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“Join me for a coffee, Molly.” He released her hand. “I know a great little place near here that makes the best coffee on the Upper East Side.”
It was somewhere between an invitation and a command. Smart and smooth. An effortless overture from a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word rejection.
But he was about to learn, because there was no way she would be joining him for coffee or anything else.
“Thanks, but I have to get to work. Enjoy your run, you and Brutus.”
She didn’t give him a chance to argue, or herself a chance to doubt her decision. Instead she ran. She ran through the dappled sunshine and the scent of blossoms, Valentine by her side and temptation nipping at her heels. She didn’t turn her head even though not doing so made her neck ache and was a bigger test on her willpower than anything she could remember for a long time. Was he watching her? Was he annoyed that she’d turned him down?
Only when she’d covered what she considered to be a safe distance did she slow her pace. They were close to one of the many ankle-level dog drinking fountains, and she stopped to catch her breath and let a thirsty Valentine drink his fill.
Join me for a coffee…
And then what?
And then nothing.
When it came to relationships she was great with the theory but bad in practice. How bad was a matter of public record. First came love. Then came pain.
You’re a relationship expert, but you’re hopeless at relationships. Do you even know how crazy that is?
Oh yes, she knew. And so did a few million strangers. Which was why these days she was sticking with the theory.
And as for smooth lawyer Daniel, she guessed it would take him around five minutes to forget everything about her.
* * *
He couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Annoyed and a little intrigued by the novelty of that experience, Daniel pressed the buzzer and Harriet opened the door.
He smelled fresh coffee and something delicious baking in the oven.
“How was your run?” She had a tiny Chihuahua under her arm and Daniel clamped his hand on Brutus’s collar, intercepting the enthusiastic surge of energy that was about to propel the dog through the door.
“Are you seriously going to leave these two together? Brutus would eat him in one mouthful.”
Harriet looked confused. “Who is Brutus?”
“This is Brutus.” Daniel removed the lead and the German shepherd bounded into the apartment, his tail smacking into one of Harriet’s plants and scattering soil and blooms across the floor.
Harriet put the tiny dog down and picked up the shattered remains of her pot without complaint. “That dog is called Ruffles. And he’s too big for this apartment.”
“I refuse to stand in the middle of Central Park and call for ‘Ruffles,’ so I renamed him. Do I smell coffee?”
“You can’t rename a dog.”
“You can if someone was stupid enough to name him Ruffles in the first place.” Daniel strolled into the bright, sunlit kitchen and helped himself to coffee. “What sort of name is that for a big macho dog? It will give him an identity crisis.”
“It’s the name he was given,” Harriet said patiently. “It’s the name he knows and responds to.”
“It’s a name that embarrasses him. I’ve done him a favor.” Daniel took a mouthful of coffee and checked his watch. There were always demands on his time, and lately there was never enough time, a factor due in part to the extended length of his morning run.
“You’re later than usual. Did something happen? Did she finally talk to you?” Harriet threw the shards of pottery away and carefully scooped up what was left of her plant.
Daniel knew that the moment he left she’d be repotting it carefully and giving it whatever attention it needed to make a full recovery.
“Yeah, we talked.” If the few words they’d exchanged could be counted as talking. He’d asked a few questions. She’d responded. But her responses had been brief and designed to offer him no encouragement whatsoever. She’d made it clear she was more interested in his dog than in him, which might have crushed the spirit of a man with less knowledge about relationships.
Although there had been no verbal indication that she was interested, there had been nonverbal cues.
In the fleeting second before the barriers had gone up, he’d seen interest.
He wondered who was responsible for those barriers. A man, presumably. A relationship gone bad. He saw plenty of examples in his working day. People who had affairs, grew apart or simply fell out of love. Love was a chocolate box of heartbreak and disaster. Pick your flavor.
“She talked to you?” Harry’s face brightened. “What did she say?”
Very little.
“We’re taking it slowly.”
“In other words she’s not interested.” Fliss walked into the kitchen. She was wearing yoga pants, a sweatshirt and a pair of black running shoes with a neon purple flash. She grabbed her keys from the countertop. “Obviously a woman of sense. Either that or you’re losing your touch. So does this mean you won’t be walking Ruffles tomorrow?”
“I’m not losing my touch and yes, I’ll be walking Brutus. And, by the way, he has a few behavioral issues, the most significant of which is not coming when he is called.”
“That must be a whole new experience for you.”
“Very funny. Any tips?”
“I don’t have any advice to offer on relationships except maybe don’t do it.”
“I was talking about the dog.”
“Oh. Well, you could start by calling him by a name he actually recognizes.” Fliss made for the door. “And if he has behavioral issues, then at least that’s one thing the two of you have in common.”
Dear Aggie, if there are plenty of fish in the sea, why is my net always empty?
Molly let herself into her apartment, dropped her keys into the bowl by the door and headed straight to the shower.
Ten minutes later she was back at her computer. Valentine curled up in a basket underneath her desk and put his head on his paws.
Sunlight flowed in through the windows, bouncing off the polished oak floor and illuminating the handwoven rug she’d picked up from a textile design studio СКАЧАТЬ