Home > It Started with a Dog (Lucky Dog #2)(6)

It Started with a Dog (Lucky Dog #2)(6)
Author: Julia London

   The only difference between them was that Allen had married Naomi two years ago, and they’d just had their first baby, little Lena. Allen and Naomi were moving into a bigger house over the holidays in anticipation of a growing family, and in a couple of months, Uncle Marty and Aunt Belinda were moving to Chicago and into the in-law suite of the house to help out with childcare and to be close to their sons.

   Jonah had come to help with the move. At least that’s what he’d said to everyone who asked. But he’d really come because he needed a break. Living around and working with his parents and aunt and uncle had a way of putting a guy in front of the five o’clock news and a prompt bedtime. He felt like he’d gone straight from young club stud to lining up for early bird specials.

   Plus, he had a lot to think about and needed some time away from everything to do just that. Sometimes, it was very difficult to think in Austin.

   He leaned forward, put his hands on Allen’s shoulders, and jostled him around. “It’s a phone mix-up. Long story. Where’s Naomi?”

   “Spending the night at her parents’ house with the baby. She said she doesn’t want to see what I become around you two.”

   “Smart girl. Where are we going?”

   “O’Riley’s,” Andy said into the rearview mirror. “It’s very important that we start this holiday off with a bang.”

 

* * *

 

 

   Start it off with a bang they did. Jonah woke up the next morning to the birdsong chirping in time to his throbbing headache. His mouth tasted like he’d eaten part of an alley dumpster, and his neck was stiff from sleeping on the sunroom couch in Andy’s house. Allen had taken the spare bedroom.

   Jonah winced; the bright sunlight reflecting off old snow was shooting daggers through the sliding glass doors and directly into his brain. “Christ,” he groaned, and rolled onto his back.

   That’s when he saw Allen and Andy seated on stools at the kitchen bar. They were showered and dressed. They each had a cup of coffee. And they each watched him as if he were a strange creature they’d discovered wandering around their living room.

   “What?” Jonah asked irritably.

   “It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy said.

   “I know.” Jonah closed his eyes.

   “We’re going to the Christkindlmarket today.”

   “What is that and why are we going?” Jonah croaked. He opened his eyes and forced himself to prop up on his elbows.

   “Because we are going to be guests in the home of my in-laws and we need to take a proper gift. Didn’t Aunt Darlene and Uncle Roy teach you anything?” He picked up a folded towel from the kitchen bar and threw it on Jonah’s face. Then he set a steaming mug of coffee on the end table next to him. “You know where the shower is, and dude, you reek of whiskey.”

   “Whose fault is that?” Jonah pushed the towel off him, forced himself to sit up, and lunged for the coffee.

   “You really tied one on last night,” Andy said with a grin. “Trouble at home?”

   “Hilarious,” Jonah grumbled. There was trouble at home, all right, but not the kind his cousin meant. He hadn’t told them yet. He hadn’t told anyone how bad it was. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. Frankly, he didn’t want to think about it today.

   “Hurry up,” Allen said. “I’m starving.”

   Jonah gulped down the coffee, picked up the towel, and carefully stood, testing to see if he still had functioning legs before he stumbled his way to the shower. When he was assured that he could make it without face-planting on the way, he grabbed his phone and started shuffling in that direction. With a yawn, he looked at the screen . . . and at a picture of a flower shop taken through open weathered wooden doors.

   Right.

   He had someone else’s phone. What was her name? Harper.

   Harper had a text message. Jonah’s first thought was that he should definitely not tap on the screen to read the text because that was a total invasion of privacy and it was none of his business. He would not like to think she was scrolling through his text messages.

   His second thought was that he should totally read the text. What if it was important? What if someone had died? Okay, if someone had died, the news probably wouldn’t come in a text. Okay . . . what if someone had used her credit card? And hadn’t she said to let her know about texts?

   He tapped on the screen.

   Her text message was from someone she had marked in her contacts as SW:

   Harper, greetings and felicitous felicitations given with genuine felicity.

   Jonah stumbled mentally over that and had to read it again.

   As the year draws to a close—a bounteous year, for which we were truly blessed—I am reflecting on our goals and contemplating some changes. You were right to tell me that you deserve better. I have sought higher guidance through meditation, and I am ready to share my thoughts with you when you come back. I hope the holidays bring you peace and light. Soren.

   Well, hello, this was some boyfriend she had for herself. Or girlfriend. For the sake of his own curiosity, Jonah wished he’d gotten a better look at the woman sitting next to him in the ride share yesterday. All he really remembered was that she smelled like wet clothes and lavender, and she had light brown hair with gold highlights. But that was all he could recall, because at the time he’d been straddling a nonexistent middle seat and bracing himself for impact.

   He decided he ought to forward the text. He didn’t want to bother her on Christmas Eve, but if this was a boyfriend-girlfriend text, she would probably want to know. He would want to know if he had a girlfriend, which, hello, he did not, because . . . honestly, he didn’t know why. Maybe because he was essentially dating an old coffee shop.

   He continued on to the guest bath. He stepped inside and closed the door, and forwarded the text to his number. He added, Good morning. I thought you might like to know that your boyfriend or girlfriend sent a text. Should we have a rule about texts? Read or don’t read? Anyway, hope I’m not interrupting holiday plans. J.

   He left the phone on the counter and turned on the shower. He stood under the stream of water long enough that one of his cousins banged on the door. He got out, wiped down the steamed mirror, and shaved.

   He felt much better after the shower. He wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up the phone. Harper had replied.

   Definitely read!

   And then, OMG SO NOT my boyfriend, followed by the vomit emoji. That’s my boss. But thanks for sending it along, because between you and me, it’s a Christmas miracle that he agreed I was right and that I deserve better. Now, if only I knew what he was talking about, because I do love it when I’m right. I like to hang on to being right and wear it like Joseph’s Technicolor dream coat for a few days. She inserted a smiley face and a Christmas tree to end the text. Merry Christmas.

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