the past. The hope that after the wedding was over, Luanne would go back home halfway across the country and the two of us could resume the relationship we had before I quit my veterans relocation assistance position I had in North Carolina to be with him in the first place.

Life before the proposal had been so . . . nice.

I thought that after two years of being long distance, quitting a job I quite enjoyed and moving to the opposite coast to be together would be some epic fairytale story we’d someday tell our grandkids. Instead, it was the single thing that shattered the bubble we’d apparently been living in.

There was no future—I wasn’t sure there ever had been.

But I missed the FaceTime calls, the long emails, and the ridiculous memes.

I missed my friend.

It was the reason I couldn’t seem to bring myself to block his number and be done with it. It was as though I’d be deleting all the good memories with it—like I’d be deleting the person I knew he was before he gave me a ring.

“It’s pathetic, I know,” I said to Ellie, glancing back at my phone in time to see the voicemail notification pop up.

I wouldn’t listen to it.

But I wouldn’t delete it either.

“You know what we need, Ellie Belly?” I said, taking the final bite of my skillet before gathering up the trash. “I think we need to find a good book. Maybe Diana Davenport’s latest release.” When she didn’t appear interested, I added, “And I bet the bookstore will have some fun socks.”

Immediately, she hopped to her feet, tail wagging.

With the promise of socks, she didn’t fight me when I clipped her leash back on. The last thing I wanted was another encounter with Officer McGrumpy where Ellie was missing her restraint. He’d probably write me a ticket.

An uninvited flash of him shirtless at his kitchen table jumped into my mind, and I groaned. It’d been happening all morning. As annoyed as I was, I kept catching myself trying to make out his tattoos, as though if I just concentrated hard enough, the fuzzy memories would focus into answers.

Maybe Mom was right to be worried about me. Clearly, I was mental.

Or maybe you just really need to get laid.

Half a block from the park, Ellie took a sharp right toward a random door, and I nearly tripped over my own feet as I pivoted unexpectedly. The words Mason Hardware & Supply were painted in gold lettering on the glass-front door I nearly face-planted into.

“Why do you want to go in here?” I asked, already reaching for the handle. It was rare she got this way, but when she did, her determination knew no bounds. Perhaps she’d spotted a sock display through the window, or a little kid she wanted to greet. Either way, it would be much less of a hassle if I let her take the lead until she found what she was after. If she decided to protest and plant herself, carrying her would be the only option.

Bells lightly jingled overhead as we stepped across the threshold. I had no idea if dogs were allowed, but I’d let Ellie worry about that if her presence became an issue.

The hardwood floor creaked with each cautious step as I scanned the expansive store. It was bigger on the inside than it looked outside, the space several rows of shelves wide. In the front part of the store, they were no more than three feet in height. Halfway back, the shelves climbed to the ceiling. There were green labeled signs with gold lettering: electrical, lawn and garden, tile, doors and windows, door hardware.

Oh, right. I did have a doorknob to replace. I glanced at my dog, but I doubted Ellie was aware of that. It’s not as though I needed that closet knob today. I had four weeks to fix it on the sly, and even then, I wasn’t eager to let the tulle monster loose.

An older man waved at me from the front counter. He was assisting a customer at the checkout, so I followed my dog toward an aisle labeled pet supplies. Ellie wasn’t big on toys, but every once in a while, she caught the bug. Maybe she just wanted a stuffed moose or fish.

As I wove through the aisles, I caught a glimpse of a man about my age and a little girl at the back of the store, engrossed in conversation. She held a hand scanner with both hands, and he had a clipboard and a pen in his. Did he work here, too?

“Hey, miss, welcome in,” the older man from the front counter said as he headed my way. The bells chimed overhead as the customer he’d been assisting left.

“You must be the owner?” I guessed.

“Joe Mason.” He extended his hand, and I introduced myself as I shook it.