Chapter 6: Suburban Summer Games

When I got home that evening, the border collie Bailey came over again for food.

She appeared at my door right on schedule, tail wagging, eyes bright with anticipation.

Her tail wagged like a flower, and her big watery eyes stared up at me.

She did that thing where she tilted her head, ears perked, like she was asking permission.

I sighed in defeat and opened the door. “Come in.”

I tried to sound stern, but I couldn’t resist her charm.

Bailey wiggled her butt, shoved Daisy aside, and started eating my dog food.

Daisy huffed, but made room at the bowl. The two of them looked like old friends sharing a midnight snack.

I felt a little smug. So much for that hundred-dollar dog food—my twenty-dollar dog food is clearly better!

I snapped a picture and texted it to Mariah with the caption: "Gourmet taste on a budget."

As night fell, the sunset faded into an orange glow, and a tall figure appeared at my door, backlit by the light.

His silhouette was unmistakable, framed by the fading sun. For a second, I thought I was dreaming.

A familiar voice called out, “I knew it. Bailey must have come to your place again.”

His tone was half-exasperated, half-amused.

I looked up. The man was outlined by the orange sunset, a hint of warmth in his dark eyes.

The way the light caught his features made him look softer, almost approachable.

It was the dog neighbor—no, Mr. Brooks.

I quickly straightened my hair, suddenly self-conscious in my oversized hoodie and slippers.

Even though it was his dog coming over, I actually felt a bit guilty, as if I’d been caught.

I tried to look innocent, but I’m pretty sure my face gave me away.

After all, I was the one who let the dog in.

I shrugged, as if to say, "What can I do?"

I felt a little embarrassed. “Bailey seems to really like my dog food…”

I trailed off, glancing at the floor.

Mr. Brooks nodded. “Thank you for taking care of her these days. Bailey is very picky. Maybe she doesn’t like the dog food I bought recently. Do you mind if I check what brand you use?”

His voice was gentle, almost grateful. It caught me off guard.

I quickly shook my head. “Not at all, Mr. Brooks. Please, come in.”

I held the door open, suddenly aware of how messy my living room was.

Standing in front of me, I realized Mr. Brooks was really tall—at least 6’2”, more than half a head taller than me.

He ducked slightly as he stepped inside, his presence filling the small space.

His suit made him look broad-shouldered and slim-waisted. When he stood in front of me, casting a shadow, I actually felt a little pressure.

I could smell his cologne—clean, woodsy, expensive.

I looked up, feeling like there was something in his eyes I couldn’t decipher.

For a moment, our eyes met, and I felt a flutter in my stomach.

Maybe I was imagining it. He quickly looked away and, just like his dog, walked straight in.

He moved with the same quiet confidence as Bailey, as if he belonged here.

A single man and woman alone in a room, especially when the man is my boss, felt a bit awkward.

I fidgeted with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, unsure what to do with my hands.

“Mr. Brooks, would you like something to drink?”

“Just water.”

His answer was quick, almost shy.

I put out some cookies I’d baked and a glass of water for him, and brought out the last bit of dog food I had left.

The cookies were still warm from the oven, the chocolate chips melting just so. I hoped he’d notice.

“I bought this during Black Friday. It was really cheap, almost half off. If you want, I can add you to—”

I stopped mid-sentence, realizing he probably didn’t care about coupon codes.

Then I remembered Mr. Brooks probably didn’t care about saving money and quickly shut my mouth.

I bit my lip, embarrassed.

He nodded, glanced at the dog food without comment, and picked up a cookie from the table.

He took a bite, eyebrows lifting in surprise. I hid a smile.

Baking cookies is my specialty. I’ve been baking since high school—I can call myself a cookie master now.

I remembered winning the blue ribbon at the county fair junior year. Mom still had the photo on her fridge.

Sure enough, after trying one, Mr. Brooks reached for another.

He looked at me, then back at the cookies, as if debating whether to ask for the recipe.

I felt a little proud.

I tried to act nonchalant, but inside I was beaming.

The living room fell into a brief silence, only the sounds of two dogs playing and Mr. Brooks crunching cookies.

Bailey and Daisy chased each other in circles, tails wagging, while Mr. Brooks quietly polished off half the plate.

After a while, Mr. Brooks spoke.

His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Rachel, are you… doing okay?”

He looked at me, concern flickering in his eyes.

I thought he was asking about work and immediately flattered him. “Very well! The company atmosphere is great, the leaders are approachable, and I see a bright future!”

I gave my best employee-of-the-month smile.

Mr. Brooks smiled.

His lips curled up, and I caught a glimpse of the dimple in his left cheek.

His magnetic voice dropped low. “Didn’t you say it was doomed?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

Oh no, my flattery backfired!

I laughed awkwardly. “I was just talking nonsense. Please don’t take it to heart.”

I waved my hands, hoping he’d let it slide.

He pulled his lips into a faint smile, finished his water, and stood up. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

He picked up Bailey’s leash and gave me a small nod.

Then he left with his dog.

I watched them walk down the path, feeling oddly wistful.

I saw him out. When I came back, the plate of cookies was gone—only some crumbs remained.

Even Daisy seemed to notice. She sniffed the empty plate, then looked at me as if to say, "Where’d they go?"

The water was gone, too.

I chuckled, shaking my head.

Wow, before, at least only the dog came to freeload. Now the owner does too!

Guess I’d better stock up before the next Black Friday.