Free Bargaining with the Bride by Allison Gatta

shrieking its barks between ragged, congested-sounding breaths.
    "Sorry, I've got him," Garret slid open the glass doors leading to her meager back yard and the little wrinkly-faced, snub-nosed monster trotted out to loose his havoc upon nature. It was only when she heard the light thud of the door sliding closed that she finally released a measured breath.
    She glanced from Garret to her stool and then back again. What was the best way to rectify the sheer humiliation of this? Try to get him to play “the floor is lava?” That would probably be easier than try to explain why she was a grown woman with a mortal fear of a pint-sized pug.
    Then again, maybe she wasn’t the one with the explaining to do. Why the hell was Garret here? With his dog? On a Saturday morning, no less. In her house. With no warning.
    She crossed one leg over the other, all too aware of how scant her pajamas were. In a few minutes, she’d make an excuse to go upstairs and change out of her boy shorts and tank top, but for right now she had a few mysteries to unravel.
    For example, her stuff seemed to have gained new friends overnight. Foreign spatulas and knife sets rested on her counter tops. There was an apron slung over the pantry door. Like more than one person lived there. Come to think of it, hadn't she spied a TV in her living room?
    The whole set-up was so foreign, she had trouble trying to decide what to ask first, but then something on the stove began to sizzle and the question was out of her mouth before she’d thought it through. "So, uh, what are you making?" It was far from the first thing on her mind, but the briny smell floating all around her would not be ignored.
    Garret’s brow crinkled for a minute, but then his features quickly returned to normal before he answered her—thin, straight line of a mouth, thoughtful stare and all.
    "Bacon's in the oven. Scrambled eggs on the stove. Biscuits are in a basket near the sink. Oh, and I made a pot of coffee."
    "I only have a single cup—"
    "But I have a pot. It's under the plate cabinet."
    She glanced toward the counter nearest the door, and there it was. A full pot of fresh coffee.
    Things were just getting weirder and weirder by the second.
    She crossed the room and pinched Garret hard on the bicep, shocked both by the lack of anything that seemed pinchable atop the hard stone of his arm, and also by the little surge of energy that rushed through her as she touched him.
    "Ouch," he rubbed his arm for a minute, "what was that for?"
    “I had to know if this was a dream."
    "Don't people normally pinch themselves in that case?"
    "What do I know? It's only..." She glanced toward the clock and took in a sharp breath. "What the hell are you doing at my house at seven in the morning on a Saturday?"
    "Normally you're at work by eight thirty on Saturday so I thought I'd treat you to a little breakfast first. We need to spend the day bonding if we're going to convince your family that this is real." He pushed the eggs around with his spatula.
    "You're going to lose a whole business day over this?" She shut off her mind and bit a chunk out of a nearby biscuit. In a minute, he'd probably explain that he was the king of Spain anyway, so he needed to keep a low profile at her house for a while, or something equally wacky.
    The past two days had been so crazy that it was nearly impossible to believe anything anymore. No, the best thing was just to let the good times roll, and if there wasn't some horrible catastrophe at the end, then so much the better.
    "This is an investment in my business. It's like any other business project. Complete and total dedication until the mission is successful." His tone was matter-of-fact, but she noticed the pointed way that he avoided her gaze as he spoke. Like he was hiding something.
    "All right then, awesome. Thanks for breakfast, but, uh, where did you happen upon my hidden key?"
    "You know, most people keep it under their door mats? It's not really a safe