Chapter 2

Does that make me a sad fucker? Sitting on a park bench in the drizzling rain, at a safe distance from other people, waiting, hoping, to catch a glimpse of a stranger walking the most spoiled dog in history just because he’s cute?

I shake my head. “Pathetic, Jacke,” I mutter, but I don’t leave.

Maybe I’m just too tired to get on my feet and walk back to my truck. Maybe I needto see the stranger to recharge my tired, worn-out body that feels more like one hundred and forty-seven instead of just forty-seven?

Looking into the tree again, I fill my lungs to capacity with lovely, crisp air. Enjoy the scent of decomposing leaves. Let the rain enchant me.

I loveautumn. It’s wiping away all the stuff that hasn’t worked, starting with a clean slate. Everything is slowing down, allowing all life a moment of rest and stillness before going at it again come spring. For me, it signifies a promise of a better life.

Not that I ever do anything about the “better life” part. But maybe this is the year I stop lamenting my woes and do something. Maybe this is the time I finally start my own company. Maybe I’ll even find someone so I’ll be less lonely.

I snort. Right. Maybe pigs will fly, too.

But then I hear him. My reason for being here in the first place.

“Oh, Princess, my darling. I knowit’s raining. I know you hate getting your paws wet, but it didn’t look like it would rain, so I didn’t think to bring the umbrella. Be a dear and walk a little. It’s not much longer. If you give me a tiny break, I promise I’ll get you a treat.”

That last part sounds so hopeful, I can’t help smiling. Because yes, when it rains, the man usually holds an umbrella over his dog. Not over himself, only over the dog. On particularly bad days, the dog wears a sweater or boots on its tiny feet and prances along the path like a show pony. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

I don’t know a lot about dogs and have no idea what breed it is, but it’s a dainty little creature, mostly white but with a brown face and ears, and a personality the size of an elephant. The guy indulges her and fusses over her and talks to her like she’s a person and not a dog. They’re both too adorable for words and have been a bright spot for me these last few weeks, even if it’s only for a few, short minutes every day.

When they come around the bend on the path, they’re even cuter than I imagined, and I have to hide my wide grin behind my hand.

The man, who’s probably around my age, is wet from the rain in a way that tells me this walk has lasted for longer than he’d planned. His usually perfectly styled dark-brown hair is plastered against his face, his overcoat is damp and clings to his fancy suit underneath, and his dress shoes are splattered with flecks of mud. His entire focus is on his companion, and he’s pleading now.

“I know you’re angry with Uncle David, Princess, but please please please please. Just a little longer? You know how strict your mama is about your exercise.”

I swear the dog glares at him, but it takes a few more steps—lifting its small paws high, her little face is set in the dog-equivalent of a wrinkled, disgruntled nose—before stopping again, whining.

“You want me to carry you?”

The dog cocks its head.

“Aww, Princess.” He crouches next to it. “I can’t have muddy little paw prints all over my suit, honey. Can’t you please walk for Uncle David?”

David. The name fits him. And uncle? Does that mean it’s not his dog?

“Please,” the man says. “I’ll tell your mama you were the bestest dog in the whole wide world and you deserve the biggest treat she has.”

Princess—a fitting name for the little dog—huffs but refuses to move. She just glares at him with a look that says “Listen, buddy, you know you’re not going to win this fight so you might as well pick me up,” and my smile is so wide, the muscles in my face are starting to hurt. I can’t take the cuteness any longer.

“Excuse me?” I say, remaining seated.

Both man and dog whip their heads in my direction. “Yes?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear.” I hold out my umbrella. “You’re welcome to borrow this if you like.”

The eyebrows shooting up into his hairline ask, “What do you know about me, the dog, or umbrellas?” so I hurry to explain. “I usually come here after work.” I gesture to the area, showing him what I mean. “I’ve seen you around before, walking her.”

And hoping to catch a glimpse of you, my brain adds, but I’m not saying thatout loud.