Николас Спаркс - The Choice

Gabby turned around and saw him leaning against the door.

“I think I was wrong,” he said, walking toward her, holding a Fuji apple. “She could probably go home tonight, if you want to pick her up after work. I’m not saying you have to. I’d be happy to keep her here if you’d be more comfortable with it. But Molly’s doing even better than I predicted.” He squatted and lightly snapped his fingers, turning his attention away from Gabby. “Aren’t you a good girl,” he said, using what can best be described as an “I love dogs and won’t you come to me?” kind of voice . Surprising her, Molly left Gabby’s side to go to him, where he took over the petting and whispering, leaving Gabby feeling like an outsider.

“And these little guys are doing great, too,” he went on. “If you do bring them home, make sure you put together some sort of pen to keep them contained. Otherwise, it can get kind of messy. It doesn’t have to be fancy—just prop a few boards against some boxes—and make sure to line it with newspaper.”

She barely heard him as, despite herself, she noted again how good-looking he was. It annoyed her that she couldn’t get past that every time she saw him. It was as if his appearance constantly set off alarm bells in her, and for the life of her, she didn’t know why. He was tall and lean, but she’d seen lots of guys like that. He smiled a lot, but that wasn’t unusual. His teeth were almost too white—he was a definite bleacher, she decided— but even if she knew the color wasn’t natural, it still had an effect. He was fit, too, but guys like that could be found in every gym in America—guys who worked out religiously, guys who never ate anything but chicken breasts and oatmeal, guys who ran ten miles a day—and none of them had ever had the same effect on her.

So what was it about him?

It would have been so much easier had he been ugly. Everything from their initial confrontation to her present discomfort would have been different, simply because she wouldn’t have felt so off-kilter. But that was done now, she resolved. She wouldn’t be taken in anymore. Nosiree. Not this gal. She’d finish up here, wave to him in a neighborly way in the future, and get back to living her life without distraction.

“You okay?” he said, scrutinizing her. “You seem distracted.”

“Just tired,” she lied. She motioned to Molly. “I guess she’s taken a liking to you.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “We’ve been getting along great. I think it was the jerky treats I gave her this morning. Jerky treats are the way to a dog’s heart. That’s what I tell all the FedEx and UPS guys when they ask what to do about dogs that dislike them.”

“I’ll remember that,” she said, quickly regaining composure.

When one of the puppies began to whine, Molly stood up and returned to the open cage, the presence of Travis and Gabby suddenly extraneous. Travis stood and polished the apple on his jeans. “So what do you think?” he asked.

“About what?”

“About Molly.”

“What about Molly?”

He frowned. When he spoke, the words came out slowly. “Do you want to take her home tonight or not?”

“Oh, that,” she said, flustered as a high school freshman meeting the varsity quarterback. She felt like kicking herself but instead cleared her throat. “I think I’ll take her home. If you’re sure it won’t hurt her.”

“She’ll be fine,” he assured her. “She’s young and healthy. As scary as it was, it could have been a whole lot worse. Molly was a lucky dog.”

Gabby crossed her arms. “Yes, she was.”

For the first time, she noticed that his T-shirt advertised a Key West hangout, something about Dog’s Saloon. He took a bite of his apple, then motioned toward her with it. “You know, I thought you’d be more excited about the fact she’s okay.”

“I am excited.”

“You don’t seem excited.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He took another bite of his apple. “Based on the way you showed up at my door, I guess I figured that you’d show a bit more emotion. Not only about Molly, but the fact that I happened to be there to help.”

“And I’ve already told you I appreciate it,” she said. “How many times do I have to thank you?”

“I don’t know. How many do you think?”

“I wasn’t the one who asked.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Actually, you were.”

Oh yeah, she thought. “Well, fine,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Thank you again. For all you did.” She enunciated the words carefully, as if he were hard of hearing.

He laughed. “Are you like this with your patients?”

“Like what?”

“So serious.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m not.”

“How about with your friends?”

“No . . .” She shook her head in confusion. “What’s this got to do with anything?”

He took another bite of his apple, letting the question hang. “I was just curious,” he finally said.

“About what?”

“About whether it was your personality, or whether you’re just serious around me. If it’s the latter, I’m flattered.”

She could feel the flame rising in her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smirked. “Okay.”

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something witty and unexpected, something to put him in his place, but before anything sprang to mind, he tossed the remains of the apple in the garbage and turned to rinse his hands before going on.

“Listen. I’m glad you’re here for another reason, too,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m having a little get-together tomorrow with friends, and I was hoping you’d be able to swing by.”

She blinked, unsure if she’d heard him right. “To your house?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Like a date?”

“No, like a get-together. With friends.” He turned off the faucet and began to dry his hands. “I’m hooking up the parasail for the first time this year. It should be a blast.”

“Are they mainly couples? The people going?”

“Except for my sister and me, all of them are married.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I have a boyfriend.”

“Great. Bring him along.”

“We’ve been together almost four years.”

“Like I said, he’s more than welcome to come.”

She wondered if she’d heard him right and stared at him, trying to tell if he was serious. “Really?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“Oh, well . . . he can’t come anyway. He’ll be out of town for a few days.”

“Then if you’ve got nothing else to do, come on over.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m in love with him.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And . . . you can be in love with him at my place. Like I said, it’s going to be fun. Temperature is supposed to get close to eighty. Have you ever been parasailing?”

“No. But that’s not the point.”

“You don’t think he’d be happy if you came over.”

“Exactly.”

“So he’s the kind of guy who wants to keep you pretty much locked up when he’s away.”

“No, not at all.”

“Then he doesn’t like you to have fun?”

“No!”

“He doesn’t want you to meet new people?”

“Of course he does!”

“It’s settled, then,” he said. He headed toward the door before pausing. “People will start showing up around ten or eleven. All you need to bring is a bathing suit. We’ll have beer and wine and soda, but if you’re particular about what you drink, you might want to bring your own.”

“I just don’t think . . .”

He held up his hands. “I’ll tell you what. You’re welcome to come if you’d like. But no pressure, okay?” He shrugged. “I just figured it would give us a chance to get to know each other.”