I'd Give Anything(52)

“Okay, I’m actually feeling jealous that Daniel might have other dog park people,” I’d said, truthfully. “It’s like the cool kids’ lunch table all over again.”

“Who could be cooler than you two?” Daniel had said.

“So invite us!” I’d said.

“Not me,” Mag had said. “I’m old. One dog park trip a day is all the excitement I can take. Besides, now that Ginny’s officially getting divorced, isn’t it time you two got this show on the road?”

For a second, Daniel and I had just stared at her, and I’d waited for the two of us to be engulfed by embarrassment. But it hadn’t happened. Instead, Daniel had laughed.

“That’s our Mag,” he’d said. “Always the subtle one.”

“She kind of has a point,” I’d said to Daniel. “You’re not exactly moving at lightning speed here.”

Daniel had thrown his hands in the air. “Hey, I thought there might be rules about these things. Like a waiting period, maybe.”

“You’re starting a relationship, not buying a gun,” Mag had observed, dryly. “Look, you should call Ginny when you’re leaving work in the evenings, and, if she’s free, she should meet you at the dog park.”

“Fine,” Daniel had said.

“Fine,” I’d said.

And so it was.



“Inner dogs have whiskers?” I asked.

“Are you doubting Nancy?”

“I didn’t even know dog therapists existed.”

“Are you doubting the existence of Nancy?” said Daniel.

“She thinks I captured Mose’s inner dog?”

“Yes. She also thinks that you should paint dog portraits for a living. She says that most dog portrait artists fail to capture the unique soul of a dog. She thinks you could make a mint.”

“Really?”

“I think she’s right. Ever since I hung Mose’s portrait in my waiting room, I’ve had about eight million people ask if you’d be willing to paint their pet.”

“You hung that portrait two days ago. That’s four million people per day.”

“Exactly.”

“Just how much prettier than me is this Nancy the dog therapist person?”

Daniel’s smile flashed in the dusk. “She’s seventy, and she’s been married to Elliott for forty-seven years.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Instead of answering my question, Daniel picked up my hand and kissed my palm, then set my hand on his shoulder. He did it again with my other hand, and I slid my hands around to the back of his neck and locked my fingers. He put his hands in the same spot on my neck and drew me in and kissed me on the mouth. It wasn’t a long kiss; we didn’t stand in the dog park making out. But it was perfect.

“Well, that set the bar high,” I whispered. “For all our future kisses.”

“I’m not worried,” he whispered back. “I have confidence in us.”

I smiled and rested my chin on Daniel’s shoulder and saw Mose, Walt, and Dobbsey sitting in a row, their heads cocked, staring at us.

“The dogs are puzzled,” I said.

Daniel turned to look. “They’re wondering why we just hang out in the dog park,” he said.

“They think we should go on a proper date.”

“How about Saturday?” said Daniel. “Oh, wait, that’s the night of doom; I mean the night of the engagement party.”

I’d told him about the party, how I was nervous to see my high school friends. I hadn’t told him why, not yet.

Before I knew what was happening, I found myself blurting out, “Why don’t you come?”

“To the party?”

I took a step back and blinked in surprise. “Wow. I did not plan to say that to you. But you know what? It’s brilliant. I’m brilliant. Will you come?”

Daniel narrowed his eyes at me. “I sense a plot afoot.”

“How can there be a plot when that was a completely spontaneous invitation?”

“A subconscious plot, then. A spontaneous, subconscious plot.”

“Oh, one of those. Okay, let’s pretend for a moment that that’s not an oxymoron, that a spontaneous, subconscious plot could exist, what would I be plotting to do?”

“Provide a distraction at the party. So that you don’t have to interact with your old friends as much,” he said.

“You being the distraction, you mean.” I considered this and shrugged. “You’re right. Please come. And then you can stay after and help me and Avery clean up.”

“I’m not so sure that crashing an engagement party is polite.”

“Suddenly, you’re Emily Post?”

“I’m always Emily Post,” he said.

“Well, yes, I guess you probably are,” I said. I looked up at the sloping planes of Daniel’s face and at his thoughtful gray eyes. It was true dusk now, but I could see Daniel as clear as day.

“Ugh,” I said. “Shit. You’re so nice.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“Ordinarily, I don’t care if someone likes me under false pretenses. But you’re too nice for that.”