Like Cats and Dogs. Alexis Stanton

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      Her mother said, “Don’t forget to hold on to all your paperwork.”

      Frank whined louder and tugged hard on the leash. Something had gotten his attention.

      “I will keep my receipts. Don’t worry.” Laura tried to hold tighter to Frank, but he wriggled with the need to run.

      “Of course you will,” her mother said with satisfaction. “You’re the daughter of two accountants.” She exhaled. “I hope you have a good time, honey. We love you.”

      “I love you, too.” They might be a touch overprotective, and a little straitlaced, but there was no denying the fact that her parents cared about their only child and just wanted the best for her.

      She’d barely pressed the button to end the call when Frank gave one last tug on the leash. He broke free, and her stomach dropped as he went tearing through the station, weaving between passengers. Clearly, he pursued something that had caught his attention.

      Laura sprinted after him. “Frank! Frank!”

      Just like his master, her dog refused to be sensible. He barked with excitement as he ran, causing people to stop and stare.

      Laura didn’t have time to be embarrassed. She had to grab her dog before he ran right out of the station and hurried off to get lost in the lakeside town. “Frank!”

      Her dog came to an abrupt stop in front of a hard-sided animal carrier perched on a rolling luggage cart. He continued to bark while he pawed at the plastic. Inside the carrier, a long-haired cat the color of smoke hissed in response to its harassment.

      A blond man crouched in front of the carrier, as though protecting the cat. “Whoa, down, boy,” he said to Frank. “Down.”

      Grabbing hold of the leash, Laura pulled Frank back. “He got away from me. I’m sorry.”

      The man looked up at her, and all she could see for a moment were striking blue eyes, bright with intelligence. Trying to collect herself, she saw that the rest of the man was just as striking. He had the face of a fairy-tale prince, with full lips and square jaw. His fair hair was neatly combed. In fact, everything about him was neat, from the collar of his shirt peeking out above the neckline of his sweater to his navy blazer and pressed khakis.

      Cute, but not my type, she told herself. Yet she stared at him anyway.

      Maybe she was imagining things, but he stared right back at her as if snared in some kind of spell.

      Finally, he blinked, collecting himself. “Uh…that’s okay.” He straightened but said to the cat, “You all right, Mozart?”

      Interesting name for a cat, considering the origins of Frank’s name. “Mozart?”

      “Yes,” the handsome stranger said. “After the composer.”

      She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I know who Mozart is.”

      He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I’m sure you do. No offense.” He bent down to look at his cat. “You okay, Mozart? Is this mean dog scaring you?”

      “Frank’s not really mean.”

      “Frank,” the stranger repeated.

      “After the singer,” she said, her words dry.

      He ducked his head a little, acknowledging his own faux pas. Still, his gaze remained locked with hers. A moment passed before he said with an attempt at politeness, “Well. Anyway. Excuse me. Hope you have a nice day.”

      “You, too.” She felt oddly disappointed as the cat owner pushed the cart away, taking his pet and matched luggage with him as he made his way to the exit.

      That was interesting.

      And fleeting. She was alone with Frank in the bustling station.

      “You’re not really mean, are you, Frank?” she asked the dog. In response, he wagged his tail. It never failed to make her smile. “No, you’re not. Let’s go.”

      She went back and, with Frank’s leash clasped firmly in her hand, collected her luggage. Good thing South Haven was a small town, because her bags were right where she’d left them. If anyone had stolen her stuff—especially the bag with her camera—she would’ve been devastated.

      But everything was fine, and, after gathering up the luggage, she took a deep breath and made for the exit. Her vacation started right now. There would be nothing but relaxation for the next two weeks.

      It really shouldn’t be this difficult, Spencer Hodkins thought as he stood in front of the car rental counter.

      But perhaps he was being too demanding. He was still thinking about the adorable blonde with the dog—Frank, for Frank Sinatra, which charmed him—and probably wasn’t articulating his specific needs to the rental agent very well.

      He glanced behind him at the line. Nobody looked very happy that he was taking so long, but he liked what he liked, and if he was going to have the expense of a rental car, it needed to meet his needs.

      “It should have wireless capabilities,” he said to the agent, who looked back at him with her best customer service face. “Electric, obviously.” He wanted to be as eco-conscious as possible. “And, if it has a sunroof, it should have a UV coating on the interior glass as well.”

      When his cell chirped, he said to the agent, “Excuse me for a second.” He turned away slightly to answer the call—it was Susan. “Hi, honey,” he said when the pretty brunette’s face appeared on the screen. She was, as usual, perfectly groomed, her hair neatly contained by a headband and a string of elegant pearls encircling her neck.

      For some reason, he thought again of the girl from the station, and her tousled blond locks. She’d looked like some wild elf who’d just emerged from the forest. Whoever she was, she’d seemed the exact opposite of Susan, in every way.

      “Just getting my rental car,” he said to Susan.

      “Electric?” she asked.

      “Obviously.”

      “UV? You know how you burn.”

      He smiled at that. Susan always tried to take care of him. “I’m not going to be outside that much, anyway. I have two weeks to finish my dissertation.” He shoved down the panic that rose up whenever he thought of his lengthy paper and everything it represented.

      “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Susan said crisply. “You really need to focus, Spencer. My father doesn’t give out grants to just anybody.”

      “I know.” Dr. Philip Drake wasn’t only Susan’s father; he was also the head of the university’s psychology department. Spencer’s whole future rested on Dr. Drake’s approval. The thought made Spencer’s stomach clench in anxiety, but he took a breath, forcing himself to be calm. Emotions were merely chemical reactions, and he could control that.

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