freed up the other to give a quick knock. Lyn’s soft acknowledgment came from inside, not directly on the other side of the door but definitely in the main room. He let himself in.
“Brought some choices for lunch.” Stepping inside, he noticed the guest cabin was mostly dark. The only light was streaming in from the windows. Plenty to see by, but a relief from the midday sun beating down outside.
“Smells good.” Lyn had been…sitting? She rose from the middle of the floor and Atlas came to stand on all four feet as she did it.
Funny.
“I’ve got a couple of choices from our favorite sub shop. Cheesesteak or meatball parm. Which would you like?”
Her eyes widened.
Shit. Maybe she didn’t like either option.
“Are you a vegetarian?” He probably should’ve asked before they’d made the lunch run but he’d been in a hurry to tuck her away someplace safe and get back to the police who’d responded to the call this morning.
She blinked and placed her hand on her belly. “No. I was just hoping you hadn’t heard my stomach growl when the word ‘cheesesteak’ came out of your mouth. I’m starving.”
Good. Otherwise, he would’ve been making a second run out for food because he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her go hungry as a result of his lapse in thought. Generally, he tried to be considerate and shit. With this woman, though, he was constantly off his game.
Atlas stood in the middle of the living area watching him, expression and body language decidedly neutral.
Well, the pair of them had him off balance. Cruz might have a chance to regain it if they could avoid an encounter requiring police follow-up for more than twenty-four hours. All things considered, anyone would be a little unhinged.
He headed for the small kitchen table in the breakfast area. “Let’s not keep you waiting anymore.”
Pulling the foil-wrapped subs out of the bag, he placed the cheesesteak in front of her and took the meatball parmesan for himself. Plenty of napkins went in a pile in the middle of the table. Added bonus, he flipped open a carton containing French fries drowning in melted cheese.
Lyn pulled out a chair and glanced back at Atlas mid-motion. The dog’s ears swiveled forward. Cruz bit back his first impulse comment and waited to see what she did.
She gave a slight shake of her head. “Atlas, auf .”
The dog hesitated and then lay down on his belly, head still up.
“ Blijf .” She gave the dog a long look and then turned, seating herself.
Atlas watched her back and glanced at Cruz. Then the big dog set his head between his paws, turned away from the table as if he hadn’t wanted any people food anyway.
Cruz approved. No way was he going to feed any dog in their care this kind of junk food. And yes, he saw the irony. But the dogs at Hope’s Crossing Kennels were fed balanced meals based on their weight and level of activity. Cheesy, greasy, bombs of comfort food were not figured into their dietary plans.
She glanced up to meet Cruz’s gaze. “I did some research into the command you taught me earlier. Most of my clients have their dogs trained to respond to English commands but Atlas and I have been figuring out how to work with the Dutch vocabulary he recognizes.”
He’d planned to work with her and Atlas on that after lunch. On one hand, her initiative was on point and he approved. On the other, he was inexplicably irritated at the implied censure in her tone. As if he’d meant to keep her communication with Atlas limited or been testing her. She was probably fishing to see if he’d been doing just that but he wasn’t going to take the bait and respond.
Whatever passive–aggressive crap she was anticipating, he didn’t play those games. So he remained silent and kept his expression neutral, continuing to set out their lunch.
“I’m not going to lie; I’m really interested in trying this.” Lyn quit staring at him and unwrapped the cheesesteak. “I’ve never had a real
“Brought some choices for lunch.” Stepping inside, he noticed the guest cabin was mostly dark. The only light was streaming in from the windows. Plenty to see by, but a relief from the midday sun beating down outside.
“Smells good.” Lyn had been…sitting? She rose from the middle of the floor and Atlas came to stand on all four feet as she did it.
Funny.
“I’ve got a couple of choices from our favorite sub shop. Cheesesteak or meatball parm. Which would you like?”
Her eyes widened.
Shit. Maybe she didn’t like either option.
“Are you a vegetarian?” He probably should’ve asked before they’d made the lunch run but he’d been in a hurry to tuck her away someplace safe and get back to the police who’d responded to the call this morning.
She blinked and placed her hand on her belly. “No. I was just hoping you hadn’t heard my stomach growl when the word ‘cheesesteak’ came out of your mouth. I’m starving.”
Good. Otherwise, he would’ve been making a second run out for food because he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her go hungry as a result of his lapse in thought. Generally, he tried to be considerate and shit. With this woman, though, he was constantly off his game.
Atlas stood in the middle of the living area watching him, expression and body language decidedly neutral.
Well, the pair of them had him off balance. Cruz might have a chance to regain it if they could avoid an encounter requiring police follow-up for more than twenty-four hours. All things considered, anyone would be a little unhinged.
He headed for the small kitchen table in the breakfast area. “Let’s not keep you waiting anymore.”
Pulling the foil-wrapped subs out of the bag, he placed the cheesesteak in front of her and took the meatball parmesan for himself. Plenty of napkins went in a pile in the middle of the table. Added bonus, he flipped open a carton containing French fries drowning in melted cheese.
Lyn pulled out a chair and glanced back at Atlas mid-motion. The dog’s ears swiveled forward. Cruz bit back his first impulse comment and waited to see what she did.
She gave a slight shake of her head. “Atlas, auf .”
The dog hesitated and then lay down on his belly, head still up.
“ Blijf .” She gave the dog a long look and then turned, seating herself.
Atlas watched her back and glanced at Cruz. Then the big dog set his head between his paws, turned away from the table as if he hadn’t wanted any people food anyway.
Cruz approved. No way was he going to feed any dog in their care this kind of junk food. And yes, he saw the irony. But the dogs at Hope’s Crossing Kennels were fed balanced meals based on their weight and level of activity. Cheesy, greasy, bombs of comfort food were not figured into their dietary plans.
She glanced up to meet Cruz’s gaze. “I did some research into the command you taught me earlier. Most of my clients have their dogs trained to respond to English commands but Atlas and I have been figuring out how to work with the Dutch vocabulary he recognizes.”
He’d planned to work with her and Atlas on that after lunch. On one hand, her initiative was on point and he approved. On the other, he was inexplicably irritated at the implied censure in her tone. As if he’d meant to keep her communication with Atlas limited or been testing her. She was probably fishing to see if he’d been doing just that but he wasn’t going to take the bait and respond.
Whatever passive–aggressive crap she was anticipating, he didn’t play those games. So he remained silent and kept his expression neutral, continuing to set out their lunch.
“I’m not going to lie; I’m really interested in trying this.” Lyn quit staring at him and unwrapped the cheesesteak. “I’ve never had a real
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