Page 312 of Wild Card 13

“What time are you picking up Dottie?” I asked, needing to shiftto light and happy before the heaviness in the room choked out the magic lingering between us.

“Ten.”

“At the pet resort?”

She nodded. “Her luxury vacation palace.”

“Is that the official name?”

“It should be. She gets a raised bed, frozen treats, supervised playtime, and a spa bath before checkout.”

“Dottie is living better than I am.”

She traced her thumb along the side of her mug. “I should probably go get her and then head home.”

The words were reasonable. They were also a cold draft through the morning.

I kept my face steady. “I can come with you.”

Lucy looked up. Her lips parted, then closed again. For a second, I thought she would tell me it was too much. Then she said, “Okay.”

At ten,we picked up Dottie from a pet resort that looked nicer than half the hotels I had stayed in during juniors.

The building sat behind a tidy stone sign and a row of flower beds that had clearly been chosen by someone who knew how to make rich people feel calm about leaving their pets somewhere. The lobby smelled like lavender, clean floors, and money. There were framed photos of dogs in seasonal bandanas on the walls. A receptionist with perfect hair greeted Lucy by name, which did not surprise me at all.

“Miss Thomas,” the receptionist said brightly. “Dottie had a wonderful weekend.”

Lucy’s whole face changed. I had seen her happy. I had seen her amused. I had seen her devastatingly sharp and devastatingly hurt. But the way she lit up at Dottie’s name was something else. “Did she?”

“She made three new friends, ignored two dogs who were trying very hard to impress her, and became emotionally attached to one of our senior staff members.”

A door opened behind the counter, and then Dottie came aroundthe corner at full speed, ears flying, bandana crooked, body wiggling so hard she almost drifted sideways on the polished floor.

Lucy dropped to a crouch. “Hi, baby.”

Dottie slammed into her like she had returned from war.

Lucy laughed, both hands going into Dottie’s ears and jowls while Dottie tried to climb directly into her lap. I stood there holding Lucy’s purse because she had shoved it at me without thinking before she crouched, and the stupid domestic perfection of it nearly took me out at the knees.

I lifted a hand. “Hey, Dot.”

Dottie’s ears went up. Then she launched herself at me. I barely had time to brace before sixty pounds of happy basset crashed into my shins and made a sound like I had personally rescued her from a terrible injustice involving luxury bedding and frozen treats.

Lucy stood slowly. “Well,” she said.

Dottie put both front paws on my thigh and wagged hard enough to shake her whole body.

I scratched behind her ears. “Good to see you too.”

The receptionist handed over a little report card with Dottie’s name printed at the top and a list of weekend activities. Lucy took it with the seriousness of someone receiving a scouting report.

“She had a blueberry facial,” Lucy said once we were outside.

I opened the passenger door for Dottie. “That dog has better skincare than the entire locker room.”

“Low bar.”

Dottie hopped into the back seat of my truck like she had done it a hundred times. She turned in a circle, then flopped down with a dramatic sigh.