Page 4 of Keeping Knight

“Well,” Micah says. “It’s just what my dad taught me. My grandfather, too.” He takes a quick sidestep so he’s on my right, closer to the street. “Opening doors, standing when a woman comes into the room… It’s not meant to undermine what women are capable of. It’s just a way of showing respect. And doing what you can to protect them.”

“I think it’s nice. My dad was the same way.” We come to the intersection of 55th and 8th and stop while we wait for the light to change. “My dad insisted on opening the car door to help my mom out of the car. Every time. It didn’t matter how long the trip was. She could do it herself, of course. But he liked doing it for her.”

Except when she was so sick at the end, she didn’t have the strength to push the door open. And my dad had to basically carry her from the car to the house, cracking little jokes about whisking her off her feet to make her feel better about it.

My throat goes tight. Twenty years later, and there are still times when her loss feels just as fresh as if it happened yesterday. And remembering how great my dad was with her, how he never acted like taking care of her was an imposition…

That’s the kind of love I want. Except without the tragic ending part of it.

“You okay, Ruby?” Micah asks. When I jerk my gaze back to his, there’s obvious concern in his eyes. Then I glance at the traffic light to see the walk signal clearly illuminated. Everyone else is hurrying across the street, while Micah and I are still standing at the edge of the sidewalk.

“Oh, yes.” I dart onto the crosswalk, moving at a quick clip to cross the street before the light turns. “I’m good.”

Once we reach the other side, I flash Micah a reassuring smile. “Just woolgathering, was all. Everything’s fine.”

He studies me for a second. “Okay.” As we continue along the sidewalk, he adds, “So, how’s work been going? I didn’t get to ask during class. Read any interesting manuscripts lately?”

Micah knows I’m an editor—line editing and proofreading, mainly, although I’ll do fact-checking on special request—and he’ll often ask about the manuscripts I read for my clients. I don’t tell him the details, since that’s protected by an NDA, but I don’t see the harm in sharing some of the general ideas.

“I’m copy-editing a memoir right now,” I tell him, “and it’s really interesting. The author worked for a carnival for twenty years. One of those traveling ones. She was in charge of finding talent, whether it was an acrobat or a contortionist or a set of conjoined twins.”

“Really? They still have those?”

“Well, she quit about ten years ago. So I’m not sure if carnivals are the same now. But they had a special exhibition for all the… wonders, they’d call them. Some of the wonders were real. Others were well-constructed fakes, with prosthetics and stuff.”

Micah nods thoughtfully. “That sounds like a really interesting book to read.”

“It is so far,” I agree. “When it’s published, I’ll get you a copy.”

Well, assuming we’re still friends by then. In another year, when the book finally comes out, it’s highly unlikely we’ll still be taking cooking classes and spending three hours every Tuesday night together. Although we could still keep in touch. Meet up for coffee once in a while.

Unless he’s dating someone, that is. I doubt his girlfriend would much appreciate Micah heading off to spend time with another woman.

Something cold and unpleasant settles in my stomach.

I’m not trying to date Micah. But I don’t like thinking about him being with another woman either. Is it rational? No. But it’s there just the same.

“That would be great,” Micah says, mercifully oblivious to my private thoughts. “I’d really like to read it.”

“Okay.” I smile at him. “I’ll see if I can get the author to sign it for you.”

A man comes up along the sidewalk from behind us, singing at the top of his lungs. Actually, singing might be too generous. To be more accurate, it might be considered screaming.

Before I can even react, Micah wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him.

As our bodies touch, heat blasts through my body. My breath catches.

Once the singing slash shouting man passes us, Micah releases me, leaving me even colder than before. “Sorry,” he says as he flashes me a small, apologetic smile. “I just didn’t want him to bump into you.”

“It’s fine,” I reply. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, given who Micah is. Twelve years' active duty in the Army, and now head of the Canine Services Division at Fox & Falcon Securities, a highly respected private security firm in Manhattan, he’s spent the better part of two decades protecting people.

“Of course.” Micah lifts his chin. “Always.”

During the rest of our walk to my apartment, located in a pre-war building on the Upper East Side, we continue our conversation, shifting from the topic of my work to his. I love hearing about Micah’s job. It’s just so interesting, how he trains the dogs for different specialities, from tracking to explosive detection to personal security. When we’re not walking on a crowded sidewalk, he’ll even show me photos of the dogs he works with—there’s Burke, who specializes in suspect apprehension and handler protection, Fluff, who’s trained as a tracker, and Cooper, who can detect drugs and explosives in a couple of sniffs. Oh, and there’s Micah’s own dog, Sampson, who’s also trained in personal security.

Tonight, Micah tells me about a new dog they’ve just started working with, Daisy. She’s only six months old, so she’s too young for ‌specialized training. Right now, they’re just working with her doing basic obedience. Micah has me laughing at Daisy’s hijinks, like sneaking into the Fox & Falcon cafeteria and stealing a plate of cookies that the owner, Nico, had bought for a meeting that afternoon.