Page 27 of Wag More Bark Less

“Were,” Connor corrected.

“Once a soldier, always a soldier,” Joe said.

I’d been out of the Army for almost a decade, but I understood the sentiment. It was likely why I kept gravitating toward military-adjacent jobs. I felt most in my element around active duty and military veterans.

It was also likely the reason I fell so easily for my ex. Jason was career military. He understood me. And admittedly, I got caught up in the fantasy of being an officer’s wife who traveled the world. One who worked with active duty soldiers or veterans in some meaningful way. But with how busy Luanne kept me with wedding planning these past three months, I’d barely had time to look for my future job in Lakewood, much less secure one.

“What was your MOS?” I asked Connor, eager to push thoughts of my ex as far away as possible.

“Fifteen tango. What was yours?”

“Ninety-two alpha. I bought your helicopter parts,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. I’d spent most of my time in the military around Blackhawk mechanics, but it was rare to run into them in the wild if I wasn’t near a base. The aviation branch of the Army was small compared to the infantry.

This made choosing Bluebell Springs seem that much more kismet.

“Well, I’ll be,” Joe said.

“Dad was infantry,” Connor said. “Hence the hair.”

“It’s good-looking hair,” I said, meaning it. Joe had an older Kurt Russell vibe going for him, and the hair really cemented it.

Because I kept stealing glances at the door in the back wondering if Luke was part of the aviation sector too or maybe military police, I forced myself to focus instead on the wall of dog toys, wondering if Ellie would play with any of them. Considering she happily trotted off with Opal without a second thought, I doubted it.

“Luke didn’t always take life this seriously,” Joe said as Connor excused himself. He returned to the tool aisle to continue whatever task my initial presence interrupted as Joe added, “My kids lost their mother a few years back, and well, Luke took it pretty hard.”

Dammit. The last thing I wanted—or needed—was a reason to feel compassion for my irritating landlord.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said to Joe, touching his arm.

Joe offered me a weak smile.

“Ellie wants these socks,” Opal announced, hopping to a stop at the end of the aisle and offering me a pair of hunter-green socks with marshmallows and campfires. Ironically, the marshmallow characters were holding roasting sticks.

“I’m surprised she didn’t con you out of more pairs,” I said, accepting the leash handle.

“She tried.” Opal and Ellie shared a long, intent look, and I swore the two were having some sort of secret, telepathic conversation.

I grabbed a stuffed moose from its wall hook—I wasn’t brave enough to risk the doorknob with Luke lurking nearby—and followed Joe to the front counter as Opal rushed back to help her dad.

“I’d tell you to let me know if Luke gives you any more grief,” Joe said, handing me the shopping bag over the counter, “but I suspect you can handle him just fine on your own.”

Luke, I could handle. But me around him? That remained to be seen.

TEN

LUKE

“I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll make this quick,” Mayor Rosalyn Chambers said as I stepped into her office and closed the door behind me.

She slid a piece of paper across her meticulously organized mahogany desk, not a single pen or paperclip out of place. That’s where she and Mom differed, I supposed. Mom enjoyed a little creative chaos, as she’d called it. Rosalyn preferred the pops of color and character in her office to be square enough to make the city engineer giddy.

“No small talk?” I asked, hoping to keep the tone light while I mentally replayed recent calls that might’ve brought unforeseen trouble to the mayor’s desk. Was someone suing the city for how I handled a traffic stop or something equally as absurd?

“We’ll small talk while you sign this,” she said, motioning toward the chair opposite her.

“Sign what?” I flicked my gaze toward her, noticing that the usual blazer she wore was missing, and in its place, a Golden Days T-shirt from last year.

“Your leave request.”