“Bouncing on his dick?” I whispered back, horrified.

I whispered a little too loudly, because I became suddenly aware of two sets of male eyes on me. One pair, warm and brown, looked equally horrified at my choice of words. The second pair, ice blue and dazzling, merely looked amused.

And now a pair of sea-glass green eyes, full of laughter and mischief as she waved a spoon in my direction. “I’ll take two scoops of that mocha almond fudge, if you don’t mind.” Viv sat back against her cushions, pleased as punch.

“Coming right up,” I said through gritted teeth. I dashed into the kitchen, where I promptly put my head in the freezer. And that’s how Lucas found me moments later.

“Pretty sure that’s how the ice cream melts,” he said, startling me and causing me to knock my head on the ice trays.

“Fudge,” I groaned, pulling my head out and rubbing it.

“No, thanks, I’m a mint chocolate chip man myself,” he said, reaching around me and grabbing that container.

Picking up the mocha almond fudge for Viv, I looked at him balefully. “You’re hilarious,” I muttered, reaching for another bowl.

“And you’re weird. Tonight, at least,” he shot back, licking his spoon.

I’d love to be that spoon. I’d love to be that spoon right now. And if that meant rolling around in peppermint and chocolate chips and climbing into a bowl, I’d do it. Hmm, maybe he was right about the weird part.

“Sorry, guess I’m just nervous about the grand opening tomorrow.” I sighed, returning the ice cream to the freezer and leaning against the fridge. “My mother’s coming, did I tell you that?”

“That’s great! I thought she wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

“She wasn’t; she had some charity event this weekend. But my dad called her and told her she was being an ass.” I wrinkled my brow. “Frankly? He didn’t need to do that. It’s going to be stressful enough tomorrow without her here judging the paper napkins and plastic knives and forks.”

When I’d first invited her to the grand opening, I was pretty sure she’d find a reason not to come. And I was right: the pediatric cancer ball event was the same night and there was no way she’d miss that. It was traditionally one of her favorite events. But my father waded right in and fought the good fight, no doubt throwing around phrases like “For our daughter’s sake,” and “Need to be supportive,” and probably more than a few of the “Marjorie, don’t be an ass” variety.

The result? They were both flying up. Together. I mentally shuddered at the thought of those two sharing a commuter jet, feeling terrible for anyone that had the bad luck of being seated near them. My parents didn’t fight in public. They annihilated each other with kindness. The type of kindness that made you want to slam your own head in a car door just to have an excuse to get away from it.

“Hey, I watched you personally agonize over the knives and forks, and they’re awesome. I’ve never felt so strongly about knives and forks. And the paper napkins? You got the best ones at the party store—the best. The party’s going to be great, don’t worry so much,” he soothed, reaching out to rub my shoulder affectionately. “And if she gets too out of hand, I always have horse tranquilizers in my truck. That’ll shut her right down.”

I burst out laughing. “It may come to that,” I admitted, wiping my eyes.

“I’m on it,” he said, still with the rubbing. “Now come on, your ice cream is melting.” He started to lead me back onto the patio. “By the way, what was that about bouncing on his dick? Whose dick are we talking about?”

When you drop ice cream on a brick patio, it’s impossible to clean up without getting the hose out. And in so doing, I may have sprayed a pregnant lady accidentally. On purpose.

Chapter eleven

Marge was right about her baked beans; they were sensational. Everyone’s paper plate was piled high with them, along with fruit salad, coleslaw, and a hot dog or hamburger. We went with a picnic theme: red-and-white checked tablecloths on the picnic tables, utensils in plastic cups on each table, balloons and streamers overhead in the bright sunshine. And a huge sign over the entrance gate that said Our Gang Grand Opening, in case anyone missed that we were now officially, 100 percent, open for business.

We had invited all of the volunteers and their families, owners of several of the local businesses that had already supported us, and the off-duty staff of the Campbell Veterinary Hospital. Including Marge, who when she wasn’t strong-arming everyone into professing their love for her beans, was circling Lou like a beehived polyester shark. A beehive with an Our Gang pin tucked into it, which was quite sweet.

The radio was tuned to an oldies station playing classic Motown. Some people were chowing down, while others were trekking up and down the hill by the barn to see all the dogs, which were freshly bathed and smelling like baby powder. And happy to have the visitors. Between the buckets of tennis balls and the donated chew toys, the dogs were in heaven. Exactly how it should be. Happy and racing around their dog run, with Sammy Davis Jr. leading the pack.

Our first resident, he’d become a mascot of sorts. He’d almost been adopted twice, and each time, my heat beat a little faster. When another dog was chosen each time, I’d spent a little extra time with my sweet boy, assuring him he’d find a forever home.

The truth? He’d already chosen his owner, and thank goodness for that, because I couldn’t bear to let him out of my sight. After the last close call I’d moved him into the house with me, and just like that, I was a dog mommy. That big pit bull grin was smiling at me right now, and I grinned back. “Go play, buddy,” I said, patting him on the flank and sending him back into the tennis ball frenzy.