And even though I know that dog, and I know that voice, my chest tightens in undeniable desire.
Not for Sabrina, I tell myself.
But for the life she has.
The dog. The little girl shrieking with laughter. The lights glowing inside the house.
Home and family the way you see it in the movies.
I scowl to myself, put my head down, take three more steps, and everything goes topsy-turvy.
Ice.
I hit ice.
I hit ice, and my feet slip from under me. The bag on my shoulder drops, throwing me more off-balance. I grip the two suitcases, but both are on wheels, and both go in opposite directions, which leaves me landing hard on one hip and an elbow at the snow-covered curb.
“Uncle Grey,” Zen says.
There’s a woof, two more shrieks, and then I’m drowning in fur while the dog reaches me first and lies down so close to me that he’s practically on top of me.
He whimpers.
And then Zen’s there on one side, Sabrina on the other.
“Are you okay?” Zen asks. “Where does it hurt? Did you break anything? Can you move?”
Cold seeps through my coat. Cold and wet seep through my suit pants. The dog whines and puts his face in mine.
“Jitter, come,” Sabrina says quietly. “Give him breathing space.”
“It’s your ass, isn’t it?” Zen says. “You broke your ass.”
“I did not break my ass,” I grit out.
Jitter whines again and moves his head to rest on my chest while I try to push myself up.
Ice water is already penetrating my gloves.
“So you’re the mystery first tenants next door,” Sabrina says to Zen. “I probably shouldn’t be surprised, should I?”
Zen looks at her. Then at me. Then back to her. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
“Has anyone told you yet that the walls are paper-thin?”
“Ew. Thanks for the warning. Glad you worked him out of your system in Hawaii.”
“Zen,” I snap.
The dog whines again and shoves his face closer to my chin. His head is bigger than mine. His jowls are flopping on my chest and leaving drool on my coat. And his breath smells like the best doggy breath in the world, and yes, I fucking miss my dog so much I’d live in doggy breath.
I push his head away.
“Jitter,” Sabrina says. “Who’s a good boy who wants a steak dinner?”
I was wrong.
Jitter wasn’t whining before.
