Bruno nudged his snout under my arms to lick my face. “Leave me alone,” I said, but of course he didn’t. He was preternaturally good at knowing when I needed comforting, even if he was the cause of mydistress.
Sebastian sighed heavily. “That’s enoughwallowing.”
I didn’t move, reluctant to face the reality of everything he’d just witnessed. Dog puke, me getting winded after a minute of running around, and a breakdown that had brought me to the ground. All things which could, and surelywould, be used as ammunition to embarrass me at a later date. I peeked at Sebastian from under my arms. He was on his knees soaking a towel in the bowl he’d brought, then pressing it against the stain. “What isthat?”
“Dawn dish soap, hydrogen peroxide, and bakingsoda.”
“How do you know how to dothat?”
“You think he’s the first to puke in here?” heasked.
I laughed without thinking, then stopped when he checked the stain. The towel in his hand crunched, because it wasn’t a towel, but something fluffier and stark white. “Is that . . . adiaper?”
“Yep. Soaks up better than atowel.”
“But how do youknowthat? And where did yougetit?”
“Dixon Media has a pregnancy magazine a few floors below us. I work with Justin—this isn’t my firstrodeo.”
I blinked at him. Did he have a secret life as a dogsitter? Was he adad? It wasn’t that far-fetched considering his playboy history—surely, he was no stranger to pregnancy scares—and it would explain his intensity when he’d grilled me about whether I was a single parent. None of my research had turned up a family, but maybe he’d intentionally kept ithidden.
“Just out of curiosity,” I started, “have you ever, you know, held a newborn? Or a baby bottle? Been required to keep a human aliveovernight?”
“Huh?” He checked the carpet, then continued pressing the diaper to it. “Just my niece andnephew.”
Ah. Of course—his sister. That was why he knew about vomit stains and sanitary shortcuts. “How old arethey?”
“Five, and nineteen months.” He stood, dusting off his hands. “It also works with apad.”
“What?”
“A menstrual pad. But I didn’t want to get busted raiding the women’sbathroom.”
“Good to know.” I eased myself into a sitting position. “I’ll hit up the storelater.”
“Go through this a lot?” heasked.
“Yes, but usually at home. If I can’t get Bruno to cooperate, then the sitter takes over. He’s a vet student and the only other person who can handle thetantrums.”
“Bruno.” He chuckled. “Suits him perfectly. We can let this sit while we air out the smell. Where’s hisleash?”
“In my tote bag,” I said cautiously. “Why? We already went for a walk thismorning.”
“We could all use some fresh air.” He got hand sanitizer from his desk. “I’ll call janitorial to come get the trash while we’reout.”
“We?”
“Yeah.” He squirted enough goop in his palm to sanitize a small child, then rubbed his hands together. “Bruno’s not the only one who needs morningZen.”
“And you think we’ll find that downstairs, blocks from one of the world’s top tourist destinations?” I asked, cringing at just the idea of the crowds clogging TimesSquare.
“I know we will.” He went through my “Dogs are Good, but Danes are Great” tote bag. Bruno jumped to his feet and ran over, whining and wagging his tail as Sebastian hooked the leash onto his collar. “Bruno and I are going to de-stress. Youcoming?”
“De-stress? What happened toanthropomorphizing?”
“Have it your way. We’ll see you when we getback.”
Walking Bruno could be a dangerous endeavor. Nobody ever did it except me, Luciano, or Bruno’s sitters. He wasn’t some easily controlled lap dog—he’d been through several rounds of behavioral training but could pull me across a sidewalk in a flash. Especially when there was a female doginvolved.
