Page 5 of Hard to Get

She arches an eyebrow.

“Not a line! Just an observation!”

Her lips twitch up into a smile. “Okay.”

Betty comes running up to us and flops down on the grass in front of her person. Frank follows behind her and sits in front of me, smiling, tongue lolling.

“You look happy, my dude. Did you have a good run?”

“They’re both exhausted.” Betty’s owner crouches down and runs her hand over her pup’s sturdy body. “But that’s good. Betty’s been putting on a little weight, so we’re trying to get more exercise.”

“She looks good,” I say. “Svelte.”

She laughs. “Okay.”

She’s very self-assured. Smart. I like it.

Another dog, some kind of mix about their size, runs up to us. Betty rolls onto her side like she’s dying but Frank jumps up to greet this new friend.

“I think Frank still has some energy. I’m gonna sit on that bench over there. Care to join me?”

“I’m not sure Betty can walk that far.”

“Ah, she’s faking it.”

“Hmm. You know her so well.” Her tone is dry. She bends over and lifts her dog into her arms. “I’ll carry you, but just this once.”

And hey, she follows me to the bench. We sit beneath a maple tree that’s brilliant red at the top although still green on the lower branches. Autumn is here. Which means hockey season.

This park is a small haven in Yaletown, surrounded by towering apartment buildings. The cries of children playing on the nearby play structure drift on the soft evening. I breathe in the fresh, resinous scent of a big Scots pine tree nearby.

Betty stands on her hind legs to lick her owner’s face. She laughs and dodges her tongue, but she does let her dog lick her chin. What a woman.

“I love you, too,” she says to her, petting her. “You’re such a good girl.”

“I heard that butt sniffing is the dog version of a handshake,” I say. “But apparently, it’s even more than that.”

She looks at me as if holding back a smile. “Oh yeah?” Up closer now, I notice her eyes are dark, rich, and deep.

I nod. “Dogs release pheromones through their anal glands, and they get a lot of valuable information that way.”

Why the fuck am I talking about anal glands to this absolute goddess?

“I’ve also heard that dogs can smell our feelings,” she says. “Because of our own pheromones.”

“I believe that. Frank knows when I’m really pissed off or frustrated.”

“I think Betty does, too.”

A ball comes flying through the air toward us. Instinctively, I shoot out a hand and catch it, right in front of my new friend’s face.

“Holy shit!” she gasps. “That nearly hit me.”

“Yeah.” I look around for the asshole who threw it.

“Good catch.” She shakes her head, looking a little rattled.

“Are you okay?”