15. Quinn #2
“Wow,” I said. “I feed you.”
Max looked unapologetic.
Rafe picked up the ball. “He respects ability.”
I crossed my arms, pretending to sulk. “Hmph.”
He threw it again, and Max bounded after it with an enthusiasm that made my chest ache in the best way.
He was older now, slower to rise in the mornings and careful on the stairs.
But when he ran, I got a glimpse of the dog he must have been before retirement, before my life had become organized around his pills and his diet and the way he slept best with one paw pressed against my ankle.
Rafe watched him too, and not with pleasant fondness and half his attention elsewhere like people usually watched dogs. Rafe watched Max as if every change in stride told him something. As if the old dog’s joy deserved witness.
“You’re good with him,” I said.
Rafe’s gaze stayed on Max. “He tells you what he needs.”
My body sighed at that. “Yes,” I said. “He does.”
The terriers had lost interest in their argument and were now sniffing along the fence. The poodle’s owner scrolled on her phone. A man in running shorts tried to convince a corgi to fetch, while the corgi clearly considered the request beneath it.
Rafe and I moved toward a bench beneath one of the trees. Max kept trotting after the ball, then pausing to survey the park like a retired sheriff who had chosen recreation but remained available for consultation.
We sat next to each other, not too close to each other, but close all the same.
“So,” I said, because the silence had begun to develop texture. “Do billionaire dragon auction weekends usually include public dog parks?”
“No.”
“Glad I could broaden the itinerary.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “You have done that repeatedly.”
“Professionally, I hope.”
His eyes met mine. “Mostly.”
That one word shouldn’t have warmed me, but it did.
I looked away. “I used to think you were going to be like every entitled rich man I’ve met at the firm.”
“That seems fair.”
I glanced back at him. “Does it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not offended?”
“I’ve met many rich men,” he said dryly.
A laugh slipped out of me.
“I know how I appear.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
His gaze stayed on my face.
I forced myself to keep talking because stopping would invite other things to rush in. “You’re not exactly warm at first.”
“No.”
“But you’re not cruel.”
Something shifted in his face. “That’s a low bar.”
“You’d be amazed how many people bring a shovel and lower it even further.”
His mouth tightened, not in amusement this time. “At the firm?”
“Everywhere. But yes, at the firm. Rich people can get very casual about making everyone else feel replaceable. You don’t.”
“I have no interest in cruelty for sport.”
“No. You prefer surgical efficiency.”
“Which isn’t cruelty.”
I scoffed. “Depends what you cut.”
He absorbed that without defensiveness, which made my respect for him expand another inch. Max returned with the ball but didn’t drop it. Instead, he walked to me, pressed his head into my lap, and exhaled hard through his nose.
“Hey, bud,” I murmured, setting one hand behind his ear. “All done?”
He leaned more of his weight into me.
Rafe’s attention sharpened immediately. “What’s wrong?”
The question and the concern in it came so quickly that I felt it in the center of my chest.
“Nothing bad,” I said. “He’s overstimulated.”
“Too many dogs?” Rafe asked.
“Too much everything.” I stroked Max’s head slowly, letting my thumb move in the rhythm he liked. “He does incredibly well in public, but sometimes he hits a point where he needs quiet and space, not more smells and movement and strangers making high-pitched noises about his face.”
A woman across the park squealed as the corgi finally trotted three feet after a ball.
Max pressed closer against me.
Rafe’s mouth tightened. “Can we leave?”
“We will.” I smiled down at Max. “Sometimes I take him on the subway out to quieter parks when I can. Early mornings, mostly. Or Avery and I load everybody into her van and get out of the city if she can spare the time. That’s best. Somewhere with actual open space where he can run without dodging French bulldogs named Linguine. ”
“Is there a French bulldog named Linguine?”
“There is, and he’s a menace.”
Rafe looked thoughtful.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I know a place Max might like.”
My hand stilled on Max’s head. “You know a place?”
“Yes.”
“In the city?”
“No. It has open space. Fewer dogs. No Linguine.”
“That sounds like a paradise for him. Are you serious?”
His eyes met mine, piercing and warmer than they had any right to be. “I’m always serious. I can have the driver bring a different vehicle. Something larger. Max can lie down for the trip.”
I stared at him.
Maybe it was too much. A spontaneous trip out of the city with Rafe Virelli, who I wasn’t attracted to except in every possible category, after he had paid for another outfit and thrown a tennis ball as if he could bend physics to his will.
There were professional boundaries and practical concerns to consider.
The fact that I had laundry drying over my shower rod and an email draft open on my laptop were just a few of them.
But Max had his head in my lap, exhausted from a park too small for him, and Rafe had noticed before I had to explain. He had asked what was wrong. He had listened. He had offered quiet and space instead of performance or pity.
My heart did a very stupid, very dangerous thing.
It trusted the offer.
“Okay,” I said.
Rafe’s brows lifted slightly, as if he had expected more resistance.
I pointed at him. “Don’t look so surprised. I can be spontaneous.”
“You can?”
“Within reason. And with snacks.”
“That seems less spontaneous.”
“I like being prepared.”
He took out his phone, and I tried not to enjoy how quickly he moved once a decision had been made. “Bring the van,” Rafe said into the phone.
A pause.
“Yes. The van.”
Another pause, longer this time.
Rafe looked at Max, who had closed his eyes against my skirt.
“Something suitable for a larger dog to lie down comfortably on a longer trip,” he said. “And bring water.”
He listened for a second, then added, “For the dog.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Rafe ended the call and looked at me. “What?”
I shook my head and bent to kiss the top of Max’s head. “Good news, Senator. Apparently, we’ve been invited to the countryside by a very serious man who has access to the van.”
Rafe stood and offered me his hand.
I looked at it for a little too long before I took it.
He helped me up, his palm warm around mine, his grip careful but sure. When I was standing, he released me at once. Because he was thoughtful and restrained. This man kept giving me reasons to like him and then stepping back before I could decide what to do with them.
It was maddening.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
His gaze moved from me to Max, then beyond the dog park’s fence to the slice of city sky overhead.
“There’s a place about an hour and a half north of the city,” he said. “Private acreage. Quiet trails. Open fields. I know the owner.”
I stared at him. “Of course, you know a man with spare fields.”
His mouth curved faintly. “I know several.”
“Naturally.”
He looked down at Max, whose head had lifted at the word fields, because apparently my dog understood opportunity in any language. “It’s not crowded. He would have room to run, and if he wants to rest, there are shaded areas away from the paths.”
My joking impulse slipped a little.
That should not have done anything to me, because this was all about Max. It was exactly the kind of thing a person might say if they were simply observant and wealthy enough to solve problems at a ridiculous scale.
Unfortunately, Rafe didn’t say it like Max was a charming accessory or a scheduling complication. No, Max’s comfort really mattered to him.
I looked down at Max, who had leaned more fully against my leg, tired but alert now, as if he knew the universe had just opened a door with grass behind it.
“Okay,” I said, softer than I meant to. “He’d like that.”
I gathered Max’s leash and adjusted my tote while Rafe opened the gate.
The city moved around us, loud and crowded and full of places people were supposed to fit themselves into.
Rafe glanced back at us. “Ready?”
Max stepped forward before I could answer.
I smiled helplessly. “Apparently, yes.”