“Thank you for saying that.”
“I meant every word,” Millie says firmly.
I know I’m blushing as I try to decide what I can say that will take the attention away from me. “I’m surprised she would deign to consider a job at the police station.”
“That’s down to her being a master manipulator.” She sighs. “She doesn’t want a job; she wants pow—”
“Fancy seeing you two here,” a voice calls.
It’s only been a day, but I already recognize the timbre. Looking away from Millie, I watch as Tyler approaches us, a fluffy Alaskan malamute—bigger than a puppy but definitely not full grown—with a pink tennis ball in its mouth at his side. As soon as the dog sees Millie, it drops the ball and runs for her. The way she laughs when the dog jumps up on her and starts licking her face tells me this is a regular occurrence. Tyler picks up the discarded ball before walking the rest of the way to where we’re seated.
“Hey, Chief,” Millie answers before she turns her attention to rubbing the dog’s head and telling her she’s a good girl.
The sight of Tyler Jameson in faded blue jeans and a maroon-colored Henley has my tongue tied up in knots. I thought he was sexy in his uniform, but this is next level. “Hi, Chief,” I say, parroting Millie.
When he frowns, there’s a small line between his furrowed brows. Lord, help me—even that’s sexy. I wonder exactly how old he is. My guess is late twenties or early thirties, but since he’s Chief of the department, it seems more likely that he’s the latter instead of the former.
“Tsk, tsk, neighbor. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten I told you to call me Tyler,” he scolds.
I laugh nervously and take a sip of wine cooler. “Sorry. I just repeated what Millie said. I remember that you told me to call you Tyler.”
I also remember how he stopped by my desk more than a dozen times to see how I was getting on, and that he ate lunch with me in the break room.
My attention moves from Tyler to the dog when it makes a Chewbacca type noise and starts nosing at my hand for attention. Putting my legs down, I grin as I gently scratch the top of the dog’s head the way Millie did.
“What’s her name?” I ask Tyler.
“Her name is Boo.”
Boo’s tongue lolls out the side of her mouth as I scratch behind her ears and under her jaw. “She’s a good girl,” I coo.
“Such a sweetheart,” Millie agrees. “I told Abe that we need a Boo of our own, but that stubborn old coot says dogs are too much work and I’m busy enough already. Pssh, like he’s got any clue. Anytime you want to know what a lot of work is, come to my house and clean up after Abraham Andover.”
I have to bite my lip to hold back a snicker. Over the course of my life, I’ve seen Mr. Andover make multiple attempts to clean up after himself or cook or even buy his own clothes. Each time, Millie tells him to sit his keister down while she takes care of it. Although she gripes, the truth is that one of her joys in life is taking care of her husband. I think it’s adorable. Over the top, for sure, but adorable.
“Thanks to this sweet girl,” Millie continues, “I get the best of both worlds. She comes and visits with me while the chief is at work. I may be guilty of slipping her some treats.”
“Is that why she’s getting chunky?” Tyler teases.
“She’s not chunky, Tyler,” Millie scolds. “She’s fluffy. Talk to me in six months once she’s full grown.”
I can’t hold back a giggle when the dog abruptly jumps up, maneuvering herself awkwardly until she’s able to lie down in my lap.
“Come on, Boo,” Tyler groans. “I didn’t hear Ashley ask for a big pile of fluff to set up camp in her lap.”
Boo looks over at her dad and yawns dramatically before she turns and snuggles into me.
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “She’s no bother.”
That makes him laugh. “She’s a thirty-eight-pound hairball. Let me know when either your legs fall asleep or you start to roast from being covered by thick-ass fur.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” I tease.
He goes silent while he watches his dog cuddle against me. “Lucky dog,” he murmurs.
I don’t know what it is about this man that gets to me the way he does, but when he says certain things, my pulse skyrockets. Like earlier today, when he came to my desk and asked if I was coming. I’d stared at him like a wide-eyed idiot for at least two seconds before he repeated himself and I realized I missed the words to the break room.
“Well, it’s time for me to make Abe’s dessert, so I’m going to skedaddle,” Millie announces as she pushes up from her chair.