The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson Page 0,42

shelves.

“Hi,” a voice behind me said. I turned around, my best professional-dog-walker smile fixed on my face, but felt it falter, and my eyes widen, as I realized I knew the person standing across this immaculate kitchen from me. It was Clark, the guy with the white dog, the one I’d run into twice before. He was wearing jeans and a soft-looking plaid shirt, and his short brown hair was slightly askew, like he’d been running his fingers through it. He must have recognized me too, because his eyebrows flew up behind his glasses. “Oh,” he said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know that—”

But whatever he’d started to say was totally lost as his dog barreled around the corner, nails scrabbling on the wooden floor, tail wagging furiously, as he headed right toward me.

“Bertie!” Clark yelled, lunging for the collar and missing as the dog jumped up on me, sending me tipping off-balance and back into the kitchen cabinets. “I’m sorry,” Clark said, yanking him back as the dog enthusiastically tried to lick my face.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, feeling like I needed to start asserting some kind of dog-walker authority in this situation. “How are you doing, buddy?” I asked, kneeling down, even though now the dog was taller than I was. I looked up at him and gave his head a gentle pat. “You ready to go for a walk?” “Walk” seemed to be a word this dog knew, as he immediately sat, his tail thumping rapidly on the ground. I reached for his collar, but Bertie immediately bolted, galloping out of the room as fast as he’d come in.

“Whoops,” Clark said, looking chagrined. “Um, sorry. I guess I should have . . . It’s like he thinks it’s a game. Every time I try to get his leash on, he runs away.”

“Oh,” I said, looking in the direction where the dog had gone, like this would give me some more information. I took a step toward the kitchen door. “Should I—” Before I could say anything else, Bertie barreled in again, stopping in the center of the room, giving us both the dog smile I’d seen that first day with him. His tail was wagging so hard that his whole back half was swinging from side to side. I took a cautious step toward him, but Bertie jumped in the air and ran as fast as he could out the door again.

“He seems to calm down after a while,” Clark said. “But you can’t say that word. I usually spell it if I have to, like W-A . . .” He seemed to realize that he didn’t need to keep spelling “walk” for me and stopped talking, looking down at the kitchen floors.

“Right,” I said, hoping I seemed like I’d seen all this before and wasn’t totally thrown by it. “That, you know, happens sometimes.”

I looked over at Clark, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, and was suddenly aware of the strained silence between us. I’d had to interact with only one owner so far, and in that instance, the small talk had been totally handled by Maya and had revolved only around the dog. I looked to where Bertie had gone, like this would give me some indication of when he might be back again. “This is a great house,” I said, after trying for a moment to think of something I could say about a dog who wasn’t currently present.

“Oh, thanks,” Clark said, crossing his arms, then uncrossing them. “Yeah, it’s . . . good.”

Silence fell again, and I listened for the sound of paws scrabbling on the wooden floors, thinking that now would be a great time for Bertie to show up again. “Lots of books out there,” I said, gesturing toward the other room when I failed to think of anything else to say.

“Right,” Clark said, nodding a few too many times. “There are.”

Silence fell again, and I decided rather than continue to make insipid comments about the house, I was going to wait for Bertie to return.

Clark cleared his throat, then asked, “Uh—it’s Andie, right?”

I nodded, a little surprised that he’d remembered. I’d remembered his name, but that was because it made me think of mild-mannered reporters who were secretly superheroes. The glasses really weren’t helping to take away from that either. “Andie,” I confirmed. “You got it.”

Clark nodded, then took a breath. “This sounds really cliché, and that’s not how I mean it,” he said, all in a rush. “But you