<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">She didn’t hear either of the knocks on her front door. Instead, the six-year-old black German Shepherd’s terrified howl-bark alerted Gen to a newcomer. Leaving the pile of t-shirts she’d been sorting through on the bed, she waded through all the boxes she’d set out and left the bedroom. The townhouse had an open-air plan outside the bedrooms, with a loft off the bedrooms that overlooked the den below. While the second bedroom had been Nathan’s space, the loft had been hers. The walls were covered with movie posters, the sectional plush and facing a large TV with all the toys. The coffee table was littered with the tellings of her profession; stage notes, diagrams of sets, the big black binder that was her bible when in season. She’d been planning on getting a jump on her organization during the show’s hiatus, but could not seem to find the motivation or interest.<br/>
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Down the stairs she went, calling for Dunkin to get a grip in the process. Even saying the dog’s name brought forth memories of Nathan and as she neared the front door, she was blasted with the thoughts of how she’d first met the canine. <i>His name’s Dunkin; you know, like the donuts? Ask me why. </i>Gen had drolly answered that it was because he was a cop and Nathan had about died laughing at his own joke. But that was how he’d been; he didn’t care if other people thought he was funny as long as he did. And he’d loved that goofy, cowardly black dog more than he’d loved most people. Now Dunkin was hers.<br/>
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After crossing through the neat living room of gray furniture facing a fireplace that was never used, Gen reached the door where Dunkin was still singing his howl-bark of alert and dancing at the door. He was a large, broadly-built shepherd, every inch of him black, and didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body. Nathan had told her once he’d gotten a shepherd since the K9s he worked with were so badass, but he’d ended up with the only wimpy GSD on the planet. And how it was true. His bark sounded impressive, but it was a façade. The dog would sooner hide behind her than protect her, Gen was certain of it. Shaking her head, she reached down and gripped the dog’s harness and pulled him back so she could open the door.<br/>
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The man on the other side of the door was one of Dunkin’s favorite people, so the dog surged forward in happy whines, giving Gen a solid jerk that made her release the harness. “Oliver!” She said his name with surprise in her voice while she stepped aside so he could come into the townhouse. It felt odd to have to let him in, seeing as he and Nathan had always freely walked into each other’s homes, but it was like that ease had left with Nathan. More than that, it was strange to have him there. It’d been a full month since the funeral and seeing him was almost like seeing Nathan again. She stood in silence for a long beat, brown eyes wide and near-misty while she took in her boyfriend’s best friend and partner. <i>Rutherford and Damsdale. Nathan and Oliver. Nate and Ollie.</i>They’d been together longer than she had been with Nathan. Had probably been in worse situations, given their professions. Briefly she wondered how much pain he was in, especially given his appearance. Jovial Oliver, whom always appeared neatly groomed and clever, was disheveled and seemed dull. Was that how people saw her now? Lackluster? Her life certainly felt that way.<br/>
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Genevieve finally realized she’d been staring and cleared her throat while she went to close the door after he stepped into the foyer. The door was locked on habit while she turned back to him, “I’m…Well, I thought you were coming by later today…”<br/>
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Her gaze dropped to the bag under his arm at the same time the smell of the Chinese food hit her nose and Gen frowned. Pushing a curl from her face, her brown eyes rose up to meet his familiar hazel gaze, “Is that…for us? What time is it?” Had she really been so lost in her work that the entire day had gone by? It appeared so.</span>