He shrugged one shoulder. “Dinner is fine.”
My brain lagged three steps behind before deciding to function again. “Right. Great. Cool.”
We collected our things and headed back toward our hotel room. The elevator ride was quiet but not uncomfortable.
Jaime didn’t edge away from me and he didn’t coolly angle his body in the opposite direction. Pampi sat in his arm, pressed happily against his chest, her fluffy ears perked.
When we entered the room, Jaime set Pampi down gently, removed her show collar, and filled her portable bowl with fresh water. She drank eagerly, tail swishing like a tiny metronome.
“She did good today,” I said, toeing off my shoes.
“She hasn’t competed yet,” Jaime murmured, kneeling to scratch her chin.
“Still. She handled the noise. The crowd. The other dogs. That’s impressive for a small girl like her,” I pointed out.
He looked up slightly, just enough for our eyes to catch, and something warm flickered across his face. “She’s tougher than she looks.”
“I could say the same about her handler,” I said before my brain caught up.
Jaime froze for half a beat. Then stood, and then cleared his throat.
“Dinner,” he said, redirecting.
“Right,” I echoed quickly, heat creeping up my neck.
We each took turns freshening up, with me taking a quick shower first and change of shirt. Jaime showered after. He emerged wearing a fitted dark henley and jeans, hair still damp at the tips.
Unfair. Absolutely unfair how amazing he looked.
“So,” I asked, sliding my wallet into my pocket, “what’re you in the mood for? Food-wise.”
“Anything not from the hotel,” he replied immediately. “I’ve had enough recycled ballroom air and overpriced buffet chicken for one day.”
“I know a burger joint a couple blocks down,” I said. “Good fries. Decent beer. And the walk would do us good.”
“A walk sounds nice,” he said, surprising me again. “I wouldn’t mind some fresh air.”
“Then it’s a plan,” I said.
After reassuring Pampi we would be back soon, we left the hotel through the side entrance, stepping into the early night. Cool airbrushed against my skin, a relief after the artificial chill of the ballroom.
It carried the faint scents of the town. Fried food from nearby diners, pine from the surrounding woods, distant car exhaust, the murmur of traffic.
Jaime inhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing. “Better.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Feels real out here.”
We started down the sidewalk, our footsteps syncing without effort. At some point, our arms brushed again. It was light and accidental, but my wolf perked up like someone had handed it a treat.
“Long day,” I said after a moment.
“Yes,” Jaime agreed. “But productive.”
“Everything ran smooth today.”
“But that doesn’t mean tomorrow will be clean.”
“True,” I answered.
