Page 28 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
She’s clingy, yes.But the limp is real.Probably.Her appetite’s been off.She didn’t even try to steal the one pancake I brought up with me.Dorothy, who once stole an entire rotisserie chicken in the twelve seconds I turned my back.
The pipes groan overhead, long and low, like something in this building is breathing through its problems, and I hate that it sounds exactly like me.The noise makes Dorothy press closer to my legs, her small body vibrating with anxiety.
I glance at the corner, where the soft-sided carrier I brought in earlier sits, unopened.Dorothy’s been side-eyeing it all night.Whimpering every time I even look at it.
I thought it was leftover trauma from earlier.
But what if it’s more?
What if I didn’t notice something earlier?What if it’s her back or her shoulder or something internal?What if it’s not a panic response, but pain?My mind clicks into nurse mode, cataloging symptoms, worst-case scenarios unspooling like film.
I press a palm to her chest.Feel her heart racing.She leans into it, tail curled, soft.
“You’re okay,” I murmur again.“You’re okay.”
But she doesn’t feel okay.I know that tightness in my chest—the one that warns something’s wrong before the monitors start screaming.
And now my heart’s racing and my brain’s doing that thing where it loops worst-case scenarios on repeat and the room feels too quiet and I—
The note.
The one taped to my door when I arrived.
“My son’s staying on the other side.Call him if you need anything.”
And a phone number.
I grab my phone.Type it in manually.Because of course we don’t have each other’s number.We never did.Only communicated through the app like an additional layer we thought we needed.My thumb hovers over the keypad, hesitating.The screen glows too bright in the dim room.
I stare at the message box.
Do not spiral, Eve.Just text.It’s about your dog.Not about you.Not about Pittsburgh.Not about what you’re wearing.Or what you’re not wearing.Or how youarespiraling.This is just about Dorothy.
Okay.
I type:
Me
Hey.It's Eve.Sorry it's late.Dorothy's acting off.Limping, clingy, and kind of panicking whenever I walk away.I think it might be related to the carrier but I'm not sure and now I can't stop spiraling.Could you maybe take a look now?If you’re still awake?
I stare at it.
Too much?Not enough?Too desperate?Too clinical?
I send it before I can second-guess myself again.
It’s professional.
Nothing more.
Chapter ten
EVE
Thattextmaybeprofessional but I still set down my phone like it’s radioactive.
Dorothy whines again and flops onto my foot.Blanche makes a disgusted noise and rolls away from both of us, creating a valley in the mattress.
