“Did you check under the bed? That’s where he was last time,” I called from the kitchen. I grabbed the bag of carrots from the fridge drawer and tossed them into the box alongside the apples and bananas.
Waffles had escaped his playpen—again. A temporary playpen I’d built that could be considered rickety, at best, which was obviously how Waffles always managed to escape.
“He’s not there!” Jackson called.
Shit. The last thing he needed was to lose Waffles. Jackson was already upset about moving, even after I told him Callum’s guesthouse had a pool. His response had been that it didn’t have frogs.
“He can’t have gone far.”
I shut the fridge as my cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Addie: I know you’re reading my texts.
Addie had sent me a barrage of texts this morning, asking about Vic and what that was last night at Zero Crow. Texts I hadn’t responded to yet. Probably because I had no idea what to say since I didn’t know what the hell that was, and I was still trying to process it. That processing wasn’t working because I couldn’t think straight when it came to Vic Gate.
Mac: I’m packing. Call you later.
Addie: Fine. But at least tell me if he kissed you?
I sent a tongue out emoji, then a NO. Then I pocketed my cell and walked into Jackson’s bedroom. Jackson’s feet were peeking out from under his bed.
“Was he in his cage when you woke up this morning?”
“Yeah.”
I peered into the closet, then got on my hands and knees and checked under the dresser. No Waffles.
Crap. I straightened and placed my hands on my hips. How far would a skinny pig go?
My heart leapt. The door. Shit. I’d propped the screen door open while loading the car. God, would he go outside? What if he got out of the cabin?
Jackson crawled out from under the bed. I expected tears, but there weren’t any. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“We’ll find him.”
“We won’t leave without him?” he asked.
“No. Of course not.”
He stared at the floor. “Promise?”
“I promise,” I said, but then I realized it was a promise I might not be able to keep. What if Waffles had wandered outside? What if a hawk had gotten him? Or a coyote? Okay, a coyote wouldn’t be around this time of day, but Waffles could be anywhere.
“Why don’t you go look in my bedroom while I check the living room?”
He nodded and ran out of the room. I quickly went and closed the screen door, then got down on my hands and knees to peer under the couch. “Waffles. Here, boy.”
I crawled over to the lounge chair and clucked my tongue. “Waffles? Here, Waffles.”
Jackson ran out of the bedroom and down the hall, and I glanced up, praying he’d found him.
“Mr. Gate is coming,” Jackson called back.
What? My heart did the usual Vic-induced hop, skip, and jump—and then escalated into a thrum of beats.
I jerked when I heard the thud of boots on the porch steps. Jackson threw open the screen door. “Can you help us find Waffles? He escaped and we can’t find him.”
Vic stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting from Jackson to me on my hands and knees beside the couch. I climbed to my feet, brushing off my jeans, even though there was nothing on them. “Umm, Jacks, why don’t you check the bathroom?”