Page 5 of Checking from Behind

I didn't back up. I didn't soften my expression, and I didn't add a smile.

"Cooper," I said, and my dog sat up straighter. I snapped my fingers once and pointed at the ground. Cooper lay down immediately, his chin resting on his front paws, his eyes on me. A hundred and forty pounds of perfect obedience. "He's trained. He listens."

The man on my porch didn't seem impressed. Or if he was, he wasn't going to admit it.

"I stepped in it," he said, as if his personal experience of stepping in dog shit was evidence enough to convict Cooper.

"And I'm sorry about that. I truly am." I put my hand on the door. "But it wasn't Cooper. Now, it's after ten, and I have to work in the morning, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't come banging on my door again unless you have actual proof."

His eyes narrowed. I could see him deciding whether to push it or let it go. I could see the argument forming behind his eyes, that he wanted to say something else, something that would win this.

"Your dog shit in my yard," he said. Quieter this time, but stubborn. Like he was going to will it into being true.

"Goodnight."

I closed the door before he could say anything else and turned the deadbolt. I stood there with my back against the door, my heart beating faster than it should've been. I took a few deep breaths, my palms were damp; and I was sweating.

Cooper was looking up at me from the floor, his big brown eyes completely unbothered. His tail swished once across the tile.

"It wasn't you," I said to him. "I know it wasn't you."

He yawned.

I went to the kitchen, picked up my wineglass, and poured another half glass from the bottle on the counter to calm my nerves. I took a long sip and set the glass down, both hands flat on the granite countertop, and waited for my body to calm down.

I hated that my hands were still shaking. I hated that a man raising his voice at my front door could still send a jolt through my body that made my shoulders tighten and my throat close up. Brett had always done it with more sophistication. He hadn't pounded on doors. He'd leaned against them, blocking exits with his body while keeping his voice low and patient, like he was explaining something simple to someone who didn't get it. "I'm not yelling at you, Lillah. I'm just saying you're wrong." He never yelled because he never had to. He'd learned to take me apart without raising his voice, which was worse.

Stop it. He's just an idiot neighbor. It’s not the same thing.

I had to remind myself. It wasn't the same thing. I knew that. The guy on my porch was rude and wrong, but he wasn't Brett. His anger had come from something obvious. Brett's anger never did.

I finished my wine and rinsed the glasses, then made my way upstairs. Cooper followed me and settled on his bed at the foot of mine. He circled twice before lying down on the massive orthopedic cushion I'd gotten for him.

I changed into an oversized t-shirt and climbed into bed. From my window, I could see the house next door. The porch light was on, and through the downstairs window I could make out the guy moving around his living room. He was tall, even from this angle.

He had to be an athlete. I'd spent enough time around athletes to recognize the way they carried themselves. My brother played college lacrosse. Two of my friends from design school had married athletes. And Brett was a minor league baseball player, and he'd carried that same energy.

I got up and pulled the curtains shut so I couldn’t see the house.

I didn't need to think about athletes, exes, or angry men on porches. I needed to clear my mind and think about client presentations and the two consultations I had booked this week, and the pitch deck I was building for a potential commercial project that could change everything for my business if I got the contract. That meeting was on Thursday with the owner of a boutique hotel in the downtown area that was looking for a design overhaul. This project was the biggest opportunity I'd considered since starting Winters Design and securing it would generate substantial revenue. Not surviving revenue, but growing revenue.

I lay there in the dark. Cooper jumped up and lay at the end of the bed, resting his head on my leg, and once he was comfortable, his breathing changed into a steady rhythm at my feet.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and without thinking, I reached for it.

Mila: How's your night going? Did you figure out the curtain situation?

I typed back.

Lillah: Yes, curtains are getting replaced, otherwise they are going to drive me bonkers. Oh, and my new neighbor showed up at my door at 10pm accusing Cooper of shitting in his yard.

Immediately the three dots jumped on the screen.

Mila: Wait, what? Is he hot?

Lillah: He was yelling at me.

Mila: That doesn't answer my question.