“I spent most of mine making out in the coatroom,” Tim said.
Kamila sniffled. “Parking lot for me.”
Tim put his hand out to help Kamila stand up. “People are starting to leave, but they want to say goodbye to the amazing dance team first. You and Darcy caused quite a splash, you know. Someone asked if you perform at private dog parties, too.”
Kamila blew out a puff of air as she stood. Time to put on the happy face again. If Rohan was still there, she was going to have to face him. Pretend to be normal. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
They started walking back to the main hall when someone stopped Asha to ask her something. Tim and Kamila continued toward the front of the church where most of the people were gathered.
“Jerome put the dogs in their raincoats for their turn about the park for their business,” Tim said. “Thank god we brought them. You do not want to see wet, matted Afghans. Last time they got caught in the rain, I used two bottles of conditioner on them. Each.”
Kamila cringed. “It’s raining?”
Tim nodded. “Yep. Rohan even brought his car closer for Maricel. Hey, is something going on between those two? They came together. And Maricel is positively glowing.” He leaned close to Kamila as they reached the crowd near the door. “This is your doing, isn’t it? It’s not a couple I would have considered, but you, Ms. Matchmaker, always know best.”
Kamila froze. “What did you say?”
But Tim hadn’t frozen and was still walking to the door. Maricel and Rohan? Was that possible? Rohan couldn’t be the secret man Maricel was seeing, could he?
Kamila felt her stomach drop as she scanned the room. There was chaos—dogs everywhere…including the ones from the adoption room. Staff members were chasing the puppies, trying to get them into crates.
She didn’t see Rohan or Maricel. That was good. But Kamila still wanted to throw up.
It was probably fine. So what if they came together? They were friends.
She finally spotted Maricel, trying to get a leash on a golden retriever. Tim was right—she was positively glowing. Laughing. Happy.
Then Kamila saw Rohan. He also looked happy. He leaned in close to Maricel and said something in her ear. Whatever he said made Maricel blush and smile.
It was true.
But just as Kamila’s heart began the first stages of shattering into thousands of pieces, the door to the church swung open, revealing Jerome wearing a long gray raincoat, and the Afghans, who were wearing very strange, futuristic, full-body hooded red jumpsuits. “It’s really coming down out there. Everyone have a safe—”
While he was talking, Potato came out of nowhere (or, more likely, from the puppy sanctuary) and squeezed between the Afghans, bolting out the door without Jerome or the dogs noticing.
Kamila didn’t think, and just acted. She ran to the door, pushed a confused Jerome out of the way, and bolted after Potato. The church was at one end of the park, but a busy road was right there. Visibility was terrible, thanks to the heavy rain, and Potato was a very light-colored dog.
“Potato!” she screamed, chasing him across the field. Running in a sari wasn’t ideal, but she was grateful for the extra-wide skirt. And grateful she was wearing the sari with blue sneakers instead of sari slippers.
But it was cold and wet, and the Bollywood movies were wrong. There was nothing sexy about wet georgette fabric.
Potato kept running across the grassy field, thankfully away from the road, but the park was big, and Potato was fast.
“Potato!” she screamed again. The dog finally heard and stopped. He turned, cocking his head.
Kamila was afraid to move, knowing enough about puppies to realize that if she continued the chase, he’d only think this was a super-fun game and run faster.
She crouched down, accepting the sari was ruined anyway. “Come here, boy. Come…Who’s a good Potato? Come on, love.”
After Potato stared for a few seconds, he opened his mouth, wagged his tail, and started running full speed toward Kamila. Thank god.
The moment Potato jumped into her arms, large hands reached down and clipped a leash onto the dog’s bow-tie collar. Kamila looked up to see who it was.
Rohan.
“I figured you didn’t have a leash.” He patted the messenger bag he was still wearing. “Lucky I had one right here.”
“No…I…” She stood and immediately understood the appeal of Bollywood rain scenes. She might not feel sexy in a sopping-wet sari, but wow, did he ever look…wow. That linen shirt was plastered to his chest. His hair was in wet clumps on his forehead. His lips were glistening and full.
