Page 13 of Sidelined By Love

I can’t help but fight a smile as I round the corner onto Zoe’s street, guiding Guster. He stops to smell something along a white picket fence, and I give him a gentle tug.

“Come on, boy.”

He is neither impressed nor compelled to give up his investigation. His black nose roots around in the grass at the base of the fence, probably because he can’t see through the wiry gray fur falling over his eyes.

I jog in place for a few seconds, letting him continue, and take the opportunity to glance down the road. From this distance I can see a little bit of movement half of the long block away, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s Zoe and the dog who must not be named or someone else out at this absurd hour. Only someone who’s lost their mind ventures out at this time of the morning.

Or someone else with a dog.

I’ve never understood how dogs can be so excited to go for a run before the sun even cracks the horizon. Then again, I’ve never been locked up in a cage.

But I do feel like Guster is holding me hostage here at a completely dark two-story house with more scrolling and details than a wedding cake.

I give his leash a little tug, but he isn’t budging. “Come on,” I coax in my most convincing voice. “If we miss Zoe because you’re nosy, I’ll make sure all the other dogs get adopted before you.”

The old mutt doesn’t even pretend to look up at me.

I guess I could carry him like I did Rico, though Guster looks like a wiggler. And is about ten times the size of the Chihuahua.

“Come on. Haven’t you ever met a pretty lady and wanted to see her again?”

Guster shoots me a full side-eye but finally steers himself in the right direction half a second before I scoop him up.

“Good boy,” I whisper, silently promising him that I’ll tell everyone at the shelter that he deserves a special treat.

But as we jog toward Zoe’s place—well, Mrs. Peebles’s—there’s no sign of anyone in the yard of the pale blue bungalow. No lights in the windows. No sound of that low-lying dog.

I instinctively slow down until Guster is the one pulling me. Not because I want to talk with Zoe or anything.

But because I’d expected her to be here.

And because her wild morning hair is one of the most attractive styles I’ve ever seen her sport.

The thought makes me run my free hand through my own morning mop. I didn’t even bother to glance in the mirror while brushing my teeth this morning. It could be something extra special.

Not that it matters. Zoe is clearly still in bed. As most sane people are.

Not that her being around would change when I fix my hair.

Right. Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Red.

I’ve fallen for cheaper lies.

As we pass the walkway that divides Mrs. Peebles’s lawn and lead toward the bright yellow front door, I pick up speed,suddenly ready to return Guster to the shelter and get home to see Kenna off before I head to the facility.

My tennis shoes slap the cement, drowning out the rustling leaves that dance in the gutter. I take deep breaths, focusing on the rhythm.

In. Out. In. Ou—

“Gra-ant!”

The sound of my name stops me in my tracks, but Guster isn’t as quick to halt, and he jerks me forward a few steps before I can turn around to find Zoe Peebles standing there. In all her glory.

Well, standing is a stretch. She’s hunched over, bent at the waist, hands on her knees, and breathing raggedly. Her dark hair is hanging around either side of her face, and the blanket draped over her arms is nearly dragging on the ground behind feathery purple slippers that surely cost the lives of a Muppet or two.

“Geez,” she wheezes, waving her hand to indicate that she’s got more to add.

I have to bite the corner of my lip to keep from smiling. This is what I was looking forward to.

---