FRIENDLY AND BROKEN
Penny
The chorusof barks at Fetch on Fifth settled into a sleepy, satisfied hum after a few hours of play. A dozen dogs sprawled in various stages of exhaustion, some bellies up, paws twitching, all angling to be nearest me. Goldie stretched across my lap like the queen she was. She loved coming with me whenever I could bring her.
I swiped hair off my damp forehead. “Well, that’s another successful Saturday, team.”
Tails thumped.
I leaned back against the playroom wall and sighed. “Oh, the life of a dog. So easy. No feelings for your boss to navigate.”
Goldie nudged my hand with her nose like a therapist saying,Go on, let it all out.
I pulled a brush from my apron and worked it through her golden coat, thinking of Archer when he’d visited. The photo he took of us lived in my phone’s favorites. “You guys ever meet someone who makes it hard to think straight? The kind of guy who calls you Ms. Fair, and it lands in your stomach where the butterflies live?”
Rocket, the doodle, cocked his head. Sir Biscuit, the elderly beagle, perked his ears.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to say the B-word. And no, there are none to chase here.” Though I could imagine unleashing a whole cloud of butterflies in the playroom and letting the chaos reign.
“Anyway, my boss is so smart. Impossibly gorgeous, and completely off-limits.” I lobbed a tennis ball toward the corner for one of the smaller dogs who still itched to run. “He was at the mixer last night, and he…” The memory played back, still vivid—his suit, his laugh, and the way his eyes found me again and again across the room. “Anyway. It’s fine. Totally fine.”
Sir Biscuit grunted like even he didn’t buy it.
“Don’t you start,” I warned. “I am not becoming an HR horror story. Maya filled me in about the last VP and an intern. They call itCloset-gatearound the office. As in, caught-in-the-supply-closet-with-your-pants-down-gate.”
Goldie growled, properly appalled.
“Exactly. That’s why we keep things professional. Strictly dogs and deadlines, no exceptions. No car rides home. No sneaking glances at his fine ass as he passes by my desk in the office, which he seems to do a lot. And definitely no fantasies about seducing the boss in his office with the Manhattan skyline in the background.”
Goldie snorted, unconvinced.
I rubbed her head and exhaled. “Okay, fine. Maybe a tiny part of me wants Archer to need me like I’m oxygen. Like the way Westley stares at Brier. But that’s not happening. Right?”
Her tail wagged. Traitor.
Puggie, the tiny Frenchie with an attitude big enough for Times Square, nosed her rope toy into my palm. I held it up, and she latched on, and the game of tug-of-war began.
“First, we were on a date, then he ghosted me, then he chased me as a zombie, then… oh, the couch and his hands and his lips and that rather large and probably satisfying bulge in his pants. An extra large if I were to order one of Brier’s customcrocheted penises. And now we’re forbidden to fraternize.” I won the war and tossed the toy for her. If only I could win in real life.
Rocket’s dad entered and waved through the glass for pickup time.
“Welp. Good talk, gang. You’re better than therapy and much cheaper.” I stood and handled the parade of parents until closing. Each dog got a report card for the day, a goodie bag of treats, and a final furry hug goodbye.
With Goldie’s help, I mopped paw prints, and restocked our treat jar. When finished, I clipped the leash to her harness and locked up. A late-afternoon autumn breeze met us on the sidewalk.
“Come on, girl. Take me home.” We walked the eight blocks. My thoughts drifted from Caleb’s to-do list, which was Monday’s problem, to Mom’s “call your mother” voicemail, to Archer and last night’s mixer replaying like a loop.
Shop lights dimmed, and pubs brightened. Kids chased balls in the street until called in for dinner. I loved this city. For a minute, I almost forgot the ache of wanting someone I shouldn’t.
Up ahead, a blue Jaguar sat at the curb outside our brownstone. I stopped to admire it and squinted at the plate. Could that be Archer’s? Goldie tugged hard, eager to go home. I almost tripped on the stairs.
Garlic, tomatoes, and basil hit me before I even walked through the door. Aunt Brier loved to cook, but only for a crowd. On typical nights, we lived on frozen meals or takeout.
Tonight must be a real treat. I unhooked Goldie’s harness at the front door. She wiggled anxiously away toward two male voices.
I stepped into the open kitchen and froze. Goldie didn’t—she launched herself at everyone, her tail a blur.
Westley sat at one side of the table, sweater sleeves pushed up. “Hello again, Penny. And this must be Goldie. I’ve heard so much about you, girl.” He offered a biscuit, then another, instantly upgrading to Favorite Human.
