Page 32 of Puppy Love

It was Harrison’s turn to guffaw. He could only imagine Sophie’s reaction if she found out he’d evenconsideredgiving Bubbles hard alcohol. She’d yell again. Either that, or she’d kiss him.

With that woman, it was hard to tell.

“Water will be fine,” he said. “For both of us. I mostly just needed to get out of the house.”

“That girl still there?” his dad asked with a surprising show of astuteness.

“No,” Harrison admitted. She’d left at exactly five o’clock with a promise to return the next day at nine. She was a consummate professional from head to toe—well, except for the part where she made out with him in the kitchen and filled up his calendar with a whirl of social activities that he in no way, shape, or form wanted to take part in. “But she did make a few changes around the place.”

“Good for her.” Meg set down a glass of water in front of Harrison and a small bowl in front of Bubbles, both of them on coasters—Meg was a consummate professional too. “It’s about damn time someone took that place in hand. That gorgeous old farmhouse, just sitting there going to ruin…”

“It isnotgoing to ruin,” his father said. “It took me years to get it exactly the way I like it. You’d better tell her not to touch anything without my permission.”

“You can tell her yourself. I’m not that brave.” He balanced the water dish on his lap so Bubbles could reach it, which the puppy did gratefully. She was exhausted, poor thing. It had been a long day of sitting and smelling and trying not to be distracted by Sophie.

Well, that last one had been mostly him.

“What’d she do?” his dad demanded.

“Candles.”

“Candles?” Those two syllables were all it took to voice his outrage and alarm.

“They’re everywhere,” Harrison said. “She put unscented ones in jars in the living room and those long, skinny ones that people use at holidays in the kitchen. And there are a few bigger ones in the fireplace instead of logs, but we aren’t supposed to light them yet. I have a schedule for you.”

“You have a candle schedule? Are youtryingto ruin my life?”

Harrison dug in his pocket and extracted the notes Sophie had handed him as she’d placed the candles around the house. She’d also pointed out several hazards that he might want to take care of, including the precarious stacks of books in the living room and a hallway floorboard that had a jagged hole just big enough for a puppy leg to fall through.

She seemed to excel at highlighting flaws—and it hurt. Heknewthat floorboard was bad. He’d been meaning to fix it for years.

“It’s to get Bubbles used to small flames,” he said. “We’re supposed to light them and then ignore them in hopes that she’ll do the same.Normalizing the situation, she calls it. There’s even one in your room.”

“No.”

Harrison had to laugh at the expression of disgust on his father’s face—an expression that would only get worse once he realized it was lavender-scented one. “It’s known to have soporific effects,” she’d said. “Bubbles won’t be in here very much, so she won’t be distracted by it during scent training. And who knows? He might end up liking it.”

There was a much better chance it would end up chucked out the window and broken on the front lawn, but Harrison hadn’t said so. He’d have plenty of opportunities to crush Sophie’s enthusiasm for reforming the Parks household. No need to go all-in before they barely got started.

“What sort of plague have you brought down on our house?” his father demanded. “This is how it always goes. The candles are just the beginning. Before you realize it…”

“What?” Harrison asked, genuinely interested in the answer. It seemed wise to be prepared for whatever she had planned next.Never go in unprepared.That was good advice for battling wildfires and petite, beguiling women.

“Tablecloths.” His dad set his jaw and stared mulishly at him. “Fresh flowers. Piles of fruit arranged on a bowl on the table, but woe to the man who actually picks one up and eats it.”

Meg fell into laughter. “If that’s your idea of a plague, Wallace, I’m beginning to realize why you’re such a miserable bastard all the time.”

Harrison could have easily enlightened Meg as to the true source of his dad’s misery. He’d never been a happy man—not the kind who laughed and played and enjoyed long walks on the beach—but Harrison could remember a time when he hadn’t been quite so hard.

Once upon a time, their house had been a home—well cared for and full of light, the sort of place most people only dreamed of growing up in. But that light had gone out the day his mother left. Even though Harrison hadtriedto get that flicker going again, his father quashed any and all attempts at illumination.

Better not to see the cracks. Better not to know what lurks in the corners.

“When I see an apple, I’m going to eat an apple,” his dad said. “And no one—not God and certainly not your dog trainer—is going to tell me otherwise.”

“I’m sure Sophie won’t start putting fruit out,” Harrison said, though he couldn’t be at all sure. That woman made him do things. She made himfeelthings. “Besides, I thought you liked her. You promised to send her a Christmas card and everything.”

“That wasbeforeshe brought candles into my house,” his dad muttered.