“Traffic,” I say with a grumble as I fasten my belt around my waist.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, when I slide it out to check the screen, I find a text from Melrose.
MELROSE: ARE YOU AT WORK YET?
I tap out a quick “yes” before putting my phone back and getting to work.
My phone buzzes again, but I’m busy. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.
I grab a spool of wire and head to the kitchen, where another one of my guys has started on the central vac pre-wire. A woman in heels and jeans measures for appliances before scribbling numbers in her notebook, offering a quick smile and scampering out of the saw-dust-and-salt-air scented home.
“You okay today?” Manny, my number one, asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I sniff.
“You seem … I don’t know … pissed off about something.”
“Hey, hand me that conduit bender.” I change the subject because it’s none of his business, and talking about it is just going to piss me off even more.
Manny hands it over, and I feel his stare, but I ignore it. I need to get through today without miswiring anything and costing my business a small fortune. These real estate mogul-types are always so quick to sue for “lost time” and stupid shit like that. They have teams of attorneys on retainer and speed dial. One misstep and that could be the end of Alcott Electric.
I’m running conduit when my phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t stop because deadlines.
But then it buzzes again.
And again.
Exhaling, I dig into my jeans and check the screen.
MELROSE: OMG. MURPHY IS GONE.
MELROSE: I THINK HE SLIPPED UNDER THE FENCE.
MELROSE: I’M FREAKING OUT.
“Everything okay?” Manny asks.
I picture Melrose’s pretty face with tear-streaked cheeks. I picture her ocean eyes glassy and clouded, her trembling hands covering her heart.
Before I get a chance to reply to her messages, she’s calling me.
“Yeah, I have to run out and take care of something,” I say, silencing the call and shoving the phone back. I’ll call her when I’m in the truck.
“Seriously? You’re just going to leave me hanging?” Manny asks, half pretending like he’s joking. Sometimes I think he forgets that I’m his fucking boss.
“Don’t,” I say. I know we’re on a tight timeline. I know we have deadlines to hit. But I can’t leave Melrose hanging. I might be a dick, but I’m not a royal dick.
Manny lifts his palms in the air, a silent apology.
Placing the spool of conduit on the subfloor, I unfasten my belt and get the hell out of there.
“You coming back?” he asks as I leave.
“I hope so.”
“MURPHY!” I SCREAM MY dog’s name for the millionth time. I’m sure I look like a crazy person, run-walking up and down the street crying and peering between bushes and jumping as high as I can to try and see over fences, all the while shaking a bag of his favorite bacon-flavored treats, but I’m desperate. “Murphy!”
This morning we did our normal thing. I got up and let him outside and went to freshen up. But when I came back, I opened the slider to the back and called for him … and nothing. I stepped out on the patio and scanned the backyard, thinking he was hiding behind a tree or something … and then I saw the depression in the grass, leaving just enough room for his pudgy butt to squeeze under the fence.
Drying my tears on the backs of my hands, I decide to start canvassing. I start at the white house on the corner, tromping up the front steps, clearing my throat, and ringing the doorbell.
No answer.
Of course.
People are generally at work this time of morning.
I’m on house number four with no luck when I see Sutter’s truck barreling down the street. He stops, not in front of our place, but in front of the house next door. I watch as he heads up the front walk and knocks on the door. A second later, a white-haired woman lets him in.
And I wait.
My heart thumps so hard in my throat, I feel like it could choke me at any minute, and my cheeks are flushed, hot red. Making my way back toward the house, I keep my focus trained on the neighbor lady’s blue front door.
Time stops somehow.
The world around me doesn’t exist.
Nothing matters. Nothing except finding my dog.
But then the blue door swings open and from where I’m standing, I can only see the back of Sutter’s t-shirt, though it appears as if he’s holding something in his arms.
He turns a second later and I could kiss him.
I could kiss him so hard.
“Oh my god,” I say as I sprint toward the superhero holding my dog. “How did you know where he was?”
Sutter hands Murphy to me, who seems as chipper as always.