The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,7
I want my dog back. Please.”
She was quiet for so long that again I thought the call had been dropped.
“Okay,” she whispered.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Great—thank you. And I’ll reimburse you for your time and the vet bills—”
“And my ticket.”
“Your ticket?”
“I got a ticket for parking in the middle of Topanga Canyon Boulevard when I stopped to get him into the car.”
I moved the phone away from my mouth and breathed a sigh of frustration. Not at Sloan, at Monique and her ineptitude.
“Okay, yeah, no problem. Look, I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for him. If you can just give me a few hours to find a kennel to take him I’ll—”
“A kennel? Why?”
“I’m in Australia for two more weeks for work.”
“Well, who was watching him while you were gone?”
“Somebody who will never watch him again,” I said dryly. I collected my backpack and went to follow the signs toward customs.
“Well, I can keep him until you come back. I work from home. It’s no problem.”
I thought about her offer for a moment. My mind went to the picture she’d sent of her and Tucker and the voicemails about trips to the vet and walks he was going on. She seemed to really care about him. I mean, shit, she’d been ready to keep him. And she’d already had him for two weeks. He knew her. It would be better than a kennel. And there really was no one else. Besides Monique and Ernie, who wasn’t a dog person, I didn’t know anyone else in LA well enough to ask.
“You wouldn’t mind?” I asked, stepping onto a moving walkway.
“No. I love him.”
Something sad in her voice made me smile into the phone. Not that I was reveling in her unhappiness—I wasn’t insensitive to the fact that just a half an hour earlier she’d thought Tucker was hers, and now she had to give him up. But it was nice to hear that the person watching him actually gave a shit about him.
“That would be great. I hate the idea of putting him in a kennel.”
“He’d be miserable,” she agreed, sounding a little miserable herself.
“Hey, can I call you back?” I’d been on a plane for four hours. I needed to find a restroom.
When I called Sloan back on my way toward baggage claim, we both seemed to have benefited from the break. Her voice sounded almost shy now. I thought for a second maybe she recognized me from my photos. Or maybe she just felt bad for being so pissed at me. Either way I was glad. If she was going to watch Tucker for me, we should at least be friendly.
We talked dog-sitting fees for a few minutes. Then I moved on to other logistics.
“Text me your address so I can send you a crate,” I said.
“A crate? Why?”
“He sleeps in his crate at night. If he doesn’t have it, he tends to destroy the house, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“He hasn’t destroyed anything except for the belt of my robe on the first day. And he sleeps with me, in my bed.”
I laughed. “I find it highly unlikely that he’s not chewing your furniture to a pulp. It’s his favorite pastime.”
Chair legs, the armrest of my couch, doorjambs—Tucker demolished all.
I found baggage claim and waited with the crowd from my flight as the carousel started going around, empty.
“He hasn’t chewed a single thing since the belt,” she said. “He’s a perfect angel.”
“Really?” I said incredulously.
She snorted. “I wouldn’t try and keep a dog who was destroying my house.”
“Good point. Well, I’m glad he’s being a gentleman,” I said, checking the time and watching as the first luggage came down the ramp. I had rehearsal in two hours.
“I still have scratches from him jumping on me through the sunroof. Did you teach him that, by the way?”
“Uh, no. Did he really do that?”
“You think I’d make that up? Hold on.” There was a pause. “Okay, go look. I just sent you my ticket.”
A picture message came through my phone. It was a ticket from the LAPD with a flip-flop magnet over the recipient’s information. The officer had detailed the entire event, sunroof and all.
I shook my head. “Unbelievable. He’s never done anything like that before.” He must have been out of his damn mind. “He’s a little high energy.”
“He just needs exercise.”
He’d probably gone stir-crazy with Monique. “Are you sure you don’t want the crate?”
“I definitely don’t want it. He sleeps with me while he’s here.