Ziggy
Desperation isn’t a good companion while house hunting. I’m starting to wonder if my parents are serious about building a little cottage at the edge of their land. The baby and I could live there comfortably until the wee one is walking, and by then, maybe I’ll have found a nice place to live.
And I’ll go absolutely mad with having my mom drop in every day, and then my stepdad will justify buying every toy known to man because we can just expand the cottage to fit it all, and my baby will think it’s normal to have magically expanding spaces to fit all of their needs with two nannies and a housekeeper perpetually on hand for anything that might pop up.
So funny.
When I think about it that way, it’s only sixty percent absolutely not.
I need to get a place of my own before I start thinking letting my parents take care of me and the baby is a good idea.
“This is hopeless,” I tell Jessica, who’s strapped in to her doggy harness in the backseat.
She grins at me.
We’ve spent our Saturday morning touring apartments since it’s becoming rapidly apparent that I might have to rent something before I find the right house to buy. Mom had a garden club meeting and Miranda is hiking in the mountains with some of her friends, so it’s just Jessica and me.
Also, I didn’t tell either of them that I was apartment hunting today.
I didn’t want to be a burden. Or let them hear me ask Cassandra who owned each of the buildings.
“Doggy park?” I ask her.
She licks her whole face and wags half of her stout body in excitement.
I seriously love this dog.
It’s been three days since I’ve had any contact with Holt. I’m starting to think it’s real that I get to keep Jessica and that I’ll be able to stay in the house until I can sign a lease on an apartment to move in next month.
That stability is keeping my morning sickness at bay. I hope approaching my second trimester is helping too.
We’re in the Warehouse District of the city, which is where my first choice for an apartment is located. Easy access to grocery stores, adorable bookstore, not far from the restaurant where I’m working now, and Cassandra insists that it’s owned by a local celebrity and not the Harrisons.
Bonus, the building I have an eye on has three parks in a two-block radius.
Including a dog park.
We head there to check it out, and soon Jessica’s leading me into a fenced park in the shadow of one of the taller buildings. We can’t stay long—both of us will overheat—but it’s nice to be outside in the shade of the oaks and maples. I let her off her leash, expecting her to join the two other dogs—a mutt and a little wiener dog—but that’s not where she goes when I unleash her.
No, Jessica growls low in her throat, and before I can get her leash clipped back on her at the warning noise, she takes off at a full run, barking and bouncing, heading toward three people sitting on a park bench against the fence near the other entrance.
One woman.
Two men.
One of the men holding crutches.
Are you fucking kidding me?
All three of them turn to stare at the dog as I trot after her. “Jessica, no!”
“Jessica?” Holt says.
“Jessica?” the dark-haired woman repeats with a weird tone to her voice.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” the other man—heavily tattooed and mustached—says.
Jessica reaches them, turns her back on Holt, and—
Dammit, dog. “Jessica, do not fart at people.”
She grunts at me.
My stomach rolls over as Holt looks up at me.
He looks different.
A haircut? Did he shave?
No, there’s a few days’ worth of scruff on his cheeks, and his hair’s still hanging down over his forehead. He’s in a polo and shorts, still wearing the boot, still holding on to his crutches.
But there’s something off.
Something different.
Even the sigh he sighs as he eyes his dog is different. “Very funny, Jessica.”
“Is this your dog?” the guy with him asks.
“You didn’t tell us you named your dog Jessica,” the woman says.
“Or that you were bringing her.”
The woman’s familiar.
Dark hair in a ponytail. Pink cap. A Copper Valley Soccer Club T-shirt. Massive diamond ring. Cute shorts. Cute sandals.
Where do I know her? Is she one of Abby Nora’s friends?
Or am I having one of those days when everything is just off?
“Yes, she’s my dog. Kind of. For now. No, I didn’t name her.” Holt’s leaning forward, letting Jessica sniff his hand to assure her he’s not dangerous, like he wasn’t her primary caretaker until three weeks ago.
She snorts onto his outstretched hand, and it’s a forceful enough snort that her drool also lands on both his boot and his bare leg. “Glad to see nothing’s changed,” he says dryly.
“Jessica, stop,” I repeat.
The mustache guy gets down on his knees as I finally catch up to them. “Hey, pup, it’s ok, we’re all friends—”
Jessican growls more ferociously than I’ve ever heard her growl, full teeth bared, barrel body crouched like she’s about to leap on him.
“Okay. Okay. Not friends. Got it.” He holds up both hands and slowly rises.
“It’s not you,” I tell him. “She hates men.”
“She—what?” Holt says.
I don’t look at him as I clip her back on her leash and tug her further from the group. “She acts like this every time we cross paths with a man. Just a pattern I’ve noticed.”
“That makes sense. I’ve never seen a dog not like Fletcher,” the woman says. “Makes far more sense than his complicated history with Jessicas, actually.”
He slides her a look.
She grins.
“You have a complicated relationship with Jessicas?” Holt asks him.
“Shut your pie hole. You have a complicated relationship with your own dog,” the guy—Fletcher, it seems—replies.
I have no idea what’s going on, and I don’t care.
The important thing right now is leaving.
Immediately. “C’mon, Jessica, let’s go find another park.”
“We’ll go,” Holt says.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay. We’ll go.”
“Jessica and I are leaving. You can stay.”
He shoves to his feet, balancing on his crutches, while his two friends watch us.
Jessica plops down on her rear end and refuses to budge, which wouldn’t be a problem if my stomach wasn’t suddenly in knots and if it wasn’t thirty degrees hotter thanks to being in the same breathing space as Holt.
“Long way from home,” he says.
“We’re apartment shopping.”
“No house?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is he being weird?” the guy whispers to the woman, who elbows him and mutters a quiet shh.
I do know her.
Where do I know her from? Why is she familiar? Was she at Abby Nora’s baby shower?
I need to go. I can’t be here.
“You doing better?” Holt asks me.
No. I think this woman might know my former best friend and I feel awkward as hell around Holt and it’s hot and I can’t find a new place to live and I feel completely bare and exposed. “Yes, thank you. Jessica, let’s—”
I cut myself off with a sigh as the little wiener dog bounces over to Jessica and they start their doggy sniffing ritual.
Jessica loves other dogs. She probably wasn’t meant to be an only dog.
Oh, god.
What if my baby isn’t supposed to be an only baby?
“She okay with male dogs?” Holt asks me while his friends whisper something about Jessicas that I don’t catch.
I nod, watching the dogs instead of him. I’m okay. They can’t hurt me. I’m okay. “Yes. It’s just male-presenting humans that give her problems.”
The mutt bounds over and joins the sniffing party.
Holt looks down at them. “Huh.”
“It didn’t seem like pertinent information. Since I’m taking her.”
“Yeah, no, I’ll always be a guy. She seems happy with you. And you’re not a guy.”
Fletcher snickers, then covers it with a cough as the woman nudges him.
Was she there? Was she at Abby Nora’s baby shower? Or wedding?
Not important.
What’s important is leaving.
Leaving Holt with his friends who might know my ex-best friend.
He has friends.
Naturally. He said he was staying with friends, didn’t he? And Brydie at the catering company of infamy insisted he was nice. And so do his neighbors.
I make a vague gesture toward the bench, still not looking straight at Holt. “You should get off your foot. I need to—”
“Here, you can have my seat.” Fletcher leaps up. “Nice and shady. I need to get something. From my car. Water. More water. For the dogs. It’s hot.”
Holt shakes his head at Fletcher. “Why are you being weird?”
“I’m a shitty wingman. You get what you get. And Sweet Pea looks hot. Shut up and sit down. None of us want to listen to you whine if your foot swells up again.”
Jessica barks, and then she takes off chasing the mutt.
That’s her happy bouncy run.
Dammit.
But the bigger problem?
She’s still clipped into her leash, and I’m not ready.
The leash jerks my arm and I stumble. Holt lunges for me, but the man’s on crutches, which means instead of grabbing me, he falls on me.
Yeah.
Falls.
Right on top of me.
We both go down, him with a fuck, me with a the baby.
Jessica’s still pulling my arm.
Holt’s sprawled across my ass.
My nose is inches from a pile of dog poop.
“Jessica, stop,” I gasp.
There’s a blur, and then all of the tension on the leash disappears.
Jessica growls.
“Whoa, it’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay,” the woman says.
Fletcher loops the leash off my arm and hands it to her, then looks at me. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” I force out. Dammit.
Dammit.
I probably need to go to the hospital.
Just me, whatever.
Me with a baby?
My eyes burn and my throat gets thick.
Definitely need to get checked out.
“Holt?” Fletcher says.
“Gonna live,” Holt grunts. “Ziggy? You okay?”
“Ziggy?” the woman repeats.
I cringe.
Yep.
She definitely knows Abby Nora. And my name is unusual enough that she’s piecing together who I am too.
Fantastic.
Holt’s climbing off me. He’s wincing. Probably should get him checked out too.
But there’s something in his gaze that has me convinced he’s thinking less about himself and more about—
“Did you land on your stomach?” he asks quietly.
I start to shake my head, switch to a half-nod, and then—
And then the tears start in earnest as I shove to sitting. “I need to go,” I whisper.
The woman drops to her knees next to me. “Hi, Ziggy. I’m Goldie. Can I help?”
“Do you know Abby Nora?” I blurt.
Her brows furrow. “Who?”
Is she pretending? Or is she faking? “I know you.”
“Everybody knows Goldie,” Fletcher says. “She’s awesome. And that’s true even when I’m not biased.”
She shakes her head at him with an affectionate smile before turning her attention back to me. “I don’t know anyone named Abby Nora.” Her gaze slides to my stomach. “You’re expecting?”
I nod.
“How far along?”
“Eleven weeks.”
“Hospital?”
Stupid word.
It makes me want to cry harder. I suck in a breath and squeeze my eyes shut, suppressing the urge.
I’ll cry when I’m alone again.
“Can we help get you there, or do you have someone else you want to call?” Goldie asks.
“I feel okay,” I whisper.
“My brother’s baby mama slipped on ice when she was pregnant with my niece, and she felt okay too, and she was okay, but she didn’t go to the hospital for two days and she started having anxiety attacks. It’s not always for the baby. It’s for your own piece of mind too.”
I can call my mom.
I can call Miranda.
Or I can let complete strangers help get me to a doctor to get checked out.
“Coach’ll get pissed if you don’t get checked out too,” Fletcher says to Holt.
“I’m aware.”
So they’re teammates.
Not surprising.
“Jessica,” I whisper.
“We can take her home,” Goldie says.
“You don’t know Abby Nora?”
“I’ve never met anyone named Abby Nora in my life.”
“Are you—are you a nice person?” The instant the words leave my mouth, I have regrets.
Who asks that?
And what kind of answer can anyone possibly give that will make me feel better?
Goldie lightly squeezes my arm. “I do my best.”
I suck in a breath and make eye contact.
Warm golden-brown eyes smile at me.
That.
That’s what they can say to make me feel better.
“We’ve got you, okay?” she says. “You’re in good hands. I promise.”
I want to believe her.
I do.
But more, I want to get checked out. Make sure the baby’s okay. And then call my mom and Miranda and tell them what happened after everything’s good.
Jessica trots over and flops down next to me, then whines up at me.
I rub her head. “So you noticed you caused a little chaos, huh?”
She grins.
Holt shifts beside me, and she switches to a growl.
“That would be hilarious if she didn’t hate me too,” Fletcher says.
“Maybe you should try shaving the mustache,” Goldie replies.
Holt snorts.
Holt.
Holt Webster.
My cranky landlord.
He just snorted with laughter.
We make eye contact, and his smile dips away. “Sorry,” he says.
“Wasn’t your fault.”
He doesn’t answer.
Not out loud, anyway. There’s a lingering it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t come back hanging in the air between us though.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I repeat.
His eyes are beautiful.
Which is the last thing I should notice right now.
But they are. They’re beautiful.
Watching me with all of the wariness I’ve felt about every person I’ve encountered outside of my nuclear family since I got home.
Holt doesn’t hate me.
He’s afraid of me.
He’s afraid to be my friend the same way I’m afraid of being anyone else’s friend.
He’s lost people too.
The difference is, the people I’ve lost are still alive.
I blink and look away, then pull myself to my feet while Goldie hovers.
Fletcher pulls Holt to his feet. “Two cars or one?”
“Two,” Holt says before I can answer. “Don’t make Jessica mad.”
“Good life rule,” Fletcher mutters.
Goldie stifles a smile and bends down to clip Jessica back on her leash. “Can I come with you?” she asks me.
Who asks to go to the hospital with a complete stranger?
Good people.
Good people do.
I look at Holt again. He’s staring down at his phone while propped up on his crutches. He looks exhausted.
Beat down.
Completely over it.
Fletcher kisses Goldie on the forehead. “I’ve got the dogs. Call me.”
She nods to him.
And I nod to her. “Thank you.”
“Any friend of Holt’s is a friend of ours.”
Friend.
Maybe someday.
When I trust the word again.
