It was just like him to turn his dog’s name into a joke. Although, yeah, it was kind of funny.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
“You ripped your jeans,” Andrew said, pointing at my knee. Iblushed in the darkness because he’d probably scanned my entire body. The fact that I’d worked a long day was written all over me, from the dusty paw prints tattooed up and down my legs to my two-days-dirty hair shoved into a ponytail. It wasn’t fair that he looked like Andrew Gibson Action Figure, now with a dynamic physique for more realistic poses.
“I don’t think that’s the only thing I ripped.” I winced as I tried to roll my wrist. I was exhausted, in pain, and mystified why, of all the places he could’ve wound up, Andrew had picked the rental next to mine. There was a small commercial cookie baker in between us, but it wasn’t enough of a buffer for me. Hell, Pennsylvania to DC hadn’t been enough of a buffer. “Anyway, I need to get home. Glad you and Dude are reunited. Good luck with your business. Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
I realized too late that I’d teed him up for the perfect dad joke, but instead of rattling off the typical response about seeing me first he gave me a curt nod then looked down at his waist.
Andrew fiddled with his belt buckle, then whipped it out of the loops on his jeans with a snap that echoed through the parking lot. I sucked in a breath, trying not to focus on the many ways everything could go south. We’d never been close despite our ties to Samantha and Nolan, but I knew he wasn’t the type to make me wish I had the Mace my mom had given me a million years ago. At least back in the day he wasn’t. He’d even carried me home from a bar that one time I passed out in a corner booth. I didn’t remember much of it aside from how solid he felt as he cavemanned me back to my dorm. Imighthave nestled up against him as he deposited me in my twin bed, but more than likely it was just due to the spins. That night I’d dreamedAndrew and I were on a roller coaster together, kissing each time it crested a hill, and I woke up the next morning feeling more hungover than usual.
I hadn’t talked to Andrew in over five years yet here he was, standing a few feet away from me in the darkness in a deserted parking lot that was a quarter mile away from the next closest building.
Beltless.
I held my breath when he took a few steps toward me, then let it out in an embarrassed whoosh as he reached down to thread it under Dude’s collar. Ofcoursehe didn’t have a leash for his dog.
“Anyway, sorry about Dude. We’ll both try to stay out of your way. Probably for the best, right?”
I struggled to figure out if he meant because of our history or because of my canine students. I ignored the first option. “Well, yeah, with all the dogs going in and out, he shouldn’t be running around unattended. I teach Rowdy Rover classes on Wednesday nights and he’ll be sorry if he tries to mess with those dogs. Keep him on a leash.”
I cringed. I sounded like the dog police.
“Yup, understood.” He saluted me then turned.
I watched him walk away, waiting until he’d disappeared into the building before heading for my car. After an absolutely shitty year, Andrew showing up was undisputable proof that things werenotgoing to get better for me.
chapter two
Puppy play group was the highlight of my week.
Sure, I loved all my classes at the School of Frolic, even the Rowdy Rover classes filled with dogs that sounded like they were out for blood if they managed to catch sight of one another (and which I tightly managed to make sure didn’t happen), but it was hard to top a roomful of goofy pups learning how to dog.
Even though I spent way more time than I should in the place, I never got tired of being in my building. I’d purposely broken the “it’s dogs so make it cutesy” mold and turned the warehouse space into a tasteful oasis, complete with washable navy walls, a high white ceiling that camouflaged the exposed pipes, and a polished concrete floor that looked like weathered barn wood. I always joked that if I aired the place out I could start a side business renting it for small weddings in the spring and summer.
There’s a rhythm to my class enrollment, and the back-to-school vibe during the month of September also seemed to apply to dogs. I was booked to capacity with a waiting list for all my offerings, including my always popular puppy classes. Asmuch as I wanted to let every single one of them in and fill the room with little ones, I knew I could only handle eight four-legged clients at a time.
Because along with those adorable, inquisitive pups came the parents. Andtheycould be a handful. But I was lucky with my current session. Everyone seemed to know how to follow instructions, and they were genuinely interested in doing what was best for their new best friends. Sadly, that wasn’t always the case.
After the forty-five-minute class ended there were always “darters” and “stragglers.” The darters zipped out the door the second we wrapped up, but the stragglers hung around, eager to chat and pick my brain for advice on how to handle common challenges like nipping or potty training regressions. Paula Davis was Queen of the Stragglers, often keeping me twenty minutes after class. But she was irresistible, a huggable, squishy senior with a white-blond pixie cut who brought me homemade oatmeal raisin cookies at our second class because her dog Ivan learned how to sit at the first one.
“Did you see how sweet Ivan was tonight?” Paula asked, her little brown and white shih tzu mix clutched under her arm like a pocketbook. “He tried playing with that pop-leon.”
I loved the way she managed to mangle every breed name. Even her own dog was a “shit-zoo” mix.
“I did see him getting frisky with Brandy thepapillon,” I said, gently hinting at the correct pronunciation. “He’s finally learning how to play well with others.”
“Hmph,” she snorted with a frown. “Wish I could say the same for Hugh. I swear, he hasn’t gotten off his rump in a week straight.”
Paula had retired from her forty-year career as a daycare owner two years prior and was still eagerly awaiting her husband, Hugh, to join her in the joys of over-65 life. She’d filled me in during our brief postclass chats that the only thing Hugh wanted to do was sit in his recliner and yell at political programs on the various news channels all day.
“Maybe I should start teaching husband classes?” I joked.
“Oh, you’d makemillions,” Paula cackled. “And I’d be first in line, dragging Hugh here on a leash.”
“Whoa, hold on, Paula,” I said, holding my hand up. “I don’t teach those kinds of classes.”
Her face crinkled in confusion, but realization slowly dawned across her face and she laughed even harder. “You arebad.”
