Someone You Love by Kristen Granata

Charly

In the morning, I wake up and find a plate concealed by a silver pot lid sitting on the kitchen counter beside a torn piece of paper:

For your chocolate fix. Don’t tell the other guests—theirs are plain.

I rip off the lid and uncover a stack of chocolate chip pancakes covered in a chocolate drizzle, sprinkled with strawberries and powdered sugar.

Butterflies swarm my stomach. Bryce made these. For me. Because he listened when I told him I loved chocolate the first night I came here. I lean my elbows onto the counter, trying to remember the last time someone did something thoughtful for me. Sure, ex-boyfriends have brought me flowers on Valentine’s Day, or a gift I’d hinted about for Christmas. They paid for dinner. Yet no one took the time to do something for me—create something—for the sole purpose of my enjoyment, without a reason.

Tears prick my eyes as I stare down at the pancakes, made for me with care by the hands of a practical stranger. Tears roll down my cheeks as I take the first bite, and I close my eyes, letting the salty drops fall. The sweet, fluffy dough mixes with the sweet flavor of chocolate, and I let out a groan.

“Best pancakes ever,” I say, as I shovel another forkful into my mouth.

I took care of my mother, long before the cancer struck. It felt like a responsibility, to make sure she was okay after Dad left. And I never let anyone take care of me. A sob escapes me, and I cover my face with my hands, succumbing to the overwhelming wave of grief. I let go of everything I’ve been holding onto, and I cry. I cry for Mom. I cry for myself. And a small part of me cries for my father, because he missed out on having a loving family.

I don’t like to cry in front of anyone. Not because it makes me appear weak, but because I hate making another person feel uncomfortable or awkward. No one ever seems to know what to do. They either tell you to stop crying, or they stare at you like a deer in headlights—that was Greg. He’d shove a tissue box in my lap, and back away from me until I stopped. Even Jenny cracks jokes to get me to stop crying. So, I’ve learned to cry in private.

Which is why my stomach freefalls to the kitchen floor when the front door swings open, and Bryce steps inside.

Frantic, I wipe my face with the backs of my hands. “H-hey. Hi. Good morning.”

His hand remains frozen on the doorknob, his eyebrows dipping down even farther than usual. “What’s wrong?”

I sniffle and wave a hand, turning my face away. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Heavy footsteps move across the wooden floor, and then I’m faced with a broad chest. Bryce tips my chin, bringing my gaze to his. “Are you hurt?”

My lips wobble, and I shake my head. “It’s nothing, really. I was eating the pancakes and—”

“Did you not like them?”

A laugh ripples out of me. “No, I loved them. That’s why I started crying.”

“My pancakes made you cry?”

“In a way, yes.” I inhale a deep breath. “It’s just ... I can’t believe you did that for me. I said I liked chocolate, and then you put chocolate chips in my pancakes. You paid attention to me. You got up this morning, and thought of me. You … you cared enough to go through the trouble of doing that.”

His lips pull downward as his eyes search mine for understanding.

“Thank you for that.” Without thinking, I slide my hands around his waist, my fingertips barely touching behind his back like I’m hugging a thick tree trunk. I breathe in a lungful of Bryce—a mix of cedar and sweet pancake batter.

Then, his arms wrap around me, and he pulls me against his chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, and another couple of tears slip out, absorbing into his T-shirt. I relax into him, and he rests his chin on the top of my head, holding me tight.

It’s been so long since I’ve been held. Since I’ve wanted to be held.

“I wouldn’t have made them for you if I knew they’d make you cry,” he rasps.

“I needed that cry, so I’m glad you did.”

Like I needed this hug.

I squeeze him tighter, my fingers digging into the hard muscles in his back. He lifts his huge palm and presses it against the back of my head, letting me know he’s not going to let go until I’m ready.

But I don’t want to overstay my welcome. After a few more moments, I loosen my grip, and his arms drop. My body misses his warmth instantly.

“Well, it’s good to start your morning off with an embarrassingly awkward moment, I always say.”

Bryce shakes his head. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Not around me.”

I gesture to the plate on the counter. “Thank you for these. They’re the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten.”

He lifts a blocky shoulder, like the thoughtful gesture was no big deal.

“Why did you do it?” The words rush out of me like a sinful query.

“To make you smile.”

Goosebumps spread like wildfire along my skin. His lips hover over me, outlined by his beard, which serves as a spotlight. They’re plump and smooth, and I’m hit with a sudden punch of lust as I imagine sucking his lower lip into my mouth, and biting down on it. What kind of lover is he? Is he as rough as his exterior, or does he take meticulous care of a woman’s body the same way he works in the kitchen?

“Charly.” He says my name like a warning, watching me through an intense gaze under lowered lids.

Shit. Pull yourself together before you start humping the man’s leg like a dog.

“Right. I should probably go get dressed.” I hop off the stool, and clear my throat. “Thank you again for the pancakes.”

I scurry into the hallway, and press my back against my door when I’m safe in my room, willing my racing pulse to slow down.

It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with a man. Watching my mother’s health decline often left me depressed, and not in the mood. It’s another reason why I don’t fault Greg for cheating. People crave human touch—it’s a normal, healthy thing. I lost my sex drive, and Greg stopped trying. But when I’m around Bryce, my body reacts to him as if he flips a switch and turns on every one of my nerve endings. I’m hyperaware of him, and my mind drifts to thoughts of what it’d be like to feel him, to kiss him, to be close to him. When we’re together, I’m left wanting. Craving.

And I still haven’t figured out whether that’s a good thing.

After we serve and clean up breakfast at the inn, there’s a commotion out in the front yard.

Bryce, Beatrice, and I fly out the front door, where three of the guests run in opposite directions, chasing after a dog who darts around the property.

“What the hell?” Bryce moves down the ramp. “Whose dog is that?”

“I don’t know,” a man says. “He won’t let us get close enough to check his collar.”

The collar he speaks of is made up of metal prongs digging into his neck. The dog is a reddish-tan color with short fur, tall and muscular, with a big round jaw and a long snout. He looks like a miniature-sized horse. But the closer I look, I notice bald spots in his coat, and I can count every one of his ribs.

This pit bull hasn’t been taken care of.

I follow Bryce into the yard, and kneel down on the grass.

The dog stops running, and sets his striking amber eyes on me. His clipped ears stand straight up.

Beatrice gasps. “Charly, what are you doing?”

“He might be dangerous,” says the other man.

Bryce inches toward me, his eyes on the dog.

“He doesn’t look dangerous.” I hold out my hand. “Hi, boy. Are you looking for a friend?”

His tail whips back and forth so hard it causes his entire body to wiggle.

I sit down on the soft grass. “You’re like a wiggly little worm. Come here.”

Like he’s been shot out of a cannon, he bolts across the lawn. His tongue hangs out the side of his mouth as he gallops toward me.

“Char,” Bryce warns.

“It’s okay.” I glance up at him. “Trust me.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth, and gives me a quick nod.

The dog dives into my lap, knocking me backward, and covers my face with frantic dog kisses. I laugh, and gently push him to the side so I can sit up, wiping my face with the backs of my hands. “You’re a big love muffin, aren’t you? You’re not scary at all. What’s your name?”

I search his collar for a tag, but there isn’t one. The dog whimpers, and swipes at the collar with his front paw.

“This is hurting you, isn’t it?” I find the clasp, and remove the inhumane collar, massaging his neck. “Who would put something like this on you?”

“Not a good person.” Bryce kneels down beside me, and holds out his palm. The dog leans forward, curious enough to sniff him, but pulls back and nudges me with his nose.

“His nose is dry.” I look over at Beatrice, who has her hand over her mouth. “He needs water.”

“Bring him inside, my dear. We’ll get him taken care of.”

Relief soothes my racing heart. “Come on, bud. I bet you’re hungry too.” I stand, hoping he doesn’t run away again. But he watches me with those keen eyes, and follows as I walk toward the porch.

Inside, Beatrice pours water into a big metal bowl, and the dog laps it up until it’s empty. Bryce brings him sausage and bacon leftover from breakfast, and he inhales that too.

“Where did you come from?” I stroke his head, and he pushes into my touch.

The guests gather around us, but the dog climbs into my lap, shivering like he’s terrified. “He’s shaking. I think he’s scared.”

Beatrice hums. “He looks like he’s been through some trauma.”

Emotion clogs my throat. “Who would hurt such a sweet, innocent baby?” I wrap my arms around his thick neck, and he rests his head on my shoulder, his body relaxing into me. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. You’re going to be okay.”

“We should take him to a shelter,” Beatrice says.

My stomach tenses. “A shelter?”

“They’d be able to take care of him there. Maybe find his owner.”

“His owner did this to him.” I run my fingers along the missing patches of fur, and he whimpers when I touch his left side. “He can’t go back with whoever treated him like this.”

Beatrice frowns. “But—”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Bryce says.

My head jerks up.

He holds out his hand again, letting the dog sniff him. “We’ll take him to the vet in town. Check if he’s hurt anywhere, see if he needs any shots.”

“And then?” Beatrice asks.

Bryce places his palm on my knee, and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “And then we’ll give him a proper name.”

Unexpected tears spring from my eyes. “Oh, Bryce. We have to keep him. We have to. We can’t let him go back to whoever hurt him.”

“Don’t worry. He’s with us now.”

Us.

As if we’re a team. As if we’re in this together. As if he somehow knows that I can’t let this dog go, and he has my back.

Beatrice fails to hide her smile. “All right. Get him a leash while you’re out. We can’t have him running amuck.”

I stand, and throw my arms around her. “Thank you.”

The dog follows beside me as Bryce and I make our way out to his truck.

“Have you ever owned a dog before?”

Bryce nods. “When I was a kid, we had a Rottweiler named Sam. Dad wanted a male, but Mom fell in love with the female she found at the rescue center. We named her Samantha, and Dad called her Sam for short.” He chuckles. “I think he pretended she was a male.”

I clasp his hand, and squeeze. “I wish I could’ve met your parents. If they’re anything like you and your grandmother, I bet they were amazing people.”

“They were the best.”

The dog nudges my hand, and I giggle. “Are you jealous, bud? Don’t you worry. You’ve already claimed the number one spot in my heart.”

Bryce scoffs. “I got bumped to number two by a dog?”

I give his arm a playful shove. “Who says you were number one?”

We drive into town, and I stay with the dog while Bryce runs into the pet shop to buy a collar and leash. He comes out with a matching yellow nylon set, and a yellow bandana.

“Figured he needed to match the inn if he’s going to be our official pet.”

I smile. “Is there anything you don’t put thought into?”

“What do you mean?” He clips the leash onto the collar, making sure it’s loose around his neck.

“It’s the little things you do. The details you don’t miss.”

He brushes it off like it’s nothing, and continues driving down the road. “Chalk it up to me being an athlete. I had to notice everything on the field.”

“I’d love to see you play. Do you have any old tapes?”

He swallows, and his eyebrows dip. “I have tapes.”

I kiss the top of the dog’s head. “Maybe you’ll show us some day.”

“Us? You two are a package deal already.”

The dog barks, and we both laugh.

“You really want to see me play?”

I nod. “I bet you were incredible, just like you are at everything else you do. Cooking, building. You’ve got a lot of talent.”

He stares out the windshield, lost in thought for the rest of the ride.

The visit to the vet goes better than I’d hoped. Our boy is as healthy as he can be in his situation—no fleas or ticks or broken bones. The doctor gives him vaccines and a rabies shot, clips his nails, and he takes it all like a champ while sitting on my lap. We walk out thirty minutes later with food, shampoo, and heartworm medication.

When we get back to the inn, we lead him straight into the bathroom.

Bryce tears his shirt over his head, and heat prickles my skin. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing this man without a shirt on.A sheen of sweat coats his smooth olive skin, bronzed from today’s sun. A dusting of brown hair swirls around his nipples, drawing my attention to a place I’ve never really paid attention to before on a man. But Bryce’s body makes you pay attention. It commands you to take notice, demanding appreciation for the hard work put into it. Mesmerized, I watch the muscles in his stomach ripple and contract as he leads the dog into the glass walk-in shower. His shorts sit low on his hips, accentuating the prominent V-shape of his hip bones that disappear into his waistband.

High-pitched whimpering snaps me back into focus. I squeeze into the shower with my tank and shorts on. “It’s okay, bud. We’re just going to clean you up. We won’t hurt you.” I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor with him. He climbs on top of me when Bryce turns on the shower head, trying to get away from the running water.

I hold him, and stroke his back. “I think this dog thinks he’s the size of a chihuahua.”

Bryce chuckles. “Big dogs always do. Your legs are getting pretty scratched up.”

“It’s okay. He’s calmer when he’s sitting on me like this.”

Bryce crouches down in front of me, and I catch him wince before he covers it up with a joke. “I didn’t build this shower thinking I’d be bathing a hundred-pound dog in here.”

“I can’t believe you helped build all of this. The most I can do is hammer a nail into the wall to hang a picture.”

He squirts shampoo into his palm, and massages it into the dog’s fur. With Bryce’s legs around mine, and my legs around the dog, we shampoo him together.

“My dad and my grandfather were into construction. There wasn’t anything they couldn’t fix or build. I always wanted to be like that, to know how to do everything.”

“What was your father’s name?”

“Edward.”

I grin. “Let’s name him Edward.”

“The dog?”

I nod proudly. “I think it’s a very regal name for a dog, don’t you think?” Edward barks. “Look, he loves it!”

Bryce husks out a laugh. “Edward Holden the second. Sounds like a king.”

“It’s perfect for him.” I smack a wet kiss to the top of Edward’s head.

“What about your father? You never talk about him.”

I hike a shoulder, and let it fall, focusing on scrubbing Edward’s paw. “I never knew him. Not really.”

“Was he around?”

“Until I was six. He was an addict. Pills, mostly, but Mom said he got into heroine. I had no idea.”

“You were a kid. How could you know?”

“I thought we were a happy, normal family. Then one day, I never saw him again.”

“It’s his loss.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it.” Bryce’s hand brushes against mine, and he lets it linger there. “I’m glad I know you.”

My pulse races, my heart thumping a rhythm I’ve never heard it play before. Bryce’s intense gaze pins me, rendering me speechless, wiping all thought from my mind.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, whispering another confession into the confined space. His hand travels up my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I like having you here.” He lifts his hand to cradle my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. “With me.”

I lean into his touch. “Me too.”

“I like talking to you.” His thumb slides over my bottom lip. “I like hearing you talk to me.”

A shaky exhale leaves me, his feathery touch sending shockwaves throughout my body.

“I like you, Charly.”

My eyes land on Bryce’s lush mouth. “I like you too.” I lean closer, needing to quench this insatiable need drawing me in.

But Edward has other plans. He stands abruptly and shakes off, sending water droplets flying around us.

Bryce pushes to his feet, and sets the shower head back on the wall. “We should get him dried off.”

I follow him out of the shower, and hold Edward in place while Bryce towels him off. He doesn’t meet my eyes, and a stoic expression blankets his face. It’s as if we didn’t almost kiss two seconds ago. Then he stands, and leaves the bathroom.

I don’t move until I hear the soft click of his bedroom door.

The sound of him shutting me out.