She sweeps her attention over me. “Didn’t figure you for a fancy dog breed person. Not into the whole rescue a mutt who needs love thing?”
“I’m not opposed. It was love at first sight with Roman.” I’m not lying. Ours was supposed to be a working relationship, but when he arrived in his crate all the way from Italy and I saw him for the first time, we bonded instantly.
He lifts his head and blinks at me, his way of saying he feels the same—or so I tell myself. It’s the same with Patsy. They could be playing me, but I don’t even care. I’m a sucker for my animals.
“How romantic,” she says drily. “It’s just the three of you?”
Daphne’s face and voice remain neutral, like she’s simply asking out of polite conversation and not prying into details about personal life.
“Yep. Me, Patsy, and Roman,” I say with a nod. “We’ve got everything we need for a good life in the holler.”
“In the holler.” She mimics my deep Appalachian accent.
“Are you making fun of the hillbilly?” How original. “Hollow. Is that better?”
If it want, I can make my accent disappear entirely. I learned quick that a lot of people equate a Southern drawl with lower intelligence and I enjoy manipulating them using their own ignorance.
Her eyes widen at being called out. “No, not at all. I just think holler is a funny word for a place. I imagine a lot of yelling and echoes.”
“Actually, one of the reasons I like living in a holler is the quiet.”
“Sounds like the ideal bucolic life.”
“Beats the alternative of living in town with nosy neighbors. Or worse … in a city.” I exaggerate a shudder.
“I feel the same way. Too much concrete and metal give me hives, not to mention the exhaust and fumes.” She wraps her hands around her neck and coughs. “Suffocating. Can’t breathe.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a flair for the dramatic?”
“Me? Never.” She addresses this statement to Roman by scrunching up his ears and wiggling his face close to hers, and he licks her nose. She focuses her attention on him, basically ignoring me.
I didn’t have a plan other than to show up. Clearly, I didn’t think this through. What am I going to do, loiter around her work place all afternoon watching her play with my dog?
Giving Roman one more scratch behind the ears, she stands, still focused on him. “He’s sweet.”
“That’s what all the ladies say.” What am I saying? There are no ladies. Unlike my walks with Patsy, I don’t parade through town with my dog. Someone would have to come to the house to see him and other than family, no one visits me.
Her eyes flash to mine. “I imagine they do.”
I want to clarify, but if the past is an example, I’ll only dig myself deeper into a hole with her.
“Well, I need to get back to work.” She points to the building behind her.
Shifting my heavy pack, I slide it off my shoulder and set it down for a moment to put away my water bottle.
Eying it, she asks, “What do you have in there? Rocks?”
“Ha ha. No. Just apples.” The statement is out of my mouth before I can take it back.
Her eyes turn into slits as she stares at the backpack and then up at me, her face full of suspicion. “You’re hiking with apples?”
I don’t want to explain about the orchard and family ties to the land, so I lie. “Easier to manage than soup cans.”
It’s nearly impossible to imagine that at one point in my life, I was considered a player. I’ve never been this awkward around a woman before. Time to cut my losses.
“I don’t want to keep you from your rangerly duties.” I lift the pack and reposition it on my back.
“Nice to see you again.” Her voice has a professional polish to it that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.
“Sure. Yeah. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” I walk backward away from her, gently tugging Roman with me. He normally follows me without any coercion but lingers near her feet. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
He lies down.
“Looks like you might have yourself a dog,” I joke.
Thankfully, she laughs. “Not sure he’s my type. Probably too fancy for me.”
We’re talking about Roman. At least I think we are.
Another pull on his leash gets him moving.
Finally figuring out it’s better for me to remain silent, I flash her a smile followed by a wave as she heads back inside.
If I were an old Southern woman, I’d bless my own heart right now.
Chapter Eleven
Daphne
At the end of the day, I’m still replaying my conversation with Odin.
Did I really say he’s too fancy for me and not my type? I should’ve clarified I was joking about Roman being a fancy Italian water dog, not him, though maybe he is a little bit extra with his weird produce and Patsy. Are hipsters into pet pigs now? Floppy farmer hats are the new fedoras, so could be. Do people even refer to other people as hipsters anymore? I have no idea.
I don’t have a ton of experience with men. I missed out on the typical awkward middle school social shenanigans and dating in high school. My sisters and I weren’t allowed to date or hang out with members of the opposite sex without chaperones.
At the time, I didn’t know what I was missing because I didn’t know any different. Everyone I grew up around was like me. Their families were members of the same church. We were homeschooled or went to a small charter school populated only with kids like us. My world was tiny.
In college, Kacey introduced me to John Hughes movies and High School Musical, Glee, and Taylor Swift. She used to joke I was an alien from another planet. In a way, she wasn’t wrong.
We haven’t talked much since the weekend she visited. I text her and tell her about my promotion.
Breaking the universal rule of responding to a text with a text, she immediately calls me. The ringer startles me.
“Congratulations!” I can hear other voices and music in the background.
“Where are you?” I ask her.
“What?”
I repeat my question, only louder.
“I’m at a bar with some coworkers.” The noise decreases. “Okay, I stepped outside. They won’t miss me.”
I check the time on the screen. It’s only seven but I’m already in my pajamas.
“Are you there?” she asks. “Hello?”
“I’m here.”
“That’s great about the official job. Glad you’ll be staying in the area.”
“For now. You know me. I like to move around.”
“Someday you’ll find a reason to stay put. Have you seen the hottie farmer again?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.”
“Then why aren’t you giving me all the dirt?” Her volume increases with her indignation.
“There isn’t much to tell.”
I proceed to spend the next ten minutes trying to recall every detail of seeing Odin at Genie’s and today. I leave out the part about my body’s involuntary warming and tingling whenever I’m near him.