“Kevin,” Sy said on a long-suffering sigh, “you’re officially dead to me.”
She pursed her lips together and tried not to laugh.
“Maggie, I’d like to point out how heroic that was,” he said. “And I feel like that should carry more weight in your hiring decision than the fact that I was stupid enough to bring this pig-dog with me to a job site.”
“So noted,” she said.
He released her and turned just as Kevin the pig-dog bounded up the steps of the porch.
“Kevin, no! Stay!” Silas yelled as the dog eyed the wide-open front door.
Maggie choked down the laugh that bubbled up. The man’s back matched his dog. Slicked and splattered with a mud so dark that she was concerned there was a more sinister ingredient than just dirt.
“If you put one paw inside that house, I won’t take you to doggy daycare this week, and you won’t see your girlfriend, Tabitha,” Sy threatened.
At the mention of Tabitha, Kevin sat.
“Uh, I’d offer you a towel, but I don’t know if I have any yet,” Maggie said.
“Not to worry. Always Prepared is my other middle name,” the muddy landscaper told her. “I’ve got tarps, towels, and a change of clothes in the truck. I’ll just—”
All of Kevin’s fun seemed to catch up with him at once. He opened his cavernous mouth and barfed on the porch.
“Oh, buddy,” Maggie said. “Is he okay?”
In answer, Kevin trotted off the porch, tail wagging, and shoved his head into a shrub.
“He’s fine.” Sy put his hands on his hips and studied his boots for a long moment. “I’ve got a hose in the truck,” he said finally.
“I’ll leave you to it then.” She managed to get the words out. Barely. “I’ll just be in there trying not to laugh too loud.”
“Appreciate that,” he said.
“It was, uh…nice to meet you,” she said. “You make quite the impression.” She didn’t make it into the house before the laughter overtook her.
Kevin emerged from the bushes and trotted over to Sy.
“Don’t even try to make up with me,” he told the dog.
Kevin gave a happy bark.
“No. I’m not proud of you,” Sy said, rooting around the bed of his truck and producing a garden hose. “Why would you think I’d be proud of you?”
“What are we watching?” Dean asked, coming up behind Maggie.
“Just a man hosing a half gallon of dog puke off the porch,” she told him.
“Try not to hold it against him. The guy will probably earn you your millionth follower in one episode,” Dean predicted.
“Don’t even think about getting in the truck like this,” Sy said on the other side of the glass. Kevin barked and bit at the spray of water like it was a game.
Dean snickered.
“I should get back to—” Maggie’s intention to work flew right out the window when Sy stripped off his hat and muddy T-shirt.
“Oh, my,” Dean said.
“Wow,” she said in appreciation for the very fine male form that was now toweling off his dog.
“Pants. Pants. Pants,” Dean chanted.
“He’s not going to— Never mind,” she said as Sy toed off his boots and shoved his thumbs in the waistband of his cargo pants. She turned her back on the window.
“Bright-red Calvin Klein boxer briefs,” Dean reported with approval. “Just the one tattoo. Spare flip-flops in the back. Garbage bag for the clothes and towel. He’s prepared.”
Only Dean would find preparedness as attractive as a muscled man in nice underwear.
“He’s telling the dog to get in the truck. Uh-oh. The dog basically said ‘fuck you’ and took off running. Now our landscaper is running,” he said, continuing his commentary.
Maggie couldn’t help herself. She crossed the hall and peered out the bay window in the…parlor? Living room? Den?
Silas, in fire-engine-red underwear that confirmed her assumptions about his very fine rear musculature, sprinted into the backyard after the dog.
“I almost don’t care what his estimate comes in at,” Dean announced. “You have to hire him just for the face and the comedy.”
“He does make an impression,” she agreed when Sy came back into view carrying eighty pounds of wet dog like a very large baby. “He’s an outrageous flirt.”
“At least he’s an ‘of age’ outrageous flirt,” Dean said.