Puppy Love

by Lucy Gilmore

  Her tactful attempt at retreat failed. Before she could feign an interest in the wine list, Dawn plucked the menu out of Lila’s hand and sat on it. Sophie waved away the waitress who was hovering nearby and leaned across the table, her chin propped on her hands. “Define ‘client-building rapport,’” she ordered. “And don’t leave anything out. It must be good. I’ve never seen you turn that shade of red before.”

  “That’s because you haven’t seen Ford Ford,” Dawn said knowingly.

  There was no mirror handy, but Lila was pretty sure her shade of red deepened. “How do you know I wasn’t building rapport with Emily?”

  “Because I’ve seen Ford Ford. Spill. Did he ravish you? I bet he did.” Dawn sighed. “I haven’t been ravished in forever. I’m starting to fear I’ve forgotten how.”

  Sophie, who was being ravished on the regular by her large, incredibly rugged firefighter boyfriend, waved Dawn off. “You’ve had enough ravishing to last a lifetime. It’s Lila’s turn now. Seriously, Lil—it does look as though you spent the better part of the afternoon wrestling in the sheets. What happened to that beautiful crown of braids you had this morning?”

  Lila saw no other option than to tell them the truth. Mustering her most respectable air, she said, “Mr. Ford asked me to teach him how to re-create that particular style. Apparently, Emily is fond of elaborate braids.”

  Neither the mister in front of Ford’s name nor the fact that she really had used an icy voice this time caused either of her sisters to so much as blink.

  “He braided your hair?”

  “He touched your head?”

  “He threaded his large, nimble fingers through your supple strands?”

  “And more to the point, you let him?”

  Lila was having a difficult time determining which of her sisters was worse, but she was leaning toward Dawn and her supple strands.

  “Emily wanted to watch, so it made more sense for me to be the model,” she said crisply. Crisp was the only way she could speak for fear her voice might crack otherwise. There was nothing extraordinary about building client rapport—all three of them knew that and practiced it as much as possible. When you spent six full weeks with someone, working days and nights, learning the intricacies of their routines so you could fit a puppy in seamlessly, there was a certain amount of intimacy involved.

  There was, however, everything extraordinary about sitting at Ford’s fuzzy-red-stockinged feet while he ran his fingers over her scalp. In Lila’s experience, that level of intimacy existed somewhere been second and third base, a shortstop detour before things started to get hot and heavy. Especially since Dawn was right—Ford’s fingers had been both large and nimble. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he did for a living, but she knew it involved drawing of some sort. The strength of his of hands had proved it. He’d twisted and turned and looped her hair with a kind of dexterity that made her flustered to remember even now.

  “I’d always considered myself something of a wizard at this,” he’d said, laughing, after the first failed attempt. “I see now that I’ve met my master. Do you mind if we try again?”

  She had minded. She’d minded a lot.

  But of course she couldn’t say so. It was out of the question to admit that the sensation of his hands working through her long, thick hair led inexorably to ideas about all the other things he might be capable of doing with them. That would only give power to this idea that she was attracted to him, that the same flirtatious routine he pulled on every woman under the age of fifty was capable of knocking her knees together until they were nothing but gelatin.

  “This is the third attempt, if it makes you feel any better,” Lila said. “You should have seen what I looked like after the first one.”

  Her sisters would have probably kept going in this vein, demanding answers and details and in-depth descriptions of the calluses on every one of Ford’s fingers, but they were interrupted by a flash of unmistakable blinding white from the restaurant doors.

  Well, it would be more accurate to say that they were interrupted by the man attached to that preternatural flash, but the idea held fast. Lila’s heart, however, did not. It plummeted to the pit of her stomach, holding her in place.

  “My, my, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.” The man approached their table and bestowed his dazzling smile equally on all the Vasquez sisters. “It’s not often that I’m lucky enough to find the three of you together. My ship must have finally come in.”

  Lila sat perfectly still, striving to think of a way to slide her entire body under the table without anyone being the wiser. It wasn’t the most elegant way to go about things, but her only other option was to fake a fire and run screaming out the emergency exit doors.

  She was debating the merits of just such an approach when a white knight came to her rescue. Two of them, actually. Her sisters might be pushy and interfering and giddily romantic, but they were also unquestionably on her side.

  “What do you want, Patrick?” Dawn asked without bothering to hide her grimace.

  His eyes opened in mild surprise. “To see your sister, of course. I happened to be walking past and—”

  Dawn had never been one to swallow lies. “Oh, please. You know we eat here several times a week. What are the chances our waitress will confirm that you’ve been by every day in hope of coincidentally running across us?”

  “Intelligent as well as beautiful.” Patrick put his hand over his heart. “Why did I ever think I stood a chance?”

  “Because the only thing bigger than your pride is your ego.” Sophie scooted to the far end of her booth seat to preclude him sitting down next to her. “Can we help you with something?”

  Love for her two siblings went a long way in lifting Lila’s spirits. Even though they didn’t know all the details of her relationship with Patrick, they were all too aware that things hadn’t ended well between them.

  As if he, too, was remembering the discord of their last parting, Patrick reached out and touched one of the locks of hair that had slipped out of Ford’s inexpert braid.

  “Hey, Lil,” he said, his voice low with familiarity. “I like this new look. It suits you.”

  No, it didn’t. She looked ridiculous, as her sisters had already pointed out, but there hadn’t been time to fix it before she’d rushed over here to meet them. Punctuality was more important than aesthetics, no matter how much it pained her to present anything but her pristine best.

  Ford had pointed it out, too, laughing apologetically as she’d beaten a hasty retreat. “You came to us looking like a princess and are leaving looking like something the puppy choked up,” he’d said, and then had smiled so warmly that it had been impossible to take offense.

  Besides, taking offense was right up there with admitting how much she’d enjoyed the sensation of his fingers running through her hair. She felt nothing for Ford except cool, professional disinterest, dammit, and no one could accuse her otherwise.

  Patrick Yarmouth, however…

  “You could have just called like a normal human being,” she said. She started to rise out of her seat, hoping to take this conversation outside, but it didn’t work. Either because he assumed she was moving over to make way for him or—even more likely—because he’d never been great at taking a hint, he lowered himself onto the red vinyl seat next to her.

  In addition to a dazzling smile, Patrick had a number of attributes that made him look like a model in a toothpaste ad. Most of those attributes had to do with his being shaped exactly like a square. His jaw was square, his eyes were square, his shoulders were square, and even his hair, which gleamed a burnished auburn under the lights of the restaurant, had a distinctly cube-like shape. It wasn’t a bad thing, all those clean-cut angles and solid masculinity, but Lila found that she preferred a sharply chiseled pair of cheekbones and a touch of gray at the temples.

  “Well, girls,” he drawled, emphasizing a term he knew Lila hated, “I hear congratulations are in order.”


  Lila knew better than to ask him to elaborate. So did Sophie and Dawn, but of course that didn’t stop Patrick from barreling right ahead.

  “A little birdie told me you’re making great progress on the Auditory Guild contract,” he said. “Good for you. It’s just the thing to put Puppy Promise on the map, and it couldn’t have happened to a better organization.”

  To the untrained ear, Patrick sounded sincere. He looked sincere, too, what with all those teeth flashing around the table. It was part of his charm, that ability to distract and awe, a brilliantly plumed peacock performing his mating dance to everyone close enough to revel in it.

  Lila’s ear, however, was anything but untrained. Five months of dating this man had taught her a thing or two about reading between the molars.

  “Thanks, Patrick,” she said. And because she knew the lines by heart, she added, “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He turned to look at her, a queer light in his eyes. “You think so?”

  She knew so. As much as it pained her to admit it—and the pain, it loomed large—Patrick had been the one to introduce her to Anya in the first place. He was also the one who’d encouraged them to donate a service animal, who’d showed them the benefits of allying Puppy Promise with an organization as large and influential as the Auditory Guild. As an otolaryngologist, Patrick had plenty of clout in the hearing services field. As an attractive man in his early forties—well educated, well spoken, and well-to-do—he also had plenty of clout with Lila.

  Or so she’d thought.

  “You know how instrumental you were in getting us that contract,” Lila said, since it was no more than the truth. “And if the only thing you’ve come here to do is make me feel guilty about it, then you’re wasting your time. I know how much we’re in your debt.”

  Some of Patrick’s brilliant wattage dimmed. “I’m not here to make you feel guilty, Lil. I only wanted to tell you that you have my full support.”

  He said it the way he said most things—a magnanimous man making a magnanimous gesture—causing all of her hackles to rise. But then he added, “I’m also here to apologize.”

  “Apologize?” All three Vasquez sisters turned his way with a shared look of incredulity.

  He chuckled, though his attention remained riveted on Lila. “I know. It shocked me, too. But I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong, and I was wrong about you. I’m sorry, Lila.”

  Lila couldn’t have felt more dazed if the chef had come by and knocked her across the head with a cast-iron frying pan. Once upon a time, in the manner of all fairy tales, she’d thought her happily ever after was within reach. For four months and thirty days, she and Patrick had been an unstoppable force, sharing long philosophical discussions over eggs Benedict. They’d done all the things respectable couples were supposed to do: brunches and lunches and working side by side to complete the Sunday Times crossword puzzle every week.

  And they’d done it, too—that was the thing that bothered her the most. Lila had been doing that blasted crossword puzzle for the majority of her adult life, but she’d never managed to finish Sunday’s by herself. But Patrick and his esoteric knowledge of historic military campaigns and Latin root words had done the trick. What she couldn’t figure out on her own, he’d supplied with that beaming smile and some hastily scrawled penmanship. Honestly, it was enough to drive a woman out of her mind with desire.

  It had been enough to push Lila that direction, anyway.

  Until, of course, the fourth month and thirty-first day. That was when he’d pulled the plug without a hint of warning. That was when he’d blamed her for driving him to it.

  Because she was too perfect. Too demanding. Too reserved. Too cold.

  In other words, she was a lizard person. Cut her up and measure her out, and she’d be the perfect handbag—with or without the matching shoes.

  “You’re sorry?” she echoed, blinking at him.

  “Yes.” His hand shot out and covered hers, his grip heavy. “I only meant the best when I warned Anya that you weren’t ideally suited to working with kids.”

  “Oh, hell no—” Dawn made a motion to get up out of her seat, but Lila stilled her with one raised, shaking hand. It suddenly seemed very important that Patrick be allowed to finish.

  He continued, unabated and unabashed. “Of course, that was before I heard about the way you wooed Emily Ford by dressing up as a princess.”

  Lila didn’t bother correcting him. At this point, she was almost willing to pretend that had been her intention all along, provided everyone stopped talking about it. Instead, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. She knew that was one of the things Patrick disliked about her—the way she was slow to speak and careful to act—but it was better than releasing the hysteria building up in her chest.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” she eventually said. “You told Anya Askari that I shouldn’t be around children?”

  He winced apologetically. “Not in so many words, no. But the subject of service dogs came up when we were discussing Emily’s case a few weeks ago, and I felt it prudent to mention that you aren’t exactly an…affectionate woman.”

  Lila’s hand clenched under his as Anya’s words rang loud in her ears. I did have my doubts about you, especially after meeting with Emily’s medical team. The truth is, I was rather hoping you’d have Sophie or Dawn handle the juvenile cases.

  “That was you? You’re on Emily’s medical team? You’re one of her doctors?” The full weight of his confession sank in. “You tried to get this job taken away from me?”

  “Come on, Lil,” he said softly. “It’s not like you can deny it. All that warm, fuzzy stuff is hardly your style.”

  Unlike the last time he’d leveled that insult at her, he spoke without malice or rancor, his smile striking that perfect balance between condescension and kindness. Seeing it—how calm he was, how sincere—Lila felt as though she’d been sucker punched from inside her rib cage.

  Technically, everything he said was true. She wasn’t warm or fuzzy. She wasn’t the soft, maternal type. She was the last woman anyone would turn to for a comforting embrace.

  But that didn’t mean she didn’t have feelings. It didn’t mean she couldn’t love.

  Her sisters must have realized how close she was to losing it, because they intervened before she could make the mistake of saying any of this out loud.

  “Oh, would you look at the time?” Sophie said with an obvious look at her wrist. “If we don’t hurry, we’re going to be late.” As she wasn’t wearing a watch, not even Patrick Yarmouth at his most obtuse could fail to pick up the meaning.

  “So late, so late, for a terribly important date,” Dawn added. The rhyme was playful, but her voice was not. “We won’t keep you any longer, Patrick. Thanks ever so much for stopping by.”

  Patrick opened his mouth as if to argue but wisely closed it again. No man on earth was strong enough to fight that pair when they went into full protective mode. Lila watched, somewhat dazed, as her sisters slid out of the booth and strong-armed Patrick to his feet. She knew she should say something—apologize back to him or fly up in her own defense or even ask never to see his face again, thank you very much—but she was having a difficult time processing it all.

  In the end, the only words she could muster were ones she had to borrow from someone else. “Wait, Patrick. Before you go…”

  Her sisters each had one of Patrick’s arms in their own as they propelled him toward the door. At the sound of her voice, all three of them halted and looked back.

  “I just want to know one thing. Do you gargle with bleach, or do you use that new charcoal toothpaste everyone is going on about?”

  Patrick’s heavy—and square—eyebrows snapped together. “What?”

  “Your teeth,” she said and made a gesture in the general direction of his mouth. “A friend of mine wants to know. What do you do to make them so bright?”

  “You can’t gargle with bleach, Lila,” he said in hi
s best doctor voice. “The soft tissue damage alone would be unthinkable.”

  He sounded so earnest, so concerned about the state of her oral health, that Lila actually found it in her to laugh. It sounded brittle and felt tight, but it was a laugh all the same. Sheesh. She might be not be warm and fuzzy, but at least she knew a joke when she heard one.

  “I’ll keep everything you say in mind, Dr. Yarmouth,” she said and ignored the clenching in her chest. Some of the things he’d said had been real doozies. “As always, your wisdom knows no bounds.”

  Chapter 7

  Lila strolled through the front door at exactly eight o’clock in the morning, her arms laden with bags of all shapes and sizes. “We’ll start with tea, I think,” she said as she set them down.

  “Good morning to you, too.” Ford rubbed his eyes, wishing he had a fraction of her energy. Jeeves might not actually howl at night, but there was no denying that the advent of the puppy into his household was seriously disrupting his regular sleep cycle. “I was planning on starting with a fifth of bourbon, but to each his own.”

  Lila stared at him for only a second before accepting this remark. “As long as you drink it from a teacup, I don’t care what vices you indulge in. Where’s Emily?”

  Ford found it difficult to reply to the question. Not because he was exhausted, although he was. And not because indulging in various vices with Lila Vasquez was exactly how he’d like to start his day, either. No, it was because Lila was shrugging herself out of her wool coat and hanging it carefully on the coatrack by the door.

  Against all reason and weather reports, which promised yet another snowstorm before nightfall, she seemed to be wearing a bright yellow sundress. It fit tightly across the bodice, suspended by two of the flimsiest straps he’d ever seen, and flared improbably wide at the skirt. It took him a few slow, careful blinks before he realized that there were some kind of ruffled petticoats puffing the dress up to reveal much more of Lila’s long, sleek legs than he ever thought to see in his lifetime. To top it all off, her hair was pulled back in yet another twist and coil of braids, this time offset with a crown of flowers woven into the strands.