The Foxe & the Hound

My knuckles have turned white on the steering wheel. My heart is still hammering in my chest.

“So then why didn’t you bring a date?”

“I did,” he replies, very matter-of-fact.

I snort. “No. You could have asked any female in Hamilton, literally any one of them, and they would have gone with you.”

“Well, I asked you.”

I work up the courage to look at him, and I realize the mistake quickly. In my small car, he’s too close to me. I can smell his body wash—mountain fresh. I can see the dark green circle that rims his irises. I can almost pretend he’s a living, breathing human and not a robot cyborg programmed to rescue puppies and make women swoon.

“You didn’t ask me, you presented a proposition I couldn’t refuse.”

He scrunches his brows in thought. “I thought it was sort of the same thing.”

My head falls against my seat and I pinch my eyes closed. “They’re going to ask us questions and it’s going to become glaringly obvious how little we know about each other.”

“We know enough.”

He sounds so confident, so prepared to follow through with the ruse.

“Okay, well did you let them know that I have a child?”

“What?!”

“See?!” I say, turning to face him. “You believed that because you hardly know me!”

He laughs then. It starts out slow, just a smile stretching across his face, and then his head is thrown back against the seat and he’s laughing hard, pressing his hand to his chest. I sit in silence, watching him, helpless to prevent a matching smile from developing on my lips.

“You think this is all some kind of game, don’t you?”

When he can finally catch his breath, he replies, “It can be if we let it.”

I roll my eyes.

“C’mon,” he continues. “It’s just an hour or two spent in the company of nice strangers. At the very least, you’ll get a good meal out of it.”

“And the commission from selling you a house,” I point out, trying to read how serious he is about holding up his end of the bargain.

He nods in confirmation. “And that.”

I sigh and put the car back in drive, slowly merging with traffic. He directs me toward his brother’s house in downtown Hamilton and just before we park, I smile at my preparedness.

“By the way, this is the perfect situation for homemade cookies.”

…

We decide it’s best if I walk in with the cookies and Adam takes charge of Mouse. I’ve been practicing walking him with the clicker, but he’s too excited by the prospect of being in a new place to heed his new training. I step out of the car and straighten my blouse, trying to surreptitiously inspect his brother’s house without being obvious.

It’s a large two-story ranch-style home on a large lot. There are old, massive oak trees scattered around the front yard, and a boxwood wreath hangs on the front door. As we head up the path, I can hear voices filtering out from the back yard, and the front door is whipped open before we even get the chance to knock.

A fashionable older woman stands in the doorway wearing a sleeveless pink sundress paired with a colorful spring scarf. Her fingers are covered in rings, and gold bracelets clink on her wrist as she raises her hand to wave us inside.

“Come in, come in. You two are just in time!”

I smile and step into the house, grateful when Adam introduces me quickly.

“Mom, this is Madeleine, the woman I told you about.”

The woman I told you about?

My eyebrows betray my shock before I realize his mom is watching me. I quickly replace my expression with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Foxe.”

I hold out my hand, but she pulls me in for a quick hug instead. When she’s done, she holds me out at arm’s length and beams. “You can call me Diane.”

“Oh.” I smile. “Of course.”

“You’re quite a stunner,” she says, glancing down my outfit. “And I love what you’re wearing.” I should feel uncomfortable, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been objectified like that and I’m more than happy to accept the compliment.

“Thank you. I hope I’m dressed okay. I wasn’t sure what I was in store for.”

It’s the understatement of the century, but Diane doesn’t know that, up until a few minutes ago, I thought I was going to be part of some kind of illuminati sacrifice ritual.

She waves away my concern and locks her elbow with mine, dragging me out of the entryway.

“And you brought cookies?” she asks, eyeing the Tupperware in my hand.

“Freshly baked this morning,” I brag.

She turns over her shoulder to Adam, who’s following us into the house with Mouse by his side. “I love her already!”

I bask in her praise. After the months from hell I’ve had recently, this is a much-needed reprieve. Hell, if all else fails, maybe I’ll date Adam’s mom?