“I believe this belongs to you?”
The words are drawled in a deep voice of smoke and silk, and a slight accent laced with a hint of amusement. I look up into the bright bronze eyes, short-cropped ears, and panting smile of a bear of a Cane Corso. And then I tilt my head back farther to find myself staring into eyes of blue steel that take my breath away.
For a heartbeat and then another, I forget all about my humiliation and the fact that I'm sitting on a Brooklyn sidewalk in broad daylight in my ruined pants for all to see. All I can think about, all I can see, all I can concentrate on, are the blue of those eyes, sparking with humor but not cruelty.
The eyes crinkle further, the fine lines at their corners deepening with the amusement. “Dogs really are man’s best friend.”
It’s an odd statement said with an even odder gleam in his eyes and a quirk to his full lips, circled by a neat salt-and-pepper beard, but it sends a rush of heat from my toes straight up to the top of my head.
“Yes?” he asks before I can respond in any way, and I realize he's holding out Benji’s leash to me.
“Oh, I, uh, yes. I, uh?—”
The world comes rushing back in, and I remember exactly what I'm doing. Or rather, exactly what I'm showing to everyone.
“Do you by any chance have an extra apron this woman can borrow?”
The man addresses the barista instead of me this time. She snaps out of her surprise and disappears from view before popping back with a black ball of cloth clutched in her hands. The man takes it with a nod of thanks.
“Do you think you can fashion something temporary out of this?” He asks, holding out the wadded-up fabric instead of Benjamin’s leash.
“I think so.”
I'm breathless from surprise and embarrassment, and the attention of the man in front of me. When he extends his free hand to help me up, I take it and step closer to him than I usually would, and he doesn't back away. He also averts his eyes as I shake out the apron and fold it in half before wrapping it around my waist and securing it with the ties like some off-kilter miniskirt. It barely fits, but I'm grateful I don't have to walk down the sidewalk with my underwear flashing with every step.
“Thanks so much for the idea.” I look at the ground as I say it, because I'm so humiliated I can't look at those brilliant blue eyes again.
“It’s my fault,” he says, and his voice sends a shiver right through me. “I know the Great Dane and my Athos are friendly rivals. I should have been more careful when I saw you both out on the street.”
The words are sincere, but I still hear amusement in his voice. I still see it in his eyes, too, when I can't stand it anymore and look up—and up—into his face.
The man is tall and built like a mountain. His suit—ultra-expensive, probably bespoke—does nothing to hide his physique. I don't fail to notice the way he holds both enormous, powerful dogs in one hand.
“It's fine,” I say quickly, taking a step back away from him and then another for good measure, because I'm afraid of all the ways my body can betray me when I'm this close to him. When I smell his cologne, it clouds my head so much, I can barely think. I can almost forget about my utter humiliation.
“Thank you for your help,” I stutter, taking Benji’s leash from the man before I take another step back and turn desperately to the barista. “I'm sorry. I'msosorry. I promise I'll give you the apron back as soon as I get home and change. I'll leave the dog at home.”
“Don't worry about it.” The barista flaps her hand at me, then shoves the iced coffee I ordered at me. “Here. It's on the house. You deserve it.”
I thank her, grab Benji’s leash, and just walk away, not even sure which direction I'm going. I just want to get out of there and away from these people I hope I never see again.
I hear footsteps behind me. They're not hurried, but they don't fall back either. Halfway down the block, I turn to confront whoever is behind me, and nearly run into the man again.
“Why are you following me?”
“For one, I always take Athos in this direction to walk. But two, I would like to apologize by offering to buy you some new pants to replace the ones that ripped.”
He says it like it's the most natural thing in the world, like it isn't entirely odd for some random stranger to offer to replace the jeans my best friend's dog ripped. Like it's the most natural thing in the world to stand chin to chest with this man who makes my heart stop and butterflies flutter in my stomach.
I should say no, but what comes out of my mouth instead is, “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
Which is how I end up staring at myself in the mirror in the dressing room of an expensive boutique a few blocks down from the incident. I turn around to see that my improvised skirt nearly shows my underwear and has the “Bean There, Done That,” logo emblazoned across my ass, like some trashy advertisement for services.
I rip off the apron, discarding what’s left of my jeans, and quickly pull on the first pair of jeans—I can't pull them up over my hips. The second pair is too large and gaps at the back. But the third fits like a miracle, tight where it needs to be, smooth where it needs to be. I have a good pair of jeans at home, but I had no idea they made jeans like this. I gasp at the price when I see it, butI'm already reasoning away buying a second pair at some point in the near future.
The man is facing away from me when I come out of the dressing room. I'm surprised he's still here. I expected him to do something, like leave money to pay for it, before he slipped away, having done his duty and made up for what he imagined he had caused.
I take the moment to really study him, to see him beyond his physique, as difficult as that is. But it's not the only impressive thing about him, neither is the suit.
