2
B ecause it’s a Tuesday and school is in session, the park and Riverwalk aren’t crowded. There are a few other dog walkers out, a couple of moms with rambunctious toddlers, and a group of teens who surely should be in a classroom right now, but that’s it. The benches overlooking the water where I like to sit are occupied by an older couple and a guy with a pretty Australian shepherd, so my posse and I loop back at a slow pace. The sun warms my shoulders and lights up the leaves above us in a spectacular way, and I’m deep in thought over this morning’s complication when we pass the playground, not paying attention. One second is all it takes, and Cholula has escaped.
A moment later, a piercing shriek carries through the air. “My ice cream! My ice cream! The monster took it!”
Cholula comes shooting out from beneath the play structure with a waffle cone the size of her head lodged in her jaws. She’s pursued by one of the little boys, but his mom grabs his arm before he can take off after her.
Crap. “Cholula! Bad dog!” With Boris’s leash in one hand and Cap’s in the other, I stumble across the lawn after Cho, and suddenly there’s a fourth dog in the mix. Where the heck did it come from?
“Mom, is it a gremlin?” the kid cries behind me.
I didn’t know kids still knew what gremlins were, but I suppose I can’t fault anyone for mistaking Cholula for one. I should have been paying better attention, but that Canine King sign has thrown off my whole morning. Besides, why are kids eating ice cream at the park at nine thirty? Isn’t that poor parenting? Cho did the kid a favor.
“Sorry,” I call over my shoulder to the mom, who’s trying to console her deprived little one.
Cholula and the other dog are chasing each other back and forth, having the time of their lives while I make my way toward the water. Boris is our weakest link, and no matter how I coax, we make slow progress.
“Tilly, here!”
The guy I saw on the bench earlier, presumably the owner of the Aussie playing tag with Cho, is closer to the dogs, and even in my stressed-out state, my dormant lady parts give a standing ovation at the way his gray fitted button-down hugs his arms. He must be new to the area.
“It that thing yours?” he calls to me in a deep baritone. His words have edges that knock me about. No doubt there’s a glower behind those mirrored Ray-Bans.
Cholula stops for a moment and swings her head in his direction as if she understands the implication perfectly, but then the Aussie circles her and the two are off again. Cholula’s leash trails her on the ground like a happy snake.
“Oh, come on,” hot, snide guy says with exasperation. “Tilly, here!”
I finally reach their part of the park. “Seems like she’s got better things to do.” I smile. “Don’t worry, Cholula only has another few minutes in her. They’ll be back.”
“You know, you really should keep your dogs in check.” His shapely mouth puckers as he lets out a loud whistle.
“Excuse me?”
He gestures impatiently toward the frolicking dogs. “This is totally out of character for Tilly.”
Ah, so he’s one of those people. The deflecting kind. I purse my lips. “Maybe if you’d kept her on a leash…”
“Like I said, she always stays by me.”
“Clearly not always.”
This guy is getting under my skin. The air around him practically vibrates with impatience, and what is that scent stinging my nostrils? Is that…? Yep, I know Au de Snob when I smell it. From the cut of his clothes to the Patek on his wrist, I’d bet a million bucks he and his precious Tilly usually run in different circles. So what the heck is he doing here?
I sneak another sideways glance at hair the rich summery hue of ripe wheat. The ugly contents of his soul certainly got wrapped in shiny paper.
Cap tugs on his leash, wanting to join the play, but I keep it in a firm grasp. Boris has melted into his usual pile on the ground. Time to end this. “Cho-lu-la!” I try again. “Treat!”
“That’s great—reward bad behavior,” the guy mutters under his breath.
I spin toward him, my hands on my hips. “Do you want the dogs to come back or not?”
His face briefly goes blank as if he wasn’t expecting the bite in my voice, and he takes a step back, palms forward. Unfortunately, that’s where Boris is, and before I have time to yell Timber , the guy’s majestic arms flail like the rotor blades of a runaway chopper, and he goes down.
He lets out an unintelligible shout on his way to the ground, and that, finally, is what gets the dogs’ attention. Cholula and Tilly come bounding back, no doubt thinking they’ve got a new playmate, and cover him with kisses on the ground.
“No, come on.” He puts his arms up for protection. “Tilly!”
His pathetic attempts at fending them off makes a laugh bubble up my chest. Serves him right. I hope those are expensive jeans.
“A little help,” he pleads, stretching a hand my direction.
“I think you’ve got this.” I smirk.
“Please.”
I roll my eyes but give in. “Fine.” I manage to put a foot on Cholula’s leash. Then I lean forward to give him a hand while Cho jumps at my leg, the happiest I’ve ever seen the tiny beast.
The guy’s hand is large and warm, his fingers closing tightly around mine as I pull him up, but he’s only halfway off the ground when Cap sees his chance to get in on the action and jumps between us. I have no time to further ponder the sensation of actual male skin-to-skin contact before Tilly follows Cap, and Cholula circles behind us, pulling my legs from under me. It’s a people and dog pile-up, and instead of helping the guy up, I end up using him as a cushion for my fall. Dogs bark, sunglasses go flying, and hands find purchase in unknown places.
“Oof,” he grunts as we hit the ground, me on top of his (very solid) chest.
If this was one of my roommate-slash–best friend Micki’s beloved Hallmark rom-coms, now would be when he’d look up at me, a twinkle in his sparkling eyes. My long, dark hair, loose from its bun, would be framing our faces. He’d reach up to place a hand against my cheek. We’d kiss—gently at first and then with more intent.
“Do you mind?” he says instead, jolting me back to the present moment.
There’s no string quartet playing, and my hair is not so much cascading gracefully around us as it is smothering him. He wipes at his face to get my strands out of his mouth.
“Sorry,” I grunt, trying to heave myself off him. “So sorry.”
When we’re finally free of each other, and all the dogs are accounted for, I brush off the sleeve of my grandma’s shirt and peer up at him, expecting a stranger. Instead, I find a vaguely familiar face angled toward me. Somewhere in my distant memory, students cheer from packed bleachers as our team obliterates the competition thanks to the guy before me.
“Leo?”
He squints.
“You are Leo Salinger, right? Batavia High School?”
“Yeah?” He says it like he doesn’t understand why I’m asking. Tilly pulls at her leash, but he tightens his grip on it and puts his sunglasses back on.
“You were a year ahead of me. I’m Cora Lewis. Go Bulldogs?” I try.
No reaction. So much for the old school spirit. I would have thought the guy who had been voted homecoming king three years in a row by his peers would have easy access to a smile and a friendly word, but I suppose a lot can happen in twelve years.
I swallow the sting and clear my throat. “Um, there’s an off-leash dog park if you take Main Street west past Randall. They’ve actually gotten pretty strict about leashing your dogs here in town the past few years. I assume you’ve been elsewhere?”
He looks away and ignores my question. “Like I said before, it wouldn’t have been an issue if that thing hadn’t gotten Tilly riled up.”
Heat flushes through me, building pressure. On second thought, I didn’t really know him in high school. Maybe he was always like this—kind of an asshole. Where does he get off? “This thing has a name. It’s Cholula. And she wasn’t anywhere near you when Tilly took off after her. They clearly like each other. They’re dogs.” Sure, I should have had a better grip on Cho’s leash, but I have two other dogs, too, and ice cream is her catnip.
“Fine.” He cuts his gaze between me and Cholula one more time. “What’s wrong with her, anyway?”
“What’s wrong ?” I gape at him. I’ve had just about enough of this. “Not everyone is as perfect as you and yours, I suppose. Let’s leave it at that and pretend this never happened. Have a fantastic day.” With that, I turn on my heel and march back toward the store.
I’m sure my face still looks like a storm cloud as I escort my band of misfits through the door because Harvey takes only one look at me before he puts down the bag of kibble he’s stacking and comes to relieve me.
“You look like you’ve been run over,” he says, astute observer that he is. “What happened?” He squats to unleash the dogs, who set off upstairs to their water bowls and beds.
I lean against the counter and relay the incident in as few words as I can, leaving out that I recognized Leo. “He was such a jerk about it,” I say to wrap things up. “Sweet dog, though.” I rifle through my purse for some gum to calm myself with.
Harvey squints out the window. “An Aussie you say? And the young man, what did he look like?”
A freaking Calvin Klein ad. “I don’t know. Tall, blond, chin dimple.”
“Good looking you’d say?”
I frown at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Like that?” He points out the window, and there across the street are Tilly and Leo looking up at the Canine King sign. He says something to the workers before pulling out a key and letting himself into the store.
You have got to be kidding me.