Dasher whines, and I hold him off for five minutes, but then my heart can’t handle his whimpering any longer. So his relentless game of fetch begins again.
Every few words I write, I throw that damn ball as far as I can. He doesn’t take the hint that I’mover it.
“Please.I really need to work,” I tell him as if he can understand. We play until he runs to the back door. For a moment, I think I’ll get a break, that is, until he paws at it. I huff, set down my laptop, then meet him.
“Let's come to an agreement first. You do your business, then come right back. Got it?”
I wait, almost expecting an answer, but he just stares forward in anticipation.
“Okay, fine,” I say, twisting the knob and opening the door. The first thing Dasher does is jump in a pile of snow.
“Oh God,” I groan, stepping onto the deck to watch him run around. “Hurry up so we can go back inside!”
The cold air wafts into the house, and I shiver, wishing I had grabbed my coat. A sweater and a thermal aren’t enough.
“Dasher!”
He bunny hops around, the bright green ball still in his mouth as he has the time of his life. I shut the door, trying to warm up, but keep an eye on him through the window. I tap on the glass, and he pops his head up with his ears raised. “Come on, go potty!”
He goes back to tossing the ball in the air and playing by himself. I shake my head, annoyed that I’m left to watch this spoiled animal who has no consideration for my productivity.
“Fine,” I mutter and return to my laptop in the living room. If he’s smart enough to let me know when he wants out, he should be smart enough to let me know when he wants back in.
Sighing, I look back at the cursor steadily blinking on my screen. I read over the few sentences I wrote while distracted, not fully impressed with them, and decide to highlight and delete them.
Until I see more, I won’t be able to continue writing, so I stop forcing it. Instead, I text my sister with an update.
Fallon: We lost power during the storm, and it just came back on. Sorry for not calling you back, but I’m safe.
Taryn: I was worried to death about you! What do you mean, WE?
Fallon: Long story. Can I call you?
Immediately, my phone rings. I explain every single detail, and when I stop to finally take a breath, she speaks up.
“Wow,” she says. “So you’re staying in this stranger’s house until you find another place? Is he hot?”
I snort.
“I’ll take that as ayes.”
I shrug, trying to seem indifferent. “Kinda. But it doesn’t matter because he’s obsessed with the holidays. His family owns a Christmas tree farm, and it’s his whole personality—including every inch of his house. We’re completely opposite. He makes fun of me for not being able to survive out in the wilderness like a psycho.”
She chuckles, and I know she’s probably thinking the same thing as him. “Who cares. Not like you’ll be calling him Santa Claus while getting tangled up in the sheets. I mean, unless you’re into that kinda thing. Call himSt. Dickwhile he rams your sleigh.”
“Taryn,” I scold. “Gross.”
Just as a thought comes to me, I hear barking outside. “Shit. I’ve gotta let the dog inside before he loses his shit or runs off.”
“Wait, you’re taking care of his dog?”
“Yeah, and not because I want to. He forced it on me while he snow plows the driveway and his family’s farm. And don’t you dare make a plowing joke,” I warn.
She snickers. “You know me so well. But anyway, I’m glad you’re okay. I was ready to send a search and rescue party out for you, but then I Googled the town and saw how bad it was. Figured you lost power.”
“Yeah, it was actually pretty scary. The wind sounded evil, and I nearly froze to death. I’m kinda tired, though. Haven’t been sleeping that great since I got here. The heat went out, and my room is an ice box.”
“You know what’ll warm you right up?”