The Foxe & the Hound

  I like the sound of having a bit more space. In Chicago, my neighbors were right on top of me.

  “What about a middle ground? Somewhere not too far out, but maybe still on an acre or two?”

  She jots down my request and nods. “That’s definitely doable. I can already think of a few homes that come to mind.”

  “And I’d prefer an older home that’s been remodeled. I’m not afraid of a little renovation work, but I don’t have time to build from the ground up right now.”

  Her pen flies as I continue outlining what I’d want in a house. It feels good to decide everything for myself instead of having to compromise.

  “A porch would be nice.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Maybe two stories? At least four bedrooms.”

  She smiles. “I thought you said you weren’t sure what type of house you were looking for.”

  It’s another thirty minutes before I feel like I’ve told her everything that comes to mind. The whole process doesn’t seem so daunting anymore, and I want to start looking right away.

  “How about we start this Saturday?” Madeleine asks, looking at her calendar on her laptop. “That’ll give me enough time to compile a list of homes, and you can sit on some of the decisions you made today and see if they change.”

  “Sounds good.”

  It’s Thursday, so Saturday is only two days away, but it seems like too long.

  “Could I come by and run Mouse tonight?”

  She stops taking notes and peers up at me from beneath her lashes. “Really? You don’t have to run with him just because I offered.”

  I insist, though I know I’ll be regretting my decision in the morning. I’ve worked out, but I haven’t run any long distances since I left Chicago. My legs are already burning just thinking about it.

  “Okay.” She smiles shyly, focusing once again on the notes in front of her. “You can come by around six. And I might have you sign a waiver—I think Mouse has put on 10 or 15 more pounds just this week.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MADELEINE

  I have no earthly idea why Adam wants to come over and run with Mouse. Sure, he mentioned that he loves running, but he can run by himself any time he wants. Does he really like Mouse that much, or is there more to it? I ponder this question while zipping around my small apartment, tidying up at warp speed. The only person who ever comes over is Daisy, and I never bother picking up for her. She has seen this place in its full glory, but Adam hasn’t, and he shall never see the full extent of my bachelorette barbarian lifestyle—not if I want him to think of me as a functioning adult. I start with the vacuum, but that takes twice as long as I thought it would thanks to all the puppy hair Mouse seems to shed at alarming rates lately. I zoom through the house, tripping over the vacuum cord three times before I’m finally finished. I am sporting nice bruises on my knees and a seriously jammed baby toe, but there isn’t a speck of hair on my floor.

  After that, I scrub the bathroom and the kitchen. I take out the garbage and load up another trash bag with things I should have been tossing on a regular basis: empty shampoo bottles, old magazines, an adult coloring book Daisy bought for me that I never got around to actually using. I did rip the pages out and use them as gum receptacles a time or two, which had a very soothing effect on my stress levels. Thank you very much, adult coloring.

  The second trash bag is remarkably heavy—like drag it on the floor and groan heavy—and I decide right then and there that I’m going to clean my house more.

  “Do you hear that Mouse?! We’re cleaning this place up at least once a week—well, if we don’t get kicked out first!”

  He doesn’t respond, and when I walk out of the bathroom, I find him chewing on the vacuum cord. Good dog, save me from the prospect of weekly cleaning.

  I am losing my mind and suddenly it’s 5:50. I’m still in my work clothes, and I can’t decide how that makes me look. I consider changing, but Adam is due any minute and I still have to take out my second bag of trash, put up the vacuum, light a candle, and somehow teach Mouse how to behave like a good dog before Adam arrives.

  It’s no use. I’m running back to my apartment when I spot Adam pulling into the parking lot. If possible, his car is shinier than it was the last time I saw it. I really wish he wouldn’t park next to my clunker. It’s just cruel.

  “Hey Madeleine,” he says as he opens his door and steps out.

  He’s in running shorts and a t-shirt, sneakers and a ball cap. He is suddenly sexier than I’ve ever seen him, which makes no sense considering half his face is covered by the hat and his aviators.

  “Oh hey Adam. C’mon, Mouse is inside waiting for you.” And probably terrorizing my apartment in some new and creative way.

  “Where did you just come from?” he asks, turning behind me to look at the apartment complex.

  “Oh, the dumpster. Had to take some trash out.”

  “Ahh, that explains the ice cream wrapper stuck to your dress.”

  I look around, and sure enough, there’s a Snickers ice cream bar wrapper stuck directly to my hip. When I pull it off, chocolate sludge clings to the fabric.

  “Ugh…gross…that must’ve come from someone else’s trash. I don’t really do desserts, just lean protein and broccoli.”

  He chuckles and follows me inside. Mouse goes crazy when he spots Adam, jumping and whining until Adam eventually gets him under control. I don’t even bother apologizing or trying to explain away the behavior. Adam knows what kind of beast Mouse is by now, and unless a miracle occurs, he’s not going to come into manners overnight.

  “I’m going to change really quick so I can wash this thing,” I say over my shoulder. “Make yourself at home, give yourself the grand tour, whatever.”

  I shut the door to my bedroom, rip off my sheath dress, and rummage through my drawers until I find a pair of workout shorts and a tank top. I’m not actually planning on working out, but I like the illusion it creates.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he calls from the living room.

  “Thanks! There’s water in the fridge if you need it!”

  Two seconds later, I hear a crash and come running, yanking my tank top down as I go. Half of the contents of my refrigerator are on the floor. Adam is standing, frozen—no, horrified.

  “Oh god, I forgot to warn you—”

  “I just opened the door and everything came tumbling out.”

  I have a tiny refrigerator, like half the size of a normal one. I’d complain to Mr. Hall about it, but y’know, beggars can’t be choosers. Anyway, I make do. I shove all my food inside of it and carefully stack it in a way that it doesn’t come tumbling down if I open the door slowly enough.

  Adam, of course, didn’t think to do that, and now he’s bent over picking up my yogurt and apples.

  “It’s a small fridge,” I offer lamely as I try to help.

  “Yeah, sorry, I was trying to get some water and didn’t think to prepare myself for an avalanche.”

  I look up to find him smiling.

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “I feel like someone has to. The amount of accidents that happen to you on a daily basis must break some kind of Guinness World Record.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. I stand and start shoving food back into the fridge before I hand him the water pitcher.

  “There you go, Mr. Hydration. Have as much as you want.”

  He accepts the glass I hand him and then leans back against the counter. I lean back against the opposite one, and my galley kitchen feels small with him inside of it. I mean, it always feels small, but now it feels microscopic. If I reached my foot out just a little, I’d bump his shoes. I wonder what he thinks. He’s probably used to something a little more spacious, more up to date. My appliances are from the stone ages, and the dishwasher, though intact, doesn’t even work. I store my winter clothes in it because I’m resourceful like that.

  “You can come running with us if you want.”


  I refocus my attention on his face, having just stared at his legs for the last thirty seconds. Have I ever cared about a man’s legs before?

  Adam is smiling, mocking me still.

  “I’d rather get stuck on a deserted island with Lori.”

  He laughs.

  “Not much of a runner?”

  “My brother got the running genes. I got—”

  “The clumsy genes.”

  I smirk. “Exactly.”

  He finishes off his water and turns to open the dishwasher. This time, I react fast enough to stop him.

  “Oh! No worries,” I say, retrieving the glass from his hand. “I hand wash everything.”

  Mouse goes crazy once I grab his leash. Adam hooks it to his collar and then salutes me on his way out the door, promising not to be gone too long. I close the door after them, press my back to the door, and then slowly, my gaze falls on the one thing I forgot to clean: my dirty clothes hamper in the middle of the living room. It was in plain view for Adam, and sitting right on top is a sheer pale pink bra I bought ages ago and only pull out when I have no other options. It only takes a second for me to calculate the odds of Adam having seen it—100%. Perfect. Now he probably thinks I put the hamper out there on purpose, like I’m trying to seduce him with my delicates. I groan and carry the hamper into my bedroom then force myself to pull up a workout video on YouTube. It’s either that or continue to clean; I can’t watch TV while Adam is out exercising my dog. It feels wrong.

  By the time he knocks on my door 45 minutes later, I’m lying in a heap on my floor, sweating and refusing to stand.

  The yoga video I picked was called Intermediate Yoga, or so I thought. A quick check after I’ve finished proves that I read it wrong. Insanity Yoga is listed in the description box, which, to me, seems like an oxymoron.

  Adam knocks again and I know I have to get up off the floor. I try to move my legs, but they don’t budge. I groan and try again, forcing myself to get up. Every step to the door is painful, and my forearm burns as I turn the handle.

  Adam, bless him, looks like a sweaty God on my doorstep with his t-shirt clinging to his chest and arms. Mouse stands beside him, panting and happy as a clam.

  “Looks like you two had fun,” I say, opening the door wide enough for them to step through.

  “Did you just take a shower?” he asks, amused by my current state, no doubt.

  “Insane yoga,” I whisper on a pained breath.

  He laughs. “Sounds like you should have just come running with us.”

  He unhooks the leash and Mouse takes off for his water bowl. I limp into the kitchen and pour Adam another glass of water then get one for myself as well. We’re back to standing across from each other in the tiny space, just like earlier, except now we’re both dripping with sweat and I think I need to tell Mr. Hall the air conditioning in my unit is on the fritz again because the air is hot, stagnant.

  Neither one of us talks as we finish our water, and I’m not brave enough to meet his eyes. Instead, I focus on Mouse, who laps up water from his bowl and then plops down right between us.

  “Was he a good running partner?” I ask Adam.

  “Terrible at first, but after the first mile, he seemed to get the hang of it.”

  I smile down at my dog. “Hear that Mouse? You were only terrible at first. That’s progress!”

  Mouse wags his tail.

  Adam laughs and I brave a glance up to him. He’s watching me—studying me, more like. I want to smooth my hand over my hair. Fix my ponytail. Tug my tank top up a bit. I think it shifted while I was working out and I can’t be sure, but I think I’m now rocking a little more cleavage than is appropriate. But, if I adjust my tank top, I’ll be drawing more attention to my breasts, and that won’t do. After the sheer bra fiasco, I’m trying to convince Adam I’m not desperately trying to seduce him.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, tilting his head.

  That damn smile is there. So confident. So appealing.

  I look away. “What? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Your eyes almost looked like you were…”

  Turned on?!

  “Bored,” I quip, moving around him to drop my cup in the sink. We need to move out of my kitchen. I’ve never thought so before, but it’s basically a muggy sex den. Such a confined space, with all those pots and pans and spatulas…I shiver.

  Adam’s phone rings and I tell him to take the call, but he shakes his head.

  “It’s not a call, it’s a reminder I set a week ago to alert me about a chamber of commerce meeting I have to attend tonight.”

  “When is it?”

  “In 20 minutes. Shit.”

  He probably doesn’t have time to go home and change.

  “I still have my work clothes in my car…” he says, thinking out loud. Then his gaze drags to my bathroom, and I catch on after an awkward amount of time.

  “Oh! Oh, yeah, do you want to shower here?”

  He drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to intrude. I just completely forgot about this thing—”

  I wave away his concerns. “No, you aren’t intruding. You just exercised my crazy dog! The least I can do is let you shower.”

  He thanks me and runs out to his car for his clothes. I use the thirty seconds to scramble around and confirm that nothing embarrassing is left in my shower. When he walks back in, I’ve just finished hiding my bikini trimmer. I whip around and smile.

  “Sorry, I don’t have any manly shower products. You’re going to end up smelling like lavender.”

  He shrugs. “It’s either that or B.O.”

  I catch a whiff of the sweat and manly musk wrapped up with a hint of his body wash. I’m half inclined to tell him he’d be fine going to the meeting as is, but I don’t say that because he nearly accused me of being turned on and I don’t know what would happen if he knew I was turned on. Would he still let me sell him a house? Would he feel awkward around me from then on?

  I don’t want to find out.

  “All right, so I’ll just be right out here,” I say, pointing to the hallway.

  He nods and turns the shower on. Even after he closes the door, I can hear him moving around. My apartment is too small.

  Clothes hit the floor then the shower curtain gets tugged to one side. Feet step into the tub and water splashes down Adam’s naked body. I pinch my eyes closed just as a bottle gets uncapped.

  He’s lathering himself up, maybe washing his hair, and I can’t take it. I turn on music and hand wash the glasses we used for water. It only takes me a second, so I wash them again.

  Mouse is staring up at me.

  He knows my secrets.

  He knows my shame.

  I shoo him away and wash the glasses again.

  The shower turns off and the shower curtain gets pulled to the side again. I sigh with relief. In a few minutes he’ll be dry and clothed and out of my apartment, and if I happen to crawl into bed and pull out Señorita Vibrator, well, that’s a secret I’ll take to the grave.

  “Uhh, Madeleine?”

  His voice shocks me enough that I drop the glass in the sink. Thankfully, it doesn’t shatter.

  “Yeah?” I call out, my voice shakier than I would have liked.

  “Do you have any towels in here?”

  Of course I forgot to put one out for him. Add poor hostess to my list of deficiencies.

  “Check the middle cabinet,” I shout. “There should be one in there.”

  “I already checked.”

  My eyes dart to the dirty hamper in my room. One, two, three dirty towels are stuffed inside. I cringe. I had to use them yesterday when Mouse came back muddy from our walk. Right. I have no clean towels. Adam is naked in my bathroom and I have nothing to hand him. I yank open the kitchen drawer at my hip and pull out all the tea towels I can find. There are five in total—maybe if he uses them conservatively, they’ll dry off his whole body.

  “Adam?” I ask, stepping towa
rd the bathroom door. “I realize this is going to sound weird, but—”

  “You have no clean towels.”

  “It’s Mouse’s fault! Listen, crack the door and I’ll hand you some of my kitchen towels. They’re small but clean, so they should work.”

  He laughs, and I know he’s adding this to the list of things he wants to mock me about. Who doesn’t have a single clean towel in their whole apartment? Madeleine Thatcher, that’s who.

  “All right, hand them over,” he says, cracking the door and holding out his hand.

  The exchange was supposed to be smooth. I slip the towels through the crack, he grabs them, shuts the door, dries off, and gets the hell out of my apartment.

  But I don’t consider Mouse. I don’t consider the fact that he would desperately miss Adam in the few minutes he was in the shower. I don’t consider that Mouse would come bounding forward with enough force to push the bathroom door wide open. It’s the slowest slow-motion experience I’ve ever witnessed.

  My hand is stretched out in an attempt to pass Adam the towels.

  He’s standing at the threshold of the bathroom, naked and dripping wet. He’s tan from head to toe, and I know this because in the second I have to take in all of his naked glory, I see every inch. EVERY. SINGLE. INCH.

  My jaw drops.

  The man is miles of toned muscle, tight abs, strong thighs. My gaze roves everywhere—and I mean everywhere—before I come to my senses, dramatically slap my free hand over my eyes, and announce, “You have a scar on your hip!”

  He yanks the towels out of my hand. “Bike accident when I was seven. Would you like to see the one on my back as well?”

  I shiver at the thought of seeing his butt.

  “No—please—I mean no, thank you,” I chirp.

  “I was kidding.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “So are you going to turn around? Mouse is standing in the doorway and you’re blocking him, so I can’t shut to the door.”

  I jump into action, grab Mouse, and whip around, trying my hardest not to die of mortification. The bathroom door shuts just as I run into the wall. Even then, I’m too scared to take my hand away until I’m safely back in the galley kitchen. I press myself against the refrigerator and try to calm down, but my heart is beating a wild rhythm in my chest, thump, thump, thumping so hard that I feel like my arteries might burst.