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Berkeley stuck close to Carly’s side all the way to the kitchen, then sat bolt upright in the middle of the floor while she unpacked his things onto the table: bowls, toys, blankets. The enormous dog mattress she’d left propped against the porch wall, Lauren had already dragged inside without being asked.
“Where will he sleep?” Carly asked, hands on hips, surveying the room.
Lauren leaned the mattress against the wall. “Reggie used to sleep in the living room or Paige’s room. I thought maybe the end of my bed, so he’s got someone close.”
She’d wondered whether Carly might want someone close too, after yesterday. But Carly hadn’t made eye contact once, let alone mentioned the kiss.
Lauren told herself not to read into it. Carly had a lot on. This was obviously how she handled it.
“Living room,” Carly said. “He’s not allowed upstairs.”
“That’s easy. It’s a bungalow.”
Lauren laughed. Carly had already picked up the mattress and was carrying it down the hall.
They set up the living room with military precision, or rather Carly did while Lauren hovered and tried not to take every clipped instruction personally. Food in one cupboard. Medication details on the fridge. Spare lead by the back door. Emergency numbers by the kettle. How much to feed him, where to check his paws after muddy walks, which command meant rug and which meant absolutely not.
Lauren nodded and wrote it all down in the notebook she’d bought that morning, because apparently she was now the sort of woman who owned a dog-care notebook. Carly didn’t smile at it. She didn’t mention the toys all over the hall or the waterproof bed Lauren had spent an hour reading reviews for. She was efficient, grateful, and almost entirely absent.
“Do you want to stay for a cup of tea?”
“I should go.” Carly was already halfway to the front door. “Thanks again for doing this.”
Lauren waved her off down the drive. Carly didn’t look back.
So much for a look settling it.
Lauren shut the door. The hallway was quiet apart from Berkeley panting.
“Just you and me, then,” she said, crouching to stroke him. He was staring at the last place he’d seen Carly.
It crept up on her slowly. Carly had just handed over her dad’s dog and admitted something she’d been trying not to face. And last night, Carly had been upset.
Lauren’s stomach sank. Carly hadn’t pulled away straight off, but that didn’t mean she’d wanted it. She’d been overwhelmed, and Lauren had kissed her anyway. No wonder Carly couldn’t look at her.
Lauren’s phone buzzed on the worktop. A local physio she’d been passing clients to for years, and had once, over a coffee, told about the clinic idea. He was taking on a unit off the high street and wanted to know whether she fancied one of the treatment rooms. Two, if she wanted to grow into the second.
She left it on the side and went to find Berkeley a blanket.
He’d climbed onto the rug Carly had approved and lay with his head stretched towards the hall. Not sleeping. Waiting.
Lauren tucked the blanket near him, not over him. Reggie had taught her that some dogs liked comfort and some liked options. Berkeley sniffed the edge, then rested his chin on it without taking his eyes off the door.
“Yeah,” Lauren said. “I know.”
Her phone buzzed again. Paige.
How did it go?
Six months ago, she’d have rung. Six weeks ago, probably. Paced the kitchen, told the story three different ways, and waited for Paige to tell her what she felt.
Fine. He’s settled.
The lie sat there in its neat little bubble, tidy and useless.
He or you?
Lauren laughed, without much humour, and sat down on the floor beside Berkeley’s enormous bed. She typed something. Deleted it. Typed it again.
