Bruno’s and Opal’s tails wagged furiously as they sniffed each other head to butt. “Sebastian . . .” Like any time I encountered that level of canine cuteness, I crouched for kisses. “She’s precious, but please tell me you didn’t adopt a dog to impress a date.”
“I volunteered to take her for the day,” he said as I handed him his coffee cup so I could pet her. “Irresistible quality number one—I’m charitable with my time. Two—I’m creative. I’ll bet you’ve never been on a date with a mutt.”
I glanced up at him. “And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t enjoyed the first hour of it.”
“You’re sharp today, Keller,” he said with a lingering look. “We can mark that in your ‘irresistible quality’ column.”
I focused on fixing Opal’s twisted collar to keep from blushing. “Where’d you get her?”
“A shelter nearby. She’s a two-year-old beagle-foxhound mix.”
“I feel the need to ask this,” I said, reading her dog tag, “they do know you have her, right?”
“You’re accusing me of stealing her?”
“You weren’t gone very long.”
“I have a friend on the inside, and she helped me arrange it beforehand.” He grinned. “Irresistible quality number three—I’m prepared.”
Opal licked my cheek, which was good because I was giving into the flush that’d been working its way up my neck. “By the fact that this friend is still speaking to you, I assume she’s not an old fling.”
“Actually, she is—not all my exes hate me, believe it or not. We can call any of them up now and ask if you like.”
“You must be superhuman to keep them all straight.” When he didn’t jab back, I wondered if I’d gone too far. But he’d made the bed that was his reputation. Why shouldn’t he have to lie in it?
I stood and rubbed slobber off my dress. A dog date was fun in theory, but I wondered if I should’ve worn something more appropriate for handling two dogs. Like a garbage bag. “You know dogs can’t go on the subway unless they fit in a carrier, right?” I asked.
“Of course. Everyone knows that.”
Flanked by Bruno and Opal, we walked. Brooklyn Heights had tree-lined streets, alternating busy avenues and sleepy cafes, and a promenade that overlooked the East River. There was plenty to do, but it wasn’t really a date destination. “Then where are we going if we’re not taking a car or the subway?” I asked.
“I already told you, it’s a surprise.”
“Some women love to be surprised, others hate it, but we all want to be dressed appropriately.”
He glanced at the spot where my dress brushed above my knees. “So I should’ve mentioned that we’ll be rock climbing?”
“Yes, because then I would’ve worn underwear.”
Sebastian’s expression remained passive, but he almost ran into a chalkboard sign advertising cannabis lattes. I also schooled my face against surprise at my own bravado.
“That was a bold joke,” he said.
“What makes you think it’s a joke?”
He narrowed his eyes on me. “Is it?”
Since Sundays were normally reserved for laundry, my underwear selection was down to special-occasion lingerie or gag gifts. While my “doggy style” briefs and their matching paw-print bra had been tempting, I’d gone for some lacy boyshorts instead. Still, I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out once we’re on the wall.”
Sebastian swallowed as a look I couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face. It could’ve been disgust . . . could’ve been lust. Perhaps there was a fine line between those too.
Sebastian glanced over when I adjusted the tote on my shoulder. “What’ve you got in there, a year’s supply of poop bags?” he asked. “You make fun of my desk, but that pocketbook is the same size as you. Doesn’t your back hurt?”
“Bruno and I need everything in here—including the poop bags,” I said defensively, side-eyeing his easy, unencumbered stride. “Do you have any of those for Opal, or do the women in your world never go number two?”
He snorted. “I’ve got one in my pocket, thanks, and I’m not that squeamish. Nobody asked my opinion on period sex, but I’ll give it to you if you want. The opinion, I mean.”
Oh my god. I didn’t even know what to say to that. If nothing else, Sebastian had a knack for throwing me off my game—but were we even playing still? I realized then, in the midst of our fencing, that I’d completely forgotten to fret over whether to be George or Georgina today. What did it mean if I was actually comfortable with Sebastian?
We turned onto a busier street, parting for a throng of rosy-cheeked young women who looked as if they were either coming from or going to brunch. The hipsters, in muted scarves, retro sunglasses, and leather backpacks, fussed over Opal while I stood at the corner, waiting to cross. I was jealous. How could I not be? Usually Bruno was the one getting fawned over. Opal zigzagged around Sebastian’s legs until she’d wrapped him up in her leash. He turned in a circle, detangling himself as if he did it all the time.
With a little more swagger in his step, he sauntered toward me. “I could get used to being a dog owner.”
“It entails a lot more than just picking up women and going on fake dates,” I said.
“Enlighten me, buns.”
Buns. Only Sebastian could get away with that nickname. He said it with a knowing grin, probably as he thought about cinnamon, and almost made it sound flattering. “Dogs need to be exercised every day, not just when it’s convenient,” I said. “Rain or shine, even if the weather could melt or cryopreserve us, I have to walk him. Some days, I get my ten thousand steps in before most people have had their morning coffees.”
“Huh,” Sebastian said as we stopped at an intersection. “Have to say, I took you for a late riser. Maybe it’s the way you suck down caffeine.”
As we neared the water, trees made canopies of green lace against the cloudless sky. I sighed. “I was, and I am, but that was mostly B.B.”
“Before Bruno?”
“Yep.”
“Is he from a shelter?” Sebastian asked.
“I adopted him from friends of my ex. They were going to put him down because they weren’t sure how long he’d live.” We crossed the street to the East River, walking along a promenade that wound along the water, separating Brooklyn from the city. “My neighbor growing up had a Great Dane, and I’d always thought they were so elegant.”
“Bruno was sick when you got him?”
“Yes.” Even though I’d always known what was to come, it was never easy to say aloud. “It’ll eventually lead to congestive heart failure.”
“I’m sorry. I’m assuming there’s no cure.”
“No, it’s progressive.” Absentmindedly, I ran my fingernails through Bruno’s fur. “I took him to one of the best veterinary heart specialists—in Boston, actually,” I said, glancing up. “All we can do is manage it.”
“Does your ex still see him?”
“He wasn’t really a dog person.” We parted as two young boys in matching sweaters ran between us. “My decision to adopt was actually a point of contention for us.”
“How come?”
“Neal didn’t want a dog at all, let alone Bruno. He thought he was weak.” At least, that’s what my therapist and I had worked out. Neal had a penchant for zoning in on a person’s failings—and sometimes exploiting them. Sebastian and I paused at a cart of books the park had set up along with bright green bistro tables and chairs for reading. “Then there was the process, costs, shorter lifespan. The fact that he wasn’t a puppy. It didn’t make sense to Neal, and I guess it wouldn’t to most people, but . . .”
Across the water, the shimmering Financial District skyline rose tall behind Sebastian. “But?”
“It didn’t seem fair to put down a dog because he was going to die anyway. He could still live a fulfilling life.” I traced a couple book spines. “It’s not the reason Neal and I broke up, but looking back, I always resented him for trying to talk me out of it. And I’m glad I didn’t let him, because Bruno’s still here, years later.”