Do You Take This Daddy?

“Hey, I’m not the one seeing imaginary bears.” She pointed and he peered around her. Out of the bushes came her large, but not quite bear-sized, dog.

“Holy cow, what is that? And why does he only have three legs?”

“That’s Baby, and you be nice to him. He might be big, but he’s sensitive.”

Noah’s eyes widened. “He’s yours?”

“It’s more that I’m his. But don’t worry. He’s a total sweetie. He just looks intimidating, right, boy?” The massive dog trotted over on and sniffed the bakery bag.

“If I give him the donuts, will it keep him from eating me?” To his credit, Noah hadn’t retreated back into the house, but his color looked a bit pale.

“He’s not going to eat you. And he’s not allowed any donuts. He’s on a diet.”

“So you’re saying he’s hungry? Great. That’s just great.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of dogs.”

“That’s not a dog,” he protested. “Beagles are dogs. Cocker spaniels are dogs. That’s a—”

“Mastiff. An English mastiff, to be exact. And he wouldn’t hurt a fly, so stop acting like he’s the big bad wolf. You’re going to hurt his feelings.” She rubbed the big dog’s head and took the pastries from Noah. Immediately, the dog left him and followed her, nosing hopefully at the bag. “I said no. You already had your breakfast, and Cassie says if you don’t lose weight you’re going to end up with arthritis. Go lie down.”

Chastised, the oversize canine shambled off to lie in the grass. She put the bag on the bright blue picnic table and sat in one of the mismatched chairs. Noah cautiously joined her, keeping his attention on the now-snoozing beast. “So, what happened to his other leg? And who is Cassie, some kind of doggie-diet guru?”

“Cassie’s my boss. She’s a veterinarian. She and her father own the clinic I work at. As for Baby, a rescue group we work with brought him in when he was just a puppy. He’d been hit by a car over in Cocoa Beach and one of the volunteers found him. We fixed him up, and when no one claimed him I got to bring him home.”

“So you work at a veterinary clinic? Are you some kind of animal nurse or something?”

She finished the bite of donut she was chewing. “No, that would be Jillian. She’s the veterinary technician. I’m the receptionist. Oh, and I teach obedience classes on the weekends.”

“Is that what you always wanted to do, work with animals?”

“Not as a career, no. I do like the dog-training part of it—I don’t want to give that up. But working in an office, any office, for the rest of my life would suffocate me eventually.”

“Well, what are you going to school for?”

“I’m only going part-time, but I’m a photography major, much to my parents’ disappointment.” She grimaced. “They’re glad I finally went back to school, but they think I should do something practical, like accounting.”

“But that puts you right back in the office all day.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, so forget them. What do you want to do?”

Right this second, what she wanted to do was to lick the powdered sugar off his lips. But that probably wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “What I’d love to do is travel, take pictures, maybe work for a magazine. I want to make a name for myself as a nature photographer. But as my parents have repeatedly pointed out, art isn’t exactly a practical career choice.”

“Photography, huh? Can I see some of your pictures?”

She hesitated. She always felt so vulnerable, showing her work to a new person. And with him, for whatever reason, the nerves were multiplied.

“Please? You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

If that was a pickup line, it was awful. “Show me what?”

“My sculptures. Well, photos of them. I might have some on my phone of the most recent one, or you can just look it up online.”

“Excuse me?” Sculpture. Her stomach dropped. Oh no. He couldn’t be. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and started frantically typing. At the top of the search results was Noah James, metal sculpture artist. She clicked on the link and there he was, in a photo taken at the grand opening of the Caruso Hotel in Las Vegas. Behind him was the sculpture the hotel had commissioned for the lobby, an abstract swirl of metal twining at least ten feet high.

She held the phone out and showed him the photo. “You made that? Jillian told me you were a welder!”

“I did make that, and I am a welder.”

She shook her head in frustration. “No, you’re not. I mean, I’m sure welding is involved, but you’re one of the most famous metal artists in the country.” Hadn’t a celebrity magazine included him as one of its sexiest men alive last year? She remembered only because he’d been the only artist in a list of politicians, actors, and pop stars. But he’d had a beard then; no wonder she hadn’t recognized him right away. That, and well, famous people didn’t tend to show up in small towns like Paradise. She looked down at the screen again, trying to understand how the man sitting across from her could be the man in the article. “This says your last sculpture sold for almost a quarter of a million dollars! I thought you welded rebar for building foundations or something. Why didn’t you tell me?” She tossed the phone down, and covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God, I made out with Noah James. The Noah James.” Holy crap. Girls like her did not go around kissing famous millionaires. So much for him being a stray in need of a helping hand.

He reached over to pry her hands away. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter. I’m still the same pathetic guy you found on the steps yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. “You might be the same guy, but from where I sit your bank account just got a lot bigger. For crying out loud, I fed you food from a roadside stand.” She paused, considering. “Although, I will say, I feel better now about making you pay for dinner.”

* * *

He hoped his financial status wasn’t going to change things for her. He was happier here, eating donuts from a sack than he’d ever been at fancy galas or exhibitions. A few high-dollar sales hadn’t changed who he was or what he wanted. And right now, he wanted to see her photos. He’d bet money she was better than she thought she was. Her house and garden reflected an innate understanding of color and light. Even her mismatched furniture showed an artistic flair. “So, are you going to show me some of your work, or not?”

She looked at him. “After finding out you’re a famous artist? No way. My ego isn’t ready for that kind of scrutiny, not this early in the morning.”

Eager as he was, pressing her would probably do more harm than good. “Fine, then let’s get started with whatever’s first on the tour. What are we doing today? Swimming, Jet Skiing, sightseeing?”

She shook her head. “Nope, today we’re fishing.”

“You mean, with worms and stuff?” He hadn’t been fishing in years, and had never really enjoyed it. Sitting on the edge of some muddy pond doing nothing for hours on end didn’t sound like much fun. Of course, he’d never had her for company before.

“No worms. You’ll have fun, guaranteed, or your money back.”

“Easy to say when I’m not paying you anything anyway.”

She winked. “Exactly. And if we want to actually catch anything, we need to hurry. Once it really heats up, the fish stop biting.” She stood and gathered their breakfast remains. “Baby, come on. Time to go.”

The big dog stood and shook himself, then loped over, panting and wagging his tail.

“He’s going with us?”

“Oh yeah, he loves to fish. He goes nuts when he sees the poles. We can’t leave him behind.”

Of course not. That would be crazy. After all, who wouldn’t want to spend their vacation fishing with a moose-sized three-legged dog? He eyeballed him again. “Does he even fit in the car?”

“Sure he does, but the longer we stand here talking about it, the less time we have to actually fish.”

That had kind of been the point. But he’d asked her to give him the real island experience and if that meant fishing, well, then, he’d fish. Fishing with her would be better than doing pretty much anything without her. “By all means, let’s go then.”

She stacked the dishes in the sink, then came back out and locked the door. A small detached garage was beside the house, and she ducked into it, telling him to wait. A minute later she was back with two fishing poles, a long leash, a bulky camera bag and what must be a tackle box. Setting the box down, she snapped the leash on Baby and handed it to him. “You take him, I’ll carry our gear.”