I plop down on a nearby bench, only half noticing the guy already sitting there. Trench coat. Sunglasses. On ahotsunny day.
Clearly, I’m not the only one who misread the weather. How is he not sweating like I am?
Pookie trots back, but instead of bringing the ball to me, she drops it neatly at the feet of Trench Coat Man. Then sits pretty.
Huh. Okay then.
She usuallyhatesstrangers. Especially men.
Apparently, this one gets a pass.
“Sorry,” I say, reaching down for the ball, only for Pookie to snatch it again and drop itright backat his feet like I don’t exist.
The man tilts his head and flashes me a small side-smirk but doesn’t say a word. I can’t read his expression—his sunglasses are so dark they may as well be blackout curtains. Still, there’s something about the angle of his jaw, the stubble along his chin… Something familiar tugs at the back of my mind. I’ve seen him before. Recently too.
He bends down, grabs the ball, and throws it in one smooth motion—farther than I’ve ever managed.Damn.Good arm. Baseball, maybe?.
I clear my throat. “Which one’s yours?” I ask, purely out of politeness. Definitely not because mysterious men are becoming a pattern in my life.
Nope. Not at all.
I scan for my group of chaos gremlins as they dart around the park. It’s packed today. Probably because sunny weather always draws out the fur-baby crowd.
I catch the slight turn of his head before he slides his sunglasses down just a touch, tipping his face toward me. His eyes are dark—maybe black—but they shimmer faintly, picking up a hint of blue from the sky. There’s something…offabout how striking they are.
“Your dog,” I clarify, in case he didn’t hear me. “Which one is yours?”
He clears his throat and sits up straighter, pushing his sunglasses back into place. “The… black one over there. No—thatone.” He gestures vaguely, and I squint at the clump of dogs by the water bowl, all varying shades of black.
Helpful.
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“My what?” He whips his head towards me in shock, like I’ve asked for his blood type and Social Security number.
“Yourdog’s name.You know. The thing you yell when you want them to come?”
“Yes. Of course. His name.” He nods rapidly. “His name is… Bruno.” He lets out a sharp whistle. “Bruno! Come here, boy!”
And that’s when it happens.
Every single dog in the park—every single one—freezes mid-action and turns to stare.
Then… stampede.
Dozens of paws thunder across the grass, straight for us. More specifically—forhim.
I shriek-laugh as a Great Dane barrels into the bench, nearly launching me off it. The man is swarmed in seconds, completely overtaken by fur, tongues, and excited barking.
“Wow,” I wheeze between laughs. “Dogs really love you.”
He gives me a helpless look as he tries to fend off an especially drooly pug intent on giving him a full facial. Somewhere in the chaos, his sunglasses get knocked off and land in the grass. His expression is… wild. Stunned. A little frazzled. I’m living for it.
A flash of sparkle catches my eye—Pookie’s glittery red ball. An idea strikes me and I snatch it up, leap onto the bench, and shout, “Who wants the ball?!”
All at once the dogs switch their attention to me and bark in excitement.
“Fetch!” I yell, hurling the bedazzled ball as far as I can.
