The Foxe & the Hound

  I tell her to take my turn for me and then I head for the bathroom.

  I just need a little break, five seconds to stare at my reflection in the hazy bathroom mirror and assess where my life took such a sharp turn for the worse. I only manage three seconds of my existential crisis before Daisy pushes the door open and joins me.

  “I hope you and Lucas are happy,” I say, crossing my arms and meeting her gaze in the mirror.

  “About what?”

  “Inviting Adam and Tori. Why is he here anyway?”

  She steps up and props her hip on the sink beside mine. “Lucas wanted to include him. I think they’re friends or something now.”

  “So as his friend, he decided to set him up with Tori?”

  She frowns and narrows her eyes, doing her best to pry into my brain. I sigh and turn away, pretending to fix my makeup in the mirror.

  “We didn’t want him to feel like the third wheel, so it made sense to invite her.”

  “But not me?”

  “I tried to invite you, but you shut me down before I could even finish telling you the plan.”

  That part I can’t argue with.

  “Would you have wanted to be invited?” she asks, poking me in the side.

  I snort. “Obviously! Look at how dismal this singles night is. I’d rather be hanging out with you guys than trying to avoid getting caught in that cowboy’s tobacco breath.”

  “Ohh, that sucks. He seemed like such a good prospect.”

  “He was, right up until he spit a bunch of dip into a cup right in front of me.”

  “All right, well, I forbid you from going back. C’mon, come have fun with us. I don’t even really like Tori, and Lucas can barely tolerate her outside the office. I think we’re both regretting asking her to tag along.”

  “What about Adam?”

  “Huh?”

  “Is he annoyed with Tori?”

  “I can’t tell. They seem to be talking a lot.”

  “Awesome.”

  “You’re into him, aren’t you?”

  Her question pisses me off, so I don’t bother replying. Instead, I push past her and head out of the bathroom, on a mission to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do all night. Adam is sitting at their lane, checking his phone while Tori takes her turn. I don’t pass go. I don’t collect 200 dollars. I march right up and don’t stop until I’m only a few inches away from him. He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his legs, and when he locks his phone and glances up at me, it suddenly feels like I’m too close. I’m almost standing between his knees, but if I back up, I’ll look like a coward. He leans back in his chair, makes no move to shift his legs, and then glances up at me with a self-assured smile.

  “Why haven’t you returned my calls?” I ask, my arms crossed as aggressively as possible. “I left you a bunch of voicemails.”

  “I called you back.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sure you did.”

  “I called you this afternoon and left a message on your work phone.”

  I can’t verify if that’s true or not; I was showing Mr. Boggs a few houses.

  “Right, well, I have no clue if you did leave a message or what you might have said, but here’s the deal, Adam: you’re going to buy a house from me.”

  “That was the deal.”

  “And you’re not going to feed me any lines about how I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain, because I did. It’s not my fault your mom moonlights as a polygraph examiner.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “And I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

  He leans forward and pushes to stand. For two seconds we’re chest to chest, but I cave first and step back, giving us both a little bit of breathing room. Tori is buzzing behind us, trying to get Adam’s attention, but his gaze is on me. His eyes are searing into mine, and my knees are suddenly weak. He takes my elbow and leads me away from the group so we can talk in private. I think it’ll also give me the opportunity to regain some of my personal space, but he doesn’t allow it. He’s right in front of me again. His cologne, his chiseled jaw line—all of it seems to be the best thing I’ve encountered in months.

  “Are you listening to me, Madeleine?” he says, his hand still on my elbow. “I’m going to buy a house from you.”

  “Oh, right.” I nod, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Good.”

  “When do we get started?” he asks, fending off the smile trying to make a comeback on his lips.

  “How about tomorrow?” I ask, glancing down at his grip on my arm.

  He releases me just before he replies, “Perfect.”

  “I’m assuming you’ll need to schedule it in the evening? After you finish seeing patients?”

  I’m all business, very professional.

  “We can go on my lunch break. I can give you all the time you need.”

  Hope and happiness wrap themselves around me like a warm hug. This might actually happen. I might actually sell him a house and Helen will have to take me off probation. I could cry, but I manage to keep it together.

  I hold my hand out, and he wraps it up in his tight grip. We shake and shake, holding each other’s eye contact until I finally cave and crack a smile.

  “That was pretty bold of you to march over like that,” he says.

  “It felt like an out-of-body experience,” I admit.

  He smiles wider, still shaking my hand.

  “You know you didn’t have to feed me that whole line the other day about you ‘not being ready to date’—you clearly have no problem hanging out with Tori.”

  His grip tightens ever so slightly around my hand. “It wasn’t a line. Daisy invited her to tag along, nothing more to it.”

  I already know this, but I’m having an insecure, weird moment and I wanted him to corroborate Daisy’s story. It feels disturbingly good to hear he didn’t invite Tori himself—so good that I can’t help but push the conversation one step forward.

  “Yeah, well, have you fed her the line about not wanting to date yet?”

  We shake and shake and shake.

  “There’s no reason to tell her that. She’s not someone I’m interested in.”

  “Oh, but you told me?” I quip.

  Something flashes in his green eyes just as the significance of my statement settles over us. He doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t let go of my hand. It’s the strangest, most charged exchange I’ve had in years. It’s just a handshake, but I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few months I look down and have a big ol’ baby bump.

  “Adam?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I should get back to singles night,” I say, my voice weak and useless.

  “Right.”

  “You can let go of my hand now.”

  He doesn’t. “Are you going to go home with that guy in your bowling group?”

  “Why do you care? Worried some big cowboy is going to have his way with me in a barn full of hay?”

  He finally releases my hand and steps back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ADAM

  My morning at the clinic is spent with three dogs, two cats, and a wily parrot. My patients demand my attention, but I still manage to carve out a little bit of space in my head to delve into my weird feelings for Madeleine. I came to Hamilton with no intention of digging in and growing roots. For the last eight years, I’ve had nothing but roots. I need time to myself, to adjust to a life that isn’t shared with Olivia. We only broke up a few months ago—isn’t there some kind of rule for this? If we were together for eight years, shouldn’t it take me at least eight months to move on? So then why does it already feel like Olivia is a distant memory?

  Even the pain I endured through the breakup seems to have faded away.

  It’s Texas.

  I swear the humidity sucks the feeling right out of you. Who can stand to hold a grudge when it’s already hitting above 90 in the early afternoon? They say crime rates go down in the summer because no on
e can endure the endless heat. Maybe my anger with Olivia can’t endure it either.

  Or maybe it’s just Madeleine.

  The woman has an uncanny ability to pop up when I least expect her. Hamilton is small, but not that small, yet Madeleine is everywhere—and somehow, it’s not enough. I accepted the invitation to go bowling with Lucas yesterday because I thought Madeleine would be there. She’s his sister, and she’s Daisy’s best friend. It would make sense for them to invite her, but then they surprised me with Tori and I had to make the best of the situation.

  I bowled for shit, too busy trying to steal glances of Madeleine and the cowboy one lane over. I knew about cowboy boots, but I thought pearl snaps were just another hacky Texas stereotype. I’m surprised he didn’t light a campfire in the middle of the bowling alley and pull out a harmonica.

  I’m checking out my last patient before lunch—an old, docile golden retriever. Maybe if he were a bit more rambunctious as I listen to his heart and lungs, I wouldn’t be wondering why Madeleine was at a singles night in the first place. She’s beautiful and funny, there’s no getting around it, and I doubt there’s a man in this town who would deny it—so why is she trying to find dates at a bowling alley?

  I bring it up to Sasha, the receptionist, and try to act casual about it.

  “Oh, Madeleine Thatcher? Yeah, I know her. She was one grade below me in school.”

  I’m reminded how small this town is.

  “Did she date much?”

  Her brows hit the ceiling. “Madeleine? No way. She was too busy heading up every club in school. She was the classic overachiever, just like her brother, except he went off to become a doctor, and Madeleine sort of…fizzled out.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean in college she majored in something crazy like global finance, and yet here she is, back in Hamilton, switching dead end jobs every few years.”

  Interesting.

  “But even if she wanted to date, guys at Hamilton High were a little intimidated by her. I mean, she’s not exactly Miss Congeniality. Most guys want someone who’s a little more upbeat, someone with a little personality.”

  I laugh before I can stop myself. “Oh, she’s got personality all right.”

  Sasha shrugs. “Well then it’s wasted on men here in Hamilton. If you ask me, I think she should move somewhere else. She could get some fancy job and meet a guy who actually appreciates her quirks.”

  Quirks. Jesus. Just because she doesn’t titter at everything a man says doesn’t mean she has quirks. She’s confident, smart, and somewhat cynical, but then again, so am I.

  I realize I’m defending her in my head and shove away from the front desk.

  “Thanks for the info. I’m headed to lunch.”

  “Want some company?” she asks, hopeful.

  “Already have some.”

  I drop my white coat in my office on the way out the door and then start to walk to Hamilton Brew. Madeleine emailed me this morning, confirming our lunch meeting and giving me the address for the coffee shop. I’m starving, and when I push through the door, I’m greeted by the smell of fresh baked bread.

  My stomach grumbles on cue, and then I scan the room and find Madeleine set up with her laptop and notes at a table pushed up against the side wall. She looks more professional than I’ve ever seen her in a fitted dress and nude flats. Her long hair is pulled into a high ponytail and she’s typing away at her laptop, and I almost agree with Sasha—in Chicago, men would be flocking to her. In Hamilton, her “quirks” are completely wasted.

  I weave through tables to get to her and she glances up, a wide smile breaking out across her face. She’s radiant despite the overcast day. I reach her and lean down, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She always smells like lavender, I realize, just before I feel her stiffen. I jerk back to standing.

  Why the hell did I just kiss her cheek?

  “Oh! Um, hello,” she says.

  A deep blush creeps up neck and I clear my throat.

  “Hey, did you already order?”

  She can’t meet my eyes. She’s focusing on a point just over my right shoulder as she shakes her head. “I was waiting for you.”

  I nod toward to the counter. “C’mon, I’m starving.” She drops her papers onto her laptop and reaches for her purse. I hold out my hand to stop her. “It’s on me.”

  She frowns and shakes her head. “I like to treat my clients when I invite them to meet me at a restaurant for business.”

  “And I like to pay when I take a friend to lunch,” I say, closing the subject.

  She doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t drop her purse either. That’s fine. When we order, I tell her to go first, and when she orders the same turkey club I was eyeing, I tell the cashier to make it two and then slip him my card before she can unclasp her wallet. She laughs and reaches for one of the massive chocolate chip cookies on display beside the cash register.

  “For that, you’re buying me a cookie too.”

  The coffee shop fills up for lunch fast, and by the time we’ve taken our seats with our sandwiches, no less than five people have come up to say hello to Madeleine.

  “You’re pretty popular,” I comment, unwrapping my sandwich.

  She shakes her head. “It’s just how life is here in Hamilton. Stay here for another few months and you’ll see. You can’t make it through a turkey club without ten people coming up—”

  “Maddie Thatcher, is that you!?”

  I turn just in time to see a small woman with short blonde hair bolting for Madeleine.

  “Mrs. Bell!” Madeleine says, leaping out of her chair. “When did you get back in town?!”

  They’re hugging and talking too fast for me to catch up, including mention of an RV trip and newlywed bliss. I finish half my sandwich before they finally extricate themselves from their conversation and notice me sitting here, watching them with amusement.

  “Oh, Adam! I’m sorry, this is Mrs. Bell, Daisy’s mom.”

  I can see the resemblance as soon as she mentions it. She’s a little shorter than Daisy, obviously older, but they have the same delicate bone structure, the same mischievous gaze.

  “Adam!” Mrs. Bells says, turning back to Madeleine and lowering her voice. “The vet, Adam?”

  Madeleine rolls her eyes. “Clearly Daisy has been filling you in. Yes, this is the vet, Adam but right now he’s my client, Adam.”

  Mrs. Bell squeals. “Oh, how amazing, Madeleine! Daisy told me you were having a rough go of real estate for a little bit. I’m so happy to see you with a new client.”

  I see Madeleine’s smile falter. Is she having a rough go of it? She was obviously desperate to get me as a client if she was willing to accept my proposal the other day, but I just thought she was being an overzealous agent—going the extra mile for her job, that sort of thing. Now, I’m not so sure.

  “Well once Madeleine sells me a house, I’ll recommend her to everyone I know,” I add, trying to ease her frown.

  The fact that I don’t really know many people in Hamilton is completely lost on Mrs. Bell. Her eyes glow with approval.

  “What a kind man.” She turns to Madeleine. “And handsome too, don’t you think?”

  Madeleine laughs. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that in front of him, Mrs. Bell. It’ll go to his head.”

  I smile. “I don’t mind, really.”

  Mrs. Bell laughs and tosses me a wink. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I don’t want to keep you two from your date—”

  “Lunch meeting,” Madeleine corrects.

  Mrs. Bell smiles. “In my day, we called them dates, but whatever floats your boat.”

  “He’s a client!”

  Once again, they seem to have completely forgotten I’m sitting here, listening, but I don’t mind. It’s the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks.

  “Well I’ve never had a client eye me the way he’s eyeing you.”

  I smile, but Madeleine groans and shoos her awa
y, threatening bodily harm if she keeps it up.

  “Don’t pay attention to her,” Madeleine insists, sitting back down at our table. “She likes to stir up trouble. It’s kind of her thing.”

  I shrug, finishing off the last bite of my sandwich before I reply, “I like her.”

  She reminds me of my mom, but somehow that kind of teasing is more charming when it comes from someone you aren’t related to.

  “She means well, but you should have seen the way she manipulated Daisy and Lucas before they finally got together. I thought Daisy was going to kill her.”

  I laugh, imagining it for myself. “I’d like to hear about that someday when we have more time.”

  Her eyes flash and she slaps her forehead. “Ugh, right, of course. We need to get down to business. You have to get back to work soon, I’m sure, and we haven’t even started to talk about real estate.”

  I wish we didn’t have to. I want to hear more about Mrs. Bell, about Madeleine’s life in Hamilton, but she insists. Her untouched sandwich gets pushed to the side as she turns her laptop so we can both see the screen.

  “So first we’ll go over the details about what you’re looking for—y’know, what your price range is, that sort of thing.”

  “I don’t know the answer to that.”

  She balks. “Which part? The price? Or the type of house you’re looking for?”

  “All of it. Price shouldn’t be an issue since I sold my house back in Chicago before I moved, but I haven’t put much thought into the house I’ll buy here.”

  “That’s okay. What was your house like back in Chicago?”

  I sit back in my chair, thinking it over. It was modern, and sparse. Olivia and I picked it out together and while I liked the open floor plan, the contemporary furniture and white rooms left the house feeling a little bare. I explain this to Madeleine and then I add, “I’d like to look for something a little more…homey, if that makes sense.”

  She smiles. “Of course it does. What about lot size? You probably didn’t have much land in Chicago, but here, you have a lot of options. Downtown living will afford you standard lot sizes of about 10,000 to 15,000 square feet. Outside of downtown, people usually sit on at least a few acres.”