“Hey there, girl,” Kate began, but jumped back when the dog turned and barked at her. The sound rattled against the glass. “Whoa! Sorry, girl. Calm down. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
The dog kept barking. Kate frowned at her. She’d always been more of a cat person than a dog person. Maybe she should have been practicing so she’d be prepared for moments like this, like learning the fundamentals of a different language. That was something Steven had taught her working at the Hilton.
“Sit,” she tried, but the dog still barked. “Uh, stay. Cease.Fermare!”
Just in case it understood Italian—her optimistic minor in college that she hoped would lead her into exotic travel. It didn’t, and the dog didn’t.
From behind the glass, she heard the man yell, “Pumpkin, no! Pumpkin, sit!”
That worked. The dog quieted and sat, as if it was the most behaved creature in the world. Except for an upturned nose, it looked almost sweet. Kate wrinkled her own nose at it, but tiptoed forward to get the leash. The dog didn’t move.
“I’ve got it,” she said after she’d pulled the leash back through and held the end. She kept her eyes on the dog as the man pushed all the way through the doors—swoosh—ending up back outside.
“This door isn’t exactly safe,” he complained, taking the leash out of her hand.
“It’s actually perfectly safe, if you heed the instructions,” she replied, pulling her guarded frown from the dog and pointing to the ornate gold-lettered sign hanging next to the door. “Carry dogs through door or go around the back.I think it’s pretty clear.”
The man read the sign, but he looked neither angry nor sorry. “Fine. Could you show us where to go around the back?”
Up close, Kate could see that her view through the antique glass hadn’t been an illusion. This guy’s eyelashes were criminally long and dark, and he had the slightest cleft in his chin. More of a crease, really. Almost Cary Grant, but shorter. Maybe it was the perfect hair that clinched the effect. Not hard on the eyes at all. “Sure. This way.”
“Thank you,” he said. She sensed a little condescension, and bristled.
“No problem.” As they passed his car—a rental, possibly the one she and Pat had passed on their way into town—she asked, “Where are you visiting from?”
“New York. The city, of course,” he added, like she was some yahoo who wouldn’t get his meaning.
“Of course.” A flash of paisley at his chest caught her attention. “Nice pocket square.”
“Thanks—” he began, then scowled at her. He wasn’t dumb, then. He knew when he was being politely mocked.
She swung her arms as they walked along the sidewalk, the dog walking close to Katie like it was keeping her from getting close to its master. Katie ignored it.
They passed through the alley and he hit his head on the hickory branch.
“Ow!”
That made her smile.
* * *
