‘I think he needs a drink,’ Elijah countered, taking the wind out of her sails.
Darn it, he was probably right, but before she could make a move, he’d picked up the chunky metal bowl and was filling it with water from the standpipe. Biscuit got up and trotted over to him, lapping noisily.
Nora retrieved the ball, fully expecting the dog to resume his game once he’d slaked his thirst, but instead Biscuit’s attention was caught by the scent of something edible in Elijah’s pocket, and she gritted her teeth.
Biscuit sat and offered Elijah his paw.
‘Aw, he’s saying please,’ Elijah said, a smile spreading across his face, and something about his delight tugged at her. It was the first time she’d seen a genuine smile, and it lit him up.
Nora paused to look at him.Reallylook at him, and she liked what she saw. Elijah Grant was tall and thin, wiry rather than skinny, possibly in his early fifties (it was difficult to tell), with grey hair, and the bluest of blue eyes. When he wasn’t being a pratt, he seemed quite nice. Not bad looking, either. A slim silver fox, she mused, and a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time swept through her: attraction.
It kind of put her on the back foot, being so unexpected.
Dismissing the feeling, she brought her focus sharply back to what she could do to counteract his upper hand, because right now, at this precise moment, Biscuit preferred Elijah. But only because the man was feeding him.
Let’s see what happens when the treats run out, she told herself. And very soon, they did, because Elijah, in his eagerness to impress Biscuit and keep the dog close, fed him the little morsels one after the other until the dog had scoffed the lot.
Nora, who was observing intently, saw the exact moment when Elijah lost the dog’s attention, and she leapt on it.
‘Biscuit!’ she called, waving the luminous green ball at him. ‘Come here, boy.’
Biscuit happily obliged. His tail was waving from side to side like a feather duster, his eyes were bright, and he seemed to be smiling. This dog was having the time of his life. And no wonder, with two attentive humans, endless ball playing, and handfuls of treats.
Nora shot Elijah a smug smile.
Elijah scowled. But the scowl didn’t last long, because her arm soon began to ache again, and before long, Nora’s throws had once more lost whatever power they’d originally had.
Gleefully, her rival selected a ball of his own and threw it.
Biscuit didn’t hesitate. He ran after it, grabbed it, and brought it back to drop at Elijah’s feet.
It was Nora’s turn to scowl. Inwardly seething and having run out of options, she sat on the nearest bench and sulked. And that was how Jakob found them when he returned a short time later.
‘I’m going to have to kick you out,’ he said. ‘I need the field for a family who want to get to know their potential new pup.’
Elijah groaned in disappointment, but Nora was secretly relieved. This visit had swiftly become a spectator sport and although she loved watching Biscuit, she hadn’t wanted to watch him having fun withElijah.
Jacob attached the lead to Biscuit’s harness. ‘It looks like he’s had a good time.’
‘Oh, he has!’ Elijah enthused. ‘He’s played a game of fetch, and has had some little treats, and I gave him some water, too.’
Nora’s scowl became a full-blown annoyed simmer. From the way Elijah was talking, Jakob must think she’d sat on her backside for the whole time and ignored the dog.
Well, the gloves would be off tomorrow, just see if they wouldn’t!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nora was getting sick and tired of omelettes for breakfast. She knew eggs were supposed to help regulate her blood glucose, but they didn’t hit the spot in the same way that a sticky, flaky Danish pastry did. And not having a caramel latte in the morning was killing her.
Whoever had come up with the theory that eating protein for breakfast would keep you full for the rest of the day, needed to have their head examined because they were wrong, Nora grumbled to herself as she stomped around the village before work.
She was trying to establish a routine prior to bringing Biscuit home, so with that in mind, she’d set her alarm for an hour earlier than usual, had made herself a cheesy omelette, prepared a packed lunch, and was now out for a brisk thirty-minute walk.
It was a glorious morning, but Nora didn’t feel glorious. She felt angry: angry at the doctor who’d diagnosed her, angry atthe unfairness of it (whyher?), angry that there was so much yummy, delicious food that she could no longer eat, angry at everything and everyone.EspeciallyElijah Grant, because it washisbakery she was marching past and smelling the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread and croissants.
This was what she meant by life not being fair. He was a sodding baker, yet he was as thin as a twig! Didn’t he eat any of the stuff he made? He wasn’t a good advertisement for his business, was he? What was the old saying about never trusting a skinny cook?
The fact that he was a baker and so slim was bad enough, but why did it have to behimwho was making a play for Biscuit? Talk about adding insult to injury!
