“I’ll be here,” Archie says. “Oh, and, Leo?”
“What?”
“There’s a coffee cart on the way back. If you want to grab me a latte on your way back, I wouldn’t say no.”
I can’t stop myself from smiling. “Anything else, Your Majesty?”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Oat milk. Two sugars. I’m injured. I need the calories.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I hang up and look down at Muffin, who has finished her treats and is now gazing up at me with something that might almost be respect.
“Don’t tell anyone about the yawning,” I instruct her.
She wags her tail. I choose to interpret that as agreement.
I gather the leads and start the walk back toward Archie’s bench, the dogs trotting beside me in something that almost resembles order.
I never thought I’d yawn at dogs in public.
I never thought I’d stand in Hampstead Heath wearing sweatpants and sneakers, pocket full of treat crumbs, and hands still faintly smelling of poop bag despite the industrial-strength hand sanitizer.
And this is day one.
What else will I do in the next few weeks that I never expected?
I stop at the coffee cart and order an oat-milk latte with two sugars and a black coffee for myself. I loop the three leads around my wrist and hold the cardboard carrier tray in my free hand. I have never felt further from the man on the cover ofForbes Tech Quarterly.
When Archie spots me coming back, his face lights up when he sees the coffee cups in my hand. He starts to laugh at something, probably the state of my hair, my sweatpants, or my general air of dishevelment.
I should be annoyed. Instead, I’m almost looking forward to telling him about everything that happened.
I don’t know if this is what damage control is supposed to feel like.
Chapter Eight
Archie
Six to eight weeks.
That’s the verdict from the fracture clinic this morning. It’s a clean break that requires six to eight weeks in a cast, non-weight-bearing. The doctor had been brisk and efficient in the way NHS professionals manage when they’ve got forty patients and twelve minutes.
“Do you have support at home?” she’d asked.
“I have a very guilty new roommate,” I’d said.
She didn’t ask for clarification. She’s probably heard stranger living arrangements.
Six to eight weeks. That’s a lot of weeks to share an apartment with someone whose jawline I’m trying not to notice.
I push the thought away and focus on what I can control.
It’s party time!
Also known as time to test just how guilty Leo feels about my accident and the depth of his commitment to making it up to me.
