We Dream of Mountains

He took a day off of work, a bland Wednesday, feigning illness to do . . . nothing. Just one day of pure, unadulterated nothing. He waited until his wife left for work to get started, going for his daily jog at a record time of 10 AM, changing his route at the last minute to go to Tynemouth. He was in good spirits; he had the whole day free (at least, until 5:30, when his wife got home and he made a miraculous recovery and could eat paella), the sun was shining, and he'd even convinced Nana to go for his jog with him. It already felt like a victory. Which is why he wasn't surprised when Nana went for a dip in the ocean, and came back with a panting little retriever mix, dragging a red leash behind her.

The two dogs frolicked in the green grass of the hillside like old friends, which he supposed they were. Tink had probably smelled Nana on him, and Nana had probably smelled Tink.

"Alright mate?" he heard, and looked away from the dogs to see the man from Mac's house. He was still fucking huge, though Steven supposed that might have been affected by his position so far below the hulking man.

He smiled and nodded politely, though for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to tell him to fuck off.
"I think our dogs like each other," he said instead.
"Peter," the man replied, sticking out his hand.

"Steven." They shook hands, while the dogs barked happily behind them. Peter sat beside him on the ledge, looking at the two dogs playing.

"Tink keeps running off," he said. "She's terrible trained."

Steven swallowed thickly.
"She's really young, though."

"Nah," Peter said. "Mac lets her do what she wants."

Steven bick back a retort. As if sensing his discomfort, Tink came bounding over, Nana in tow. The two panted happily at hi feet, and he scratched them both behind the ears.
"She seems to like the beach," he said.

"Yeah, Mac takes her all the time. I think she misses her."

"Misses?"

"She's been gone for about two weeks. Conference or family emergency or something."

Steven thought that the distinction was important, but didn't say anything. Tink trotted over to Peter, licking his hands and shaking her damp coat. Peter groaned.

"Great," he muttered. "Now I've gotta wash the bitch."

"You know what," Steven said before he could stop himself. "Why don't I take Tink?"

The other man merely laughed. "What the fuck are you on about, mate?"

"Look, mate," Steven spit out, but he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, which was probably for the best. It wasn't very nice, and he couldn't go back home with bruises.

Peter's phone rang, and he stepped away. Steven looked at the two dogs, who seemed oblivious to the tension in the air. Though, perhaps it was just tension on Steven's part. Peter seemed like the kind of guy to not let petty, childish things bother him.

"Uh huh, love you too, Honey," Peter said, coming back to where Steven was sitting.

"Was that Mac?" he asked.

Peter laughed. "No, just the wife. Old ball and chain."

Steven smiled politely, but wished deep down that he really was sick, and had stayed at home wallowing in self-pity and tissues.
He coughed lightly.

"Well, Nana and I should be getting back," he said.

"Nana?" Peter laughed. "That's cute. That's one of the girls' favorite stories."

Steven nodded. "It's a good one."

The two sat awkwardly for a moment before Steven finally stood up to leave.

"Bye then," Steven said awkwardly, more to Tink than to Peter, but the larger man nodded at him anyway.

He couldn't help but throw back a glance at the happy little dog as he and Nana jogged back home (well, he jogged, Nana strolled). Steven already felt that his day was ruined, and it had technically just begun.