a slow breath, ready to admit I should stop passing judgment on a woman I’d never even met, then turned back to Stephen. “I can’t believe you’re offering to do this for us. You do remember which dog we’re talking about, right? The one who jumped me and ate half of the salami in my family’s store?”
“He’ll be fine. And Brooke could use a friend. She’s been . . .” He shrugged. “Out of sorts.”
“If you’re sure.” I paused, deep in thought. “So, how am I going to get the dog to you?”
“Bring him here tomorrow,” Stephen said. “We’ll crate him, and I’ll take him home after work. That’s the best solution, I think.”
“Bring that demon-possessed dog to the studio? No way.”
“Yes. Bring his crate too. I’ll teach you a few tricks of the trade. I’ve had a few dogs over the years.”
When Stephen winked, my heart went into overdrive. Ugh. How dare this guy—this handsome, funny, practically-perfect-in-every-way guy—wink at me? Did he really think he could win me over with his charm?
Maybe. But he’d have to throw in a great script for next week’s show too.
“Just to clarify, you’re saying I should bring a dog with ADD to a television studio loaded with expensive equipment?” I asked.
“Sure. He won’t be a bother.”
You’re nuts. “Before or after he chews up the cables that are strung across the floor in the studio and eats holes in the costumes? And what if he bites one of the kids? I can’t take that risk.” I shuddered, just thinking about it. Would the SPCA intervene? “He could hurt someone.”
“He won’t. The Greek Domestic is a docile breed. They don’t bite.”
“Wanna bet?” I held out my arm to show him Evidence A. “See that spot right there?” I pointed to the inside of my arm. “There’s the proof. Teeth marks. Ask me what I did to deserve it. Go on. Ask me.”
“What did you do to deserve it?” Stephen asked.
“Nothing. I was sound asleep in my bed, and that mutt jumped up there and tore into me in the middle of the night like I’d somehow threatened him.”
“Wait. Was that the night it stormed?” Stephen asked. “Maybe he was scared.”
“Hmm. Could be.” I shrugged. “Still, I don’t think bringing him to the studio is the best idea. The risk is too great, especially with little ones around.”
“Just give me your address and I’ll come by your house tonight after work.” He smiled. “I’ll bring Brooke with me. That way she and the dog can get to know one another in the car on the ride back. Trust me, by tomorrow at this time, everything will be fine.”
I had to admit, meeting his daughter did sound good. I’d been dying to know what this eleven-year-old looked and acted like. Was she really the challenge he’d made her out to be?
We made our plans and then dove back into our work. As the hours passed, I felt more settled about, well, pretty much everything. Hopefully that feeling would stick.
That evening I arrived home to pure chaos. Zeus had somehow slipped out the front door and sprinted away. My father followed him, leash in hand, calling his name. I could only imagine what sort of trouble the dog could cause while on the run.
Babbas finally returned, looking winded and frazzled. The mutt squirmed and whimpered in his arms. He looked almost as exhausted.
“Babbas?” I looked at the wrinkles in his brow. “You okay?”
Zeus jumped down, and my father leaned against the stair railing, taking a few deep breaths. “Nothing,” he huffed, “an . . . extra dose of”—he paused for a breath—“blood pressure meds . . . won’t cure.” The rosy color in his cheeks made me nervous. By now the dog was circling us like a buzzard. Hopefully he wouldn’t swoop in for the kill. “He made it twelve blocks . . . and approximately forty houses . . . before I caught up with him.”
“Man. He’s fast on his feet.”
“Must be all the demons driving him.” My father gave a woeful
“He’ll be fine. And Brooke could use a friend. She’s been . . .” He shrugged. “Out of sorts.”
“If you’re sure.” I paused, deep in thought. “So, how am I going to get the dog to you?”
“Bring him here tomorrow,” Stephen said. “We’ll crate him, and I’ll take him home after work. That’s the best solution, I think.”
“Bring that demon-possessed dog to the studio? No way.”
“Yes. Bring his crate too. I’ll teach you a few tricks of the trade. I’ve had a few dogs over the years.”
When Stephen winked, my heart went into overdrive. Ugh. How dare this guy—this handsome, funny, practically-perfect-in-every-way guy—wink at me? Did he really think he could win me over with his charm?
Maybe. But he’d have to throw in a great script for next week’s show too.
“Just to clarify, you’re saying I should bring a dog with ADD to a television studio loaded with expensive equipment?” I asked.
“Sure. He won’t be a bother.”
You’re nuts. “Before or after he chews up the cables that are strung across the floor in the studio and eats holes in the costumes? And what if he bites one of the kids? I can’t take that risk.” I shuddered, just thinking about it. Would the SPCA intervene? “He could hurt someone.”
“He won’t. The Greek Domestic is a docile breed. They don’t bite.”
“Wanna bet?” I held out my arm to show him Evidence A. “See that spot right there?” I pointed to the inside of my arm. “There’s the proof. Teeth marks. Ask me what I did to deserve it. Go on. Ask me.”
“What did you do to deserve it?” Stephen asked.
“Nothing. I was sound asleep in my bed, and that mutt jumped up there and tore into me in the middle of the night like I’d somehow threatened him.”
“Wait. Was that the night it stormed?” Stephen asked. “Maybe he was scared.”
“Hmm. Could be.” I shrugged. “Still, I don’t think bringing him to the studio is the best idea. The risk is too great, especially with little ones around.”
“Just give me your address and I’ll come by your house tonight after work.” He smiled. “I’ll bring Brooke with me. That way she and the dog can get to know one another in the car on the ride back. Trust me, by tomorrow at this time, everything will be fine.”
I had to admit, meeting his daughter did sound good. I’d been dying to know what this eleven-year-old looked and acted like. Was she really the challenge he’d made her out to be?
We made our plans and then dove back into our work. As the hours passed, I felt more settled about, well, pretty much everything. Hopefully that feeling would stick.
That evening I arrived home to pure chaos. Zeus had somehow slipped out the front door and sprinted away. My father followed him, leash in hand, calling his name. I could only imagine what sort of trouble the dog could cause while on the run.
Babbas finally returned, looking winded and frazzled. The mutt squirmed and whimpered in his arms. He looked almost as exhausted.
“Babbas?” I looked at the wrinkles in his brow. “You okay?”
Zeus jumped down, and my father leaned against the stair railing, taking a few deep breaths. “Nothing,” he huffed, “an . . . extra dose of”—he paused for a breath—“blood pressure meds . . . won’t cure.” The rosy color in his cheeks made me nervous. By now the dog was circling us like a buzzard. Hopefully he wouldn’t swoop in for the kill. “He made it twelve blocks . . . and approximately forty houses . . . before I caught up with him.”
“Man. He’s fast on his feet.”
“Must be all the demons driving him.” My father gave a woeful
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