Page 1 of Will Bark for Pizza
ONE
KIRA
When the going gets tough,the tough choose sugar.Every single time.
At least, that was my philosophy. The half-eaten frosted sugar cookie sitting in my passenger seat could attest. The cookie was the size of a deep-dish pizza when we left Omaha eight hours ago.
To be fair, I didn’t eatallof it. Husker wore a purple frosting smudge on the side of his nose that his lolling tongue hadn’t yet discovered. The overstimulated Alaskan Husky, who was currently pacing the back seat of my Jeep like a caged lion, didn’t need the sugar boost. But we shared everything that was deemed dog-safe. It was an unwritten rule.
We were a pack, he and I.
Narcissistic losers need not apply.
The dashboard was covered in dog hair, the windshield was splattered with the corpses of flying insects, and I hadn’t turned on the radio since the backdrop ofmountains appeared on the hazy horizon. Travis would have complained about all of it.
“Asshole,” I muttered.
Husker’s pacing came to an abrupt halt with the single word, a sloppy substance that hinted at dog breath smacking my cheek. He stared at me expectantly, head tilting.
“Not you, Bubbies.” I wiped away the drool with the back of my hand before I could overthink it. “Never you.”
We maintained eye contact in the rearview mirror for an extra-long beat before he resumed his pacing. I was so damned lucky I had him, this wonderful, quirky, lovable dog. He’d saved me, in more ways than one. Especially these past couple of years.
No matter what happened once we hit the town limits of Bluebell Springs, at least I had Husker as an ally.
The thought created a lump in my throat. I didn’t know what to expect with this unannounced visit. Would we be welcomed with open arms or met with disapproving glares? Suddenly, I wanted another bite of cookie.
As though in tune with my craving, Husker jerked his attention to the passenger seat, leaning his chest into the net I’d bungeed between the front seats. It was supposed to discourage his notorious habit of standing on the center console, like a lion appraising his pride lands. But that didn’t stop him from stretching his neck as far over the top of the netting as he could, his nose pointed expectantly at the snack in the passenger seat.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough already?”
His big brown eyes flickered from the cookie to me with an air of incredulity that rivaled any human I knew.Probably a good thing dogs couldn’t talk. The words were written all over his face.Stupidest question ever, Mom.
He had a point.
I reached over, fingers digging beneath the plastic covering, and Husker’s mouth clapped shut on a held breath.
“Easy,” I warned, breaking off a piece for us to share.
The giant cookie was the last thing I picked up in Omaha before we hit the road this morning. Even if my life was imploding, I wasn’t going to mess with tradition. I wasn’t all the way superstitious, but I was enough. I didn’t want to add some weird curse to the list of shit I still had to fix. I needed this book launch to go well. It was very likely my last.
Besides, it was a damn delicious cookie. To be honest, I was surprised there was any of it left after eight hours on the road. Maybe I’d spent more time clutching the steering wheel for dear life than stuffing my face with sweets.
Small wins.
“Well?” I said to Husker, who was still standing. He knew the rules.
He immediately plopped his butt down in the center of the back seat, waiting for his portion.
I took a bite right out of the purple frosted B ofBooks, glancing in the rearview at Husker’s reaction. His spine straightened, eyes shining with genuine concern. Whether that was for my oversized bite or his fear of not getting his fair share was up for debate. Either way, he looked so damned cute.
I smiled, relieved that after the hell I endured, I could once again find joy in the little things. Ibroke off a tiny corner of the dessert and tossed it over my shoulder. Husker caught the terrible throw as though he’d been training for this all his life. Really, he had.
To be fair, the cookiewasto die for. But the sugar sat a bit heavier in my stomach as we passed a green road sign announcing my hometown was a mere five miles ahead. The mountains were no longer just background. When had they snuck up on me? The tree-covered layer of mountains closest to the water felt close enough to reach out the window and touch. The snow-dusted layers behind them were no longer white smudges, but distinct patterns. A silent declaration that the point of no return was fast approaching.
Fuck. Was I really ready to face all this?
The urge to turn around gripped me, but I fought through it. I replayed the dream to drown out the impulse of running. Mom wouldn’t summon me home if it wasn’t important. At least, I hoped that’s why I’d dreamt of her last night.
