Page 8 of Because of Blake
“You have a dog!?” Dylan squeals and leaps off his bike toward Oscar.
Blake laughs. “Yeah. This is Oscar. You can pet him, he’s friendly.”
Dylan squats down, tentatively petting Oscar, who nuzzles into Dylan’s hands. It isn’t long, though, before the two of them are wrestling. Blake undoes Oscar’s leash, allowing him and Dylan to run around the yard, barking and laughing.
Blake watches them play a moment before turning to Sydney. “So, Sydney, how are you liking the new house?”
She shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“And school? What’s your favorite subject?”
“School’s okay.” She shoots me a sideways glance and flicks her eyes to the ground. “I like English class best.”
“Yeah, your mom said you’re a reader. What’s your favorite book?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s read the entire Harry Potter series at least a dozen times,” I chime in.
“No, I haven’t.” Sydney rolls her eyes, again. “Can I go in and have a Coke?”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
“It was nice to meet you, Sydney,” Blake says, nodding as Syd disappears into the house. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to me. “She’s a tough cookie to crack, huh?”
I laugh. “Hey, you got more out of her than I do lately.”
“Well, then I’ll call it a win.” He turns to the yard where Dylan and Oscar are still rolling around. “Hey, buddy, I hate to say this, but I’ve got to get home. Can I have my dog back?”
“Awww, but we were having fun.” The whine out of Dylan is like nails on a chalkboard.
“Next time, buddy,” Blake says, patting his leg for Oscar to come.
Next time? He’s planning on hanging out with us?
“Mom, why can’t we have a dog?”
Blake turns his head to meet my gaze. “Not a dog person?”
My mouth runs dry. “No. I love dogs, but I was always wiping my kids’ butts, so I didn’t want to clean up after a dog, too.” I feel the redness filling my cheeks.Smooth, Maggie.Talk about poop to the hot guy.
Blake chuckles. “That’s a good reason.” He gives a little wave as he and Oscar head down the driveway. “See you guys later.”
My entire body relaxes, melting into the patio chair with the relief of dodging an awkward conversation. I’ve turned down a good number of men in the last three years, but that doesn’t mean it’s become any easier. There’s some level of guilt accompanying the word “no.” It may have something to do with their sad, puppy dog faces when I reject them, or some societal obligation cemented into my subconscious, but I made my decision and I’m sticking to it.
Still, this tightness in my chest tells me rejecting Blake will be the most difficult yet.
I shrug it off and walk Dylan inside. Not two minutes later, the doorbell rings, and my heart leaps into my throat. I swallow it down only to have it pound in my chest as I imagine Blake standing on my porch. It makes sense, right? He was just here, a very vulnerable moment interrupted by my kids, so he’s come back to finish asking the question I thought I’d escaped. I whip open the door without looking through the peephole. No need to since I know who’s out there.
“Oh, Maggie. I’m so glad I caught you at home!” my neighbor, Joanna, from across the street says, her eyes lighting up.
I smile, but it’s tight. “Hi, Joanna.”
“I haven’t seen you much since you moved in. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.” She laughs.
Because I have been.“We’ve been busy. It’s all go, go, go when you move.”
“Oh, I know. Speaking of, how is the house? You all settled in?” she asks, peeking over my shoulder to eyeball my entryway.