The Best Next Thing

Stormy danced around their feet. Walk was her absolute favorite word, and she went into rapturous spasms every time somebody said it. She dashed back and forth between the kitchen door and Miles, clearly keen to get going.

“Okay, pup, we’re getting there,” Miles muttered, shaking his head. They grabbed their coats and Stormy’s leash and harness.

“She’s going to miss the lake,” Miles observed, as he watched his dog streak up the shore ahead of them. Lately he had allowed her more freedom off leash on their walks, especially when they walked along the familiar lakeshore.

“Do you think you’ll be able to devote the same amount of time to her, when you’re back at work?” Charity asked. It was a question that had begun to plague her a lot recently. Man and dog were inseparable, and she wasn’t sure how Stormy was going to cope once she wasn’t the center of Miles’s universe anymore.

He slanted her a surprised look. “Of course, I will.”

The absolute certainty in his voice surprised her.

“She’ll be coming in to work with me. I’m considering implementing a dog friendly workplace. A lot of companies are doing it. It reduces stress, boosts morale and productivity…”

“You’ve been reading up on it, I take it?” she said, a wry note in her voice and he wrinkled his nose, before grinning sheepishly.

“Busted. Yes. I was trying to figure out how I could get away with bringing her to work every day and then reckoned it wouldn’t be fair unless everybody else is allowed the same opportunity. The dogs would have to be socialized, toilet-trained, and we naturally have to consider those with phobias and allergies as well. But it’s doable. But I for damned sure am not leaving Stormy without me for long stretches at a time.”

“That’s fantastic, Miles,” Charity said, happy for both man and dog. Well, mostly for Miles. The man was a wreck without his dog.

Stormy was enthusiastically digging a hole in the soft white sand, a few yards ahead of them, and Charity smiled at her antics. She was going to miss the adorable foundling.

“Tell me what you miss most about your home?” she impulsively invited. Wanting him to focus on the good things he would be returning to and obsess less about what he was leaving behind.

He gave a look that told her he knew exactly what she was doing, but he shifted his shoulders restlessly and inhaled deeply.

“My family obviously. And their messy problems. They’ve been keeping me out of their relationship and work dramas since I’ve been here, and I admit it’s left me feeling useless. Which is odd since, six months ago, I would probably dearly have loved to be left out of their chaotic personal lives.”

“I don’t believe that. You like being needed by them. Admit it.”

“Maybe I do. A little bit.”

“Of course, you do. More than a little bit I’d say. What else do you miss? Work?”

“Not entirely. I thought I’d go stir crazy not knowing what was happening with the business…but I’ve barely given it a second thought. I trust Bryan to keep things running smoothly and I trust Hugh to have my—and the family’s—best interests at heart. I think I may loosen the reins once I return, allow Hugh more leeway to try new things.”

“What else do you miss? A more active social life?”

He snorted at that.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m shit with people, before you believe me?”

“But you’re not shit with people. I’ve seen you with the people in town. With Sam and Greyson. George and Amos. They like you, and they all strike me as pretty decent judges of character.”

“Half of the people you’ve listed work for me. They have a vested interest in keeping me happy.”

Charity laughed, genuinely amused by that statement. “I mean, have you met George Clark and Amos Moloi? Two of the most straight-talking, zero bullshit old men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing? They couldn’t care less about keeping you happy. But they do because they like you. More people than you realize like you, Miles.”

He stopped walking and turned to face her, his eyes narrowed against the blustery wind.

“What’s this about, Charity?”

“I don’t know. I just wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“And how’s that?” His voice had deepened, roughened. The gravel scraped her raw and left her on fire.

Stormy’s loud squeal saved her from replying, and they both looked up in alarm at the sound. The dog had leaped back from the hole and was still yelping, her left front paw held aloft in obvious pain.

“Shit!” Miles streaked down the beach toward his still crying dog, with Charity close behind. By the time she caught up, he was on his knees in the sand, the trembling pup held protectively in his lap. He was examining the paw.