The Conundrum of Collies (Love & Pets #6) - A.G. Henley Page 0,3

girlfriends, but somehow, he always talks himself out of making a commitment to them. I’ve only dated a few men, and most of them annoyed the heck out of me.

So here we are in our shared kitchen, still single. We’ve got careers, friends, families, and an overly energetic dog. It’s all good. Really good. I don’t want to wreck what we have.

We’re friends. Best friends. And housemates. Period.

But as I paw through the crisper drawer for edible vegetables, I feel restless. Life is good, but I think it’s time—time to tackle the bucket list.

I won’t ever check off unwritten item eleven, but I can accomplish number seven: learn to do something new.

I’ll take Bean to the Denver Disc Dogs club.

It’s new, and it’s progress. And that’s something.

Chapter Two

Logan

I knock on Stevie’s partially open door before sticking my head into her room slash office.

“I’m headed out for a run . . .” My voice trails off as I glance around. My best friend and housemate isn’t the cleanest or most organized at the best of times, but today might mark a new record of complete disarray.

Her bed’s unmade. Books, dirty clothes, and used towels straggle across the floor. Her desk groans with half-drunk tea mugs, crumby plates, bound notebooks thrown open, and various Apple devices. And to top it all off, she’s asleep on top of her keyboard. Her giant monitor shows a screen almost half-full of the letter E. Bean wags her tail at me from the bed.

“Stevie? You okay?” I ask.

One of her blue eyes pops open. She sits up slowly, and blinking in the late afternoon sun, squints at me.

“What? What time is it?” She sounds like an elderly frog.

I check my watch. “Six.”

She peers at the screen and leans back in her chair. She’s still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

“Late night last night?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She rubs her face. “I got started on a new project.”

I want to laugh at the keyboard key marks imprinted on her cheek, but instead I nod, understanding the subtext. New projects envelop Stevie like a comfy blanket, soft couch, and satisfying Netflix binge might for a normal person.

After our salads last night, we’d made a pint-sized chocolate-caramel gelato peace offering for Rosa and taken Bean for a quick after-dinner stroll. Then, I’d gone to bed. The workday comes early in the accounting world.

Stevie’s room was quiet this morning, so without peeking in, I’d let Bean out to use the yard, escorted her back in, and left for work. Stevie had probably worked feverishly until she sacked out on her desk.

She stands, stretches, shakes her head of wavy dark blonde hair, and finally looks more alert. “I need to grab something to eat so I can get Bean over to City Park by seven.”

“I can meet you there after my run,” I say.

She brightens. “Lovely! It’ll be fun. I decided it will count as number seven on my list. C’mon Bean, dinner time.”

The collie jumps up, tail swishing wildly.

I follow them into the kitchen. “Your list?”

She sticks a thumb out at the paper on the refrigerator. “My thirtieth birthday bucket list. I’m finally going to start on it.”

My muscles tense. The list has been there for so long, constantly falling off the fridge door, that I’d almost forgotten about it. It’s like old wallpaper or a piece of neglected furniture. Invisible. What’s driving Stevie to go after it now?

“Right,” I say. “Sounds good. See you at the park.”

When I grab my AirPods and phone out of my room, it’s impossible not to notice how different my space is from hers. My bed is made, clothes hang neatly in my closet, my bathroom is spotless, and not an item is out of place. As an accountant, I thrive on order.

Which has sometimes caused conflicts with the creative down the hall.

I breathe deeply as I start my run, partly to fill my lungs and prepare them for the exertion, partly to release the pent-up frustration with Stevie that seems to grow with every passing year.

I don’t care that she’s not a great housekeeper, that she leaves her stuff lying around in mismatched piles, that I’ll sometimes find her asleep in a patio chair or in the middle of the living room floor if that’s where she’d been inspired to work the night before. All of that stuff makes her fascinating to me. What I mind is that I’m thirty now, and she’s close enough to thirty to touch it, we’re approaching thirty, and