Stone Cold

“Just do it.” I hand him the leash before fishing out a piece of steak from one of the Tupperware containers I packed. “Here, offer him this.”

Stone takes the tender bit of beef and holds it out.

“What’s his name again?” he asks.

“Domino.”

“Here, Domino,” he says, monotoned.

“Maybe … try to sound … more upbeat?” I give a gentle suggestion. “Like a kindergarten teacher.”

“What does a kindergarten teacher even sound like?”

“I don’t know … like a Disney princess,” I say. “Happy and chipper.”

His lips press flat and he turns to face Domino again.

“Domino … come here, boy.” His voice is so gentle I fight the urge to chuckle. This is the first I’ve experienced the softer side of Stone.

Rising from the front stoop with his tail tucked, Domino makes his way into the house, sniffing the bit of steak Stone is offering him before taking a bite.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” I say before closing the front door. Bending down, I scratch the underside of Domino’s chin. “You’re going to be fine, buddy.”

Domino nudges Stone’s hand when he finishes his treat.

“What’s he want?” Stone asks.

“Either he wants you to pet him or he wants more steak. Probably the latter.” I hand Stone another piece to feed him. “I brought all of this things … his dog bed, his kibble, his food and water dishes, his toys. Oh, and I brought this for you.”

I pull a bottle of Malbec from one of the bags.

“It’s a small token of my appreciation for opening your home to this little guy.” I hand it to him.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, accepting it anyway.

I wave my hand. “Not a big deal. Oh, I also brought a couple of fresh steaks in case he still refuses to eat his kibble.”

He unhooks Domino’s leash, hangs it on the coat rack in the corner, and gathers all of the dog miscellany I’ve dumped at my feet. I follow him to the kitchen and help him sort everything out.

“Are we still on for our phone call tonight?” I ask.

He checks his watch. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

I pull up a chair at his kitchen island and rest my chin on the top of my hand.

“It’s something that always bothered me,” I say. “Not knowing if you liked me or if I annoyed you.”

“Seems like such a trivial thing to care about.”

“Trivial to you, maybe.”

He retrieves a corkscrew from a nearby drawer and reaches for the Malbec. Next he takes two stemless wineglasses from a cupboard.

“Drinking alone has never been my thing.” He pours the first one and slides it my way before filling the second.

I take a sip, both surprised and amused by his hospitality.

“There’s power in not caring what people think about you,” he says.

“I don’t care what people think about me,” I say, “but I always cared what you thought. You’re not people. I can’t lump you in with everyone else.”

“And why not?”

Shrugging, I try to explain the very thing I don’t fully understand myself. Maybe it was the fact that you always want what you don’t have, and in this case, it was Stone’s approval. It’s ridiculous, I know. But for whatever reason, the more distant and cold he was, the more I thought I could melt his iciness with my warmth. I always hoped that one day I’d have a breakthrough; that I’d penetrate his permafrost and meet the real Stone—not his frozen façade.

But that day never came.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe because with everyone else, it’s obvious where they stand. But with you, it’s always been this giant question mark. And I don’t do well with question marks. I’m curious. I’m a writer. I’m obsessed with the human experience. I crave facts and details. I love understanding why people do what they do; all of their goals and motivations and conflicts. Everyone is complex to a degree. But you? You were an enigma I could never solve.”

“I’m not a character in one of your books.” He lifts his glass to his lips, pausing to peer at me over the rim.

That may be true, but he’s still a character in the story of my life.

Domino makes his way from my side of the island to Stone’s, and he lets out a faint whimper before sitting.

“What’s he doing?” he asks when Domino lifts a paw.

“I think he’s begging for a treat.” I grab the container of steak, pop the lid, and slide across the island. “He’s been with me over a week and not once has he asked me for anything. He must feel comfortable around you. I think he likes you.”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t like you.” Stone keeps a straight face but shoots me a wink.

“You two have something in common already.”

Stone slips Domino a few bites and almost loses a finger in the process.