XOXO: A Bundle of Cozy Novellas

Milo

MILO

Christmas Eve, eve

Milo was ignoring the buzzing of his cell phone. The last thing he needed right now was another damn call from Christian Pederson demanding to know when Milo was snapping out of it and returning to LA.

The answer was still never, but Christian was deaf to any word that meant no. It was a good thing Chris didn’t know where Milo was. His single mom had moved away from Hollyridge to be closer to her family soon after Milo had left, but even without his mom here, he still thought of Hollyridge as home. Something he had fortunately never shared with his pushy manager.

There was no contract promise Chris could make, no injunction, no assurance strong enough that would make Milo want to return to LA for anything more than packing up his condo. If the rest of the band wanted to think he’d run away to lick his wounds, that was fine, they could do that. But Milo was done.

Eight years of relentless touring and Milo felt like an old man. The joy was gone. He was okay with never playing guitar in front of a crowd again. He’d made his peace, the rest of the band needed to make theirs and move on.

“Elvis!” he called out for the twentieth time, the sinking feeling in his stomach getting heavier by the second. Even though he’d warned the contractors who’d arrived that afternoon not to leave any doors open while they were bringing in the lumber needed for the repairs to the upper level, they had, and Elvis had escaped.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Zajac.”

Bill Cotton had even taken off his ball cap while apologizing, shifting back and forth as he explained that his kid brother had left the front door ajar while grabbing something he needed from their van. If Milo hadn’t been desperate to get the roof and upstairs at least protected before the weather turned worse, he would’ve seriously considered firing the man and his crew of irresponsible construction workers. And now he had to wait at the house for a separate appliance delivery.

“Elvis!” Milo called out again. His feet were cold in his Converse, and the thin jacket he wore did little to protect him from the cutting wind. LA was much warmer, at least this time of year. There was a decade between him and the last time he’d experienced a Hollyridge winter—he definitely wasn’t prepared.

Hell, Elvis could be anywhere. The dog had been, at the time, an unwanted gift from a girlfriend, but after Milo had broken it off with her, he’d grown attached to the bouncy thing. As a young puppy, Elvis had been no problem, following Milo around everywhere he went.

A few weeks ago, Milo had…erm…escaped from LA by buying the old Hachette place with cash and no inspection. He didn’t need an inspection to tell him the house needed more than the usual TLC. The realtor kept repeating, “The house has good bones,” which was a good thing because it needed a new roof, new floors, windows, and electrical. And that was just the beginning.

Still, Milo could swear that, when they arrived after a four-day road trip. Elvis had taken one look out the car window and fallen in love with the small town and the surrounding landscape. He’d wagged his tail for miles, even when Milo stopped to pick up the keys from the realtor before heading out to the house.

His phone buzzed again. With freezing fingers, he dug it out of his pocket, deciding to answer it when he recognized a local area code, even if the number was unfamiliar.

“Yes?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Milo Zajac, the owner of Elvis?”

Relief and worry coursed through him; Milo’s knees actually felt weak. Had Elvis been hurt? God, if he had, it would be Milo’s fault. Sure, the stupid contractor had left the door open, but Milo should’ve been working harder to train him.

“Yes, this is Milo Zajac.” He clutched the phone, dreading the woman’s next words.

“I’m calling from Blue Mountain Veterinary. A good Samaritan found Elvis and brought him to us.”

“Is he badly hurt?”

A warbling howl Milo recognized immediately came across the phone line and he sagged with relief.

“Elvis is just fine, I promise.”

“Oh, god. I’m so glad. One of the contractors left a door open even though I told them not to. Look, um…” Milo glanced around himself like the solution to his problem was going to magically appear. The problem was he couldn’t leave the property, he was still waiting on that appliance delivery. “How long are you open? I can’t leave here until some delivery guys come. It should be soon, but I honestly don’t know for sure.”

“Dave, the man who found Elvis,” she explained, “has offered to drop him off. Are you okay with me giving out your address?”

“Yes, please, that is wonderful. I’d really appreciate it. This way I can thank him myself. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“It might be a good idea to get Elvis in some agility training or even build him a course on your property if you have the space. Huskies love the mental stimulation and it might help keep him from wandering.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Dave says to expect him in an hour or a little more, he needs to drive the sleigh home first.”

The sleigh? What, was this guy Santa Claus? Milo didn’t ask the vet, but it was close.

“Thank you again, so much. If you could tell, um, Dave, to knock loudly and If I don’t answer, to come around back, I’d appreciate it.”

Milo was contemplating the huge boxes sitting outside the kitchen door, trying to figure out how he was going to wrangle his new kitchen appliances into the house. The delivery guys had brought everything around to the back and then said something about how they couldn’t take them inside because of the ongoing construction.

What-the-fuck-ever.

“Christmas spirit, my ass,” Milo muttered.

Somewhere around was a dolly, he’d seen Contractor Bill with it, bringing back stacks of pavers for what would eventually be the new patio. He’d known impulsively buying the Hachette house was… impulsive. Maybe he’d watched It’s a Wonderful Life one too many times. The idea of bringing the old house back to life appealed to him on a level he wasn’t quite ready to examine.

Maybe it was something about family and community. Something Milo hadn’t had in LA, and he sure wasn’t moving into the over fifty-five community where his mom was happily settled.

He found the dolly tucked underneath the eaves along the side of the house, why hadn’t he thought to look there before? Milo followed a path created by the contractors and, just as he was pulling the damn thing free of the tangled grasses, something large, furry, and wiggly slammed into his side, knocking him off his feet and into the nasty mix of mud and snow.

“Elvis! You’re back!”

Milo was rewarded with doggy kisses on the face and an accidental whack in the nose by an enthusiastic tail.

“Elvis, you moron. You have to stick around, who’s going to feed you kibble if you run off?” Again, Milo pressed his face into Elvis’s side, the pressure of tears heavy against the back of his eyes. This dog meant everything to him, he couldn’t let anything happen to him.

“Maybe if he got a little more attention and some exercise he wouldn’t run off.”

Milo jerked around to stare into the eyes of the one person he’d felt guilty about when Hollyridge was in his rearview mirror ten years ago.

“Davey? Davey Childs? What are you doing here?” Milo glanced around as if the dolly or the overgrown lawn were responsible for the appearance of this man, who had been a lanky teenager last time they’d seen each other.

Damn, Davey wasn’t a teenager any longer. Long, lean legs were encased by worn blue jeans, and likely his body was lean, too, although it was hidden underneath the heavy sheepskin jacket he wore. Dark stubble shaded his cheeks and chin, matching the messy curls on his head. His eyes were the same, though, a piercing blue that had always seemed to see right through Milo.

Seemed they still did.