Breaking the Rules: The Honeybees, book 1 (4 page)

Definitely a charmer
, I thought.
Unpredictable. Can’t be trusted.
 

“Hello, this is Maria Fernandez with the Bay Area Animal Shelter,” the voice in the phone said, and I perked up immediately, listening intently as the rest of the world dropped away. “I’m calling to let you know that the dog you brought in on September 21 has not been claimed, so he is now up for adoption if you’re interested. You can come by anytime. Our business hours are…”

The dog hadn’t been claimed! He was up for adoption! I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I had never thought the dog would still be there, but there he was. This phone call may have even come in at the exact moment that I’d been out on the trail wondering about the dog.
 

I’m going to adopt a dog!
I thought. My body felt lighter, brimming with excitement.
 

And then the fear hit. I had no idea how to care for a dog. I was in way over my head on this one. I didn’t have dog food, dog bowls, a bed, a leash. Would I need a crate? How would I get him home? Adopting a dog was definitely counter to The Rules. A dog would not help stabilize my life. A dog would only invite in more chaos.
 

Yet…there was no way I could walk away. This was the dog who had helped me on the worst night of my life. This was the dog who had listened patiently with his head in my lap, who had prevented me from falling to pieces even more than I had, who had helped me write my rules for getting life back on track.
 

This was my dog. It felt fated, even if I wasn’t sure I believed in fate.
 

A voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to see Devin standing in front of me. “Up for some breakfast?” he asked, and I started to say no before the words had even finished coming out of his mouth. No distractions. No guys. No instability. “A few of us are going for breakfast together,” he added, and I mentally chastised myself for assuming he was asking me on a date. Guys like Devin weren’t interested in women like me anyway. He probably had a girlfriend, and she was probably tall and sculpted and beautiful. She was, I thought bitterly, probably a server at Les Etoiles.
 

“Oh—I can’t,” I said, torn now. Rule #1 was to make new friends, and this was the place I was supposed to be doing that. But still, the dog was more important right now (
more important than The Rules?
the voice in my head demanded).

Feeling the need to explain further, I offered, “I’m adopting a dog. I have to go pick him up right now.”

Devin’s face lit up. “A dog! That’s great! I love dogs.” Just as quickly, his face fell. “I had a dog for a while, but he ran away recently.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. Apparently there were lots of dogs running away from home these days.

“Yeah. I’m still hoping he’ll come back, but…” He shrugged dejectedly. “It doesn’t seem that likely anymore. Anyway, enjoy getting your dog. Maybe we could go on a run sometime and I could meet him.” Here he flashed that beautiful grin again, and Sophie felt weak. Aha, so he was asking her out. She’d been right to be suspicious.

“Maybe,” I said.
Absolutely not
, I thought. I was wary of Devin. His carefree, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants attitude was counter to everything I wanted in my life—order, stability, control. And he was just too cute. You couldn’t trust your heart to a guy that cute.
 

At the animal shelter, everything was in chaos. People were waiting to drop off strays, to look around at the pets available for adoption, to see if their beloved cat or dog had wound up there—and the employees and volunteers were running around like chickens with their heads cut off.
 

I waited for an hour for my name to be called, my stomach grumbling louder and louder, wishing I had taken Devin up on his offer of breakfast before coming here. I’d had no idea it would take so long to even start the adoption process.
 

Finally, it was my turn. It was a man working the front desk this time, and I told him I was there to adopt the black and white Australian shepherd mutt. He frowned at the computer screen in front of him. “Black and white?” he repeated. “We don’t have a black and white dog here.”
 

“I just got a call from someone this morning,” I said, confused, my heart falling. “Maria, I think?”

“Maria!” he called out, and an older woman with huge, heavy bosoms came over. “This lady says you called her about a black and white dog?”

“Oh, yes!” I said. “I’ll take you back.”

Relieved, I followed her across the big room and into a hallway lined with cages. “He is just the sweetest,” Maria said. “Naughty little boy, though.”
 

Naughty?
I wondered. My chest seized up in worry. Was I making a huge mistake? Was I just trying to fill the void Matt had left by getting another creature to take care of in his place? I didn’t think so, but I didn’t have room in my life for naughty. Not right now.

But then I spotted the dog, and my heart melted. Nope, there was no wavering now. The dog recognized me when I walked in, standing up and staring straight at me, its tail wagging vigorously.

“He remembers you,” Maria said, and I nodded, feeling honored to be remembered.
 

“Brown and white Australian Shepherd/Lab mix,” the placard on his cage read. And then the date he had arrived, and the word “friendly.”

“Why does this say he’s brown and white?” I asked.
 

Maria squinted at the label. “Huh, that’s a mistake,” she said.
Aha
, I thought. So that was why the man at the front desk couldn’t find the dog in the computer.

I filled out all the adoption paperwork, bought a leash, was briefed on dog care and promised to read all the pamphlets they gave me, and then Taco and I were free to go home.
 

“I have a dog now!” I said out loud to myself as I walked Taco out the door. “You get to come home with me!” Taco looked back at me, tongue hanging out. He seemed to be smiling, and his tail still wagged.
 

But out on the sidewalk, I stopped.
Now what?
I wondered. I was three miles from my house, and I didn’t have a car…but surely I couldn’t take Taco on the bus. For once, I wasn’t thinking things through very well.
 

“Guess it’s time for our first walk,” I told the dog, who just wagged his tail at me, and we started out together toward home.

An hour later, we walked up to the front door to find Matt and a friend of his turning the couch sideways to hoist it through the door.
 

“What’s that?” Matt asked, glancing at Taco in distrust.

“This is Taco,” I said. “And he’s none of your concern.” It came out frostier than I had intended, but I was glad I didn’t have to bargain with Matt over Taco. It was my space now; 100 percent my decision.
 

Matt handed me his house key, gave me a quick hug, and was gone. I closed the door behind him and let Taco off the leash in the newly empty house. The couch had been the last remnant of Matt that was left in the space, and a huge, empty rectangle marked the spot where it had been. Taco sniffed around, acquainting himself with the space. He wandered from room to room, then contentedly plopped down next to my armchair and began chewing on the leg.
 

“Taco, no!” I said, shooing him away from the chair. Naughty indeed.

By this time, my hunger was raging, and I ate a peach to stave it off for a few more minutes, standing over the sink and letting the juices drip down into it, something that had always driven Matt crazy. It was far from peach season, but I had never been able to resist them. Then I made a list of everything I’d need to buy for Taco, and sorted through the mail, which had come while I’d been out. Several credit card offers for Matt, which I threw into the recycling unopened.
 

Take that,
I thought.
I’m not going to bother shredding them. Maybe someone will steal your identity.

I sighed. It wasn’t much of a comfort—and if someone did steal his identity, I’d feel horrible. I fished the credit card offers out of the recycling bag and ran them through the shredder.
 

It was only then that I noticed a letter addressed to me. It was a card-sized envelope, but the front was printed rather than hand-written. Curious, I tore it open.
 

My high school’s logo was printed on the front of the card.
Oh no,
I thought, chest tightening. I opened the card. Oh yes: it was exactly what I had feared. An invitation to my ten-year high school reunion.
 

Feeling suddenly defeated, tired, and heavy, I sank down into an armchair, wishing I could stretch out on the couch.
Not the high school reunion
, I thought.
Please.
Taco jumped up into my lap even though he was way too big to be a lap dog. I knew I shouldn’t encourage this bad habit, but let him stay. I needed the comfort right now.

I wasn’t ready for a reunion. Just a month ago, when I’d realized it was coming up, I’d been excited. I hadn’t kept in touch with my friends from high school, and it would be fun to get together again. I remembered feeling like this was the perfect time for a reunion, like my life was suddenly all in place, exactly the way I’d always hoped it would be back in high school.
 

What an idiot
, I thought snidely about my one-month-younger self. Now, recently single and feeling like life was unraveling, the prospect of facing my high school classmates sounded awful. Still, though, those few friends would be fun to see. The tight-knit group of girls I’d been a part of in high school included Caroline, who had always struck me as brave and willing to try anything, but a bit lost; Olivia, intuitive and perceptive, who even in high school had worn clothes I didn’t think I could pull off and always knew what new restaurants had just opened; Hannah, extroverted, social, and fun, who was always the one to plan group outings and get-togethers; and Rachel, who spent most of her free time in the art room.

We’d called ourselves the Honeybees after Olivia had found a set of five honeybee brooches at a thrift store. They’d had long, protruding stingers and cartoonish bodies. She’d thought they were funny—why had someone made honeybee brooches? In what context did people originally wear them?—so she’d gotten them for the rest of us. We only wore them once or twice, but the name had stuck.
 

We’d all had so much fun back then, back before anything was serious, before our lives had truly started. I missed having such a strong group of friends—and I certainly hadn’t made much progress with anyone from the running group yet.
 

“I wonder what they’re all up to now,” I said aloud to Taco, who stared back at me. “You’re going to have to move, you know,” I added, starting to stand up. At the very last moment, the dog jumped off my lap.
 

Retrieving my laptop, I sat back down. Taco looked offended that there was no room on my lap for him, and he tried unsuccessfully to perch on the arm of the armchair, claws scratching at the material, before giving up and curling up at my feet.

“Do you think you’re a cat or something?” I asked him.
 

I looked my friends up online, one at a time. Caroline didn’t have much of an online presence, though I found an email address for her easily. Olivia had several social media profiles, but they seemed to be mostly work-related; I recognized the name of her PR firm. In a few of her photos, she and Hannah were out at bars or restaurants together.
 

“Wow, they still hang out!” I said to Taco, who shifted his face on the floor to stare at me steadily, as though listening.
 

Hannah herself was a flourish of activity even through the screen. Photo after photo littered her feed, mostly of her among groups of people out at bars, parties, and clubs. In some she was dancing, and in others doing shots. In some she had her arms around friends both male and female, and it was impossible to tell who was just a friend and who was a boyfriend, if anyone. I couldn’t tell what she did for a living.

And then there was Rachel. Rachel had been close with us all in the early part of high school, but something had changed mid-junior year. She had suddenly turned more sullen and withdrawn, and had stopped hanging out with the rest of us as much. At the time, the others and I took it personally, but now, with the distance of years, I wondered if something more had been going on.
 

Now, Rachel was married, according to a couple of social media profiles. She had a few photos of herself and her husband, mostly dressed up and in upscale settings. I also found a photo from a couple of years back of a beautiful ocean view with the caption, “The view from our new house!!!”
 

“Wow,” I said aloud to Taco. “Apparently Rachel has done well for herself.” The anxious insecurity crept in again. I didn’t measure up. I was the only one not comfortable in my own skin, the only one whose life wasn’t settled. Not that Hannah’s bar photos were what I’d call “settled,” but at least she owned it. This was clearly the life Hannah wanted to lead.

I, on the other hand, had had the life I’d always wanted, and now it was destroyed. How could I face these people, who used to be so close to me, and admit what had happened? How could I ever tell anyone that after six years together, after five years living together, Matt had dumped me unceremoniously and without warning? It was so humiliating.
 

I closed the computer. I couldn’t think about that just yet.
 

The second training for the marathon came up fast. The group met twice a week on Saturday and Tuesday mornings, and while the Saturday workout was longer, the Tuesday workout started earlier. I had always been a morning person, but it was still difficult to drag myself out of bed before the sun had even come up. That, I decided, was just downright unnatural.
 

But a funny thing happened when I arrived at the store for the training, tired, cold, and still half-asleep. The moment I saw Devin, who himself was even more obviously half-asleep, I felt myself perking up. I couldn’t resist his smile, which warmed my whole body.