There You'll Find Me Read Online Free PDF

do something about it. Last year I would occasionally forget to eat. My counselor called me depressed.
    I called me devastated.
    I slipped on a sweatshirt to go with my Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms and fuzzy bunny slippers and made my way down the two flights of stairs, straight for the kitchen.
    The room came to life as I flipped the switch and investigated the refrigerator.
    I spied the milk and remembered the impressive cereal collection in the closet-sized pantry. Just as I reached in to grab the container, a low whine came from behind me.
    I turned and listened.
    Nothing.
    Going back to the fridge, I pulled out the milk.
    And heard the whine again. A pitiful sound, desperate and mournful, as if an animal writhed in pain just outside the back door.
    I went to the door and my heart clenched at the lonesome wails. Turning the knob, I stepped outside and onto the back deck.
    The kitchen light shone like a spotlight on the chocolate Lab I’d spotted on the front step the day I arrived.
    “Hi, boy.” I moved slowly, just in case the thing was crying over a new rabies diagnosis. “What’s wrong, huh?”
    The Lab remained at attention, but wagged its happy tail.
    “Are you lonely? Do you need someone to talk to?” I reached out a tentative hand and scratched his head. “Because I totally relate.”
    “Do you now?”
    I jumped at the voice behind me.
    There in the corner, holding a small book light and a script, sat Beckett Rush.
    “You scared me.” My heart thumped wildly in my chest.
    “I can see that.” He closed his script. “Were you going to brain me with that?”
    His gaze traveled over my head, and I realized I was holding the milk like a weapon. “I apologize for my catlike reflexes,” I said, lowering the jug. “Clearly you were milliseconds from devastating pain.”
    He smiled. “Death by dairy products.”
    “The dog was crying. I . . .” I was standing there in my pajamas.
    In front of Beckett Rush. The Hollywood movie star. “I wanted to check it out. See if he was hurting.”
    “The only thing Bob’s hurting for is food.” Beckett held up a plate. “I made myself a sandwich. Bob’s a big promoter of sharing.”
    “He should’ve been around at dinnertime. I would’ve gladly shared.”
    “That bad? I have half a sandwich here.”
    I eyed him warily, as if the space between us were littered with land mines.
    “I’m just going to throw it away.” Beckett tapped the seat beside him. “Sit. Eat. I promise you’re safe. I’m too tired to tick you off.”
    “You say that like you do it on purpose.” With another scratch to Bob’s panting head, I slipped into the vacant seat.
    “It passes the time.”
    In the stingy light, I peeked beneath the bread and found ham, cheese, lettuce, and mayo. I scraped off the mayo, lost half the meat, and set aside one piece of bread.
    “Picky eater.”
    “I have discriminating taste.” I took a bite and smiled.
    Bob gave another whine, then with a resigned sigh, dropped himself at Beckett’s feet.
    “See?” He scratched the dog’s ear. “Some people like me.”
    “He’s just lonely.”
    Beckett’s eyes locked on mine. “I believe you said you were too.”
    “That was a private conversation. Between me”—I swallowed my bite of sandwich—“and Bob.”
    “So what are you really doing up?” His voice was sleepy deep.
    “Just woke up. You?”
    “Running lines.” He held up his script. “I’ve been inside all day and needed to get out. Get some air.” He ran his hand through blond hair that looked like it should’ve come with a surfboard and sunscreen. “Seems the scenes didn’t go so well today.” He took off his coat, stood up to his height that must’ve been at least six feet, and hovered over me. I held my breath as Beckett moved in close, and I smelled the detergent on his shirt as he settled the coat over my shoulders. “You look cold.”
    “Thank you.” I let myself breathe again and snuggled into his jacket as Beckett