Rom-Com Collection

“Well. You should. You have gorgeous eyes,” I said, taking a shaky breath. “Bowie has an eye the same color as yours, very clear blue, like the sky. But his other eye is brown. Like mine. Funny. One like yours, one like mine. Not that I mean anything by that. Okay. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Ian laughed, and the sound caught me right in the reproductive organs. Resisting the urge to pull a Bowie and flop on my back and offer myself up, I slapped my gaze out the window. Lust twisted hot and hard in my stomach. That was some laugh. Wow. Low and seductive and completely unexpected, that laugh.

“How’s this?” Ian asked.

I looked back at him. Swallowed. “Very nice. Much better,” I said. He’d taken off his tie and jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves a few times, unbuttoned his shirt a couple. Would it be inappropriate to lick his neck? It probably would be. I cleared my throat. “Well, you’d better get out there,” I said. “It starts in ten minutes.”

A FEW HOURS LATER, IT was clear that the pet fair was a huge success.

Dogs of all kinds bounded in the area Freddie and I had designated as Dog Land. The obstacle course hadn’t worked so well, as none of the dogs seemed to get the concept and wanted only to mark their territory, but the Brownies had taken it over for their own purposes … Tess McIntyre had the best time thus far. The Merryatrics gave a rousing version of “Who Let the Dogs Out?” Bethanne’s readings confirmed just how much everyone’s pets loved their owners. Noah carved animals, which Jody Bingham took upon herself to hand-sell. Kids ran around with their faces painted like tigers or dogs or Scottish warriors (that would’ve been Seamus, my dear godson, who wanted to look like William Wallace from Braveheart rather than Tigger). The drug-sniffing dog had found Freddie a “person of interest,” but Freddie made a compelling catnip argument, and the cop let Freddie pass after a quick lecture on the continued illegality of marijuana. Bronte had been in charge of Cause for Paws, which rescued cats. By telling people that she herself had found a new and wonderful life thanks to the wonders of adoption, she’d managed to pawn off fourteen felines thus far.

And Ian had been great. Honest. A little stiff, sure, but he’d really tried. Shook hands, admired pets, fielded questions from Elmira Butkes, who was concerned that her twenty-two-year-old cat, Mr. Fluffers, wasn’t feeling “perky.” When Ian brought up the average lifespan of housecats (it’s thirteen), I gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs, and he changed his tune a little, saying maybe some B12 would do the trick. He even took the mike for a painful moment and thanked everyone for coming, encouraged them to have fun, not to forget to give what they could to the Humane Society. A little brief, a little formal, but quite … nice.

“So how are you?” Annie asked, coming up beside me to survey the fair.

“I’m feeling … ruttish,” I answered. She snorted appreciatively.

“Who wouldn’t?” she said. “He’s hot. All dangerous and growly.”

“Like a Russian assassin,” I murmured.

“Exactly,” she nodded. “I’ll bet he could kill you with one finger.” We were best friends for a reason.

“Hey,” I said, tearing my eyes off Ian, who was admiring a little girl’s newly adopted kitten, “Damien wants it floated to Dave that he’s ready to reconcile, okay? So consider it floated.” Damien had cornered me in my office yesterday with the aforementioned information, tired of being single after all of two months.

“Roger that,” Annie said. “How many well-dressed gay men live up here, anyway? They have to be together. It’s just a numbers thing.”

“Calliope, you look absolutely edible,” came that silken voice from behind me. I jumped. Sure enough, it was Louis, looking pale and damp and smug, like Gollum smiling over the sleeping Frodo Baggins.

“Oh! Louis! Annie, you remember Louis, right? Oops! Gotta run! Bye. Sorry! I have … things. To do. Things to do. Annie, help me! Help me do the things, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Annie said.

“I’ll help, too,” Louis said. “I’m very handy.” He raised an anemic eyebrow. “Very. Handy.”

I paused. “You know what, Louis? My sister needs help. Over there.” I gestured toward Hes, who appeared to be dozing in a lawn chair.

“If it would please you, then I will help your sister,” Louis said, gliding away.

“That wasn’t nice,” Annie said. “Oh, here comes Ian. Hi, Ian! You look really, really nice.” Back to her fettuccine voice.

“Hello, Annie,” Ian said. “Um … thank you.” He turned to me. “Callie, the K-9 unit has to go now. Did you want to say goodbye?”

“Sure. I have the check right here.” I peeked into my leather backpack purse. “Yup. Right here.”

“I hear Seamus calling me,” Annie lied. “Must run. Bye, kids!”

Ian and I walked over to where the cop was still holding court with his beautiful German shepherd under the elm tree. “So how are you doing, Ian?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he answered. He glanced at me. “You really did a nice job on this. So many people came.”

“I thought you did great, too,” I said, risking a quick squeeze to his arm. Ooh. Nice arm. Nice and strong with all that dog-hefting or whatever. Cat hurling. Whatever.

We gave the good sergeant a donation to the cops’ union and thanked him. The fair was winding down, though Josephine had found the microphone and was serenading the stragglers with her favorite song. “‘Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me,’” she sang as Seamus head-bopped agreeably in the background. Annie and I had high hopes for a marriage between them someday.

“Callie, I’m headed home,” Noah said. He was rubbing his leg, but he gave Ian a terse nod.

“Sure, Noah,” I said. “I have to stay a little and make sure everything’s settled, but don’t worry. I’ll catch a ride.” I wasn’t in a horrible hurry, to be honest. It was 4:00 p.m. on a Saturday. I didn’t have plans, though the River Rats had invited me to hang out with them. I believed it was their monthly mojito night, not to be confused with their monthly martini night, beer night, wine night, mint julep night …

“I’ll drive you home,” Ian said.

“Thanks,” I said. “That would be great.”

“I’ll bring Bowie,” Noah said, then hobbled off toward his pickup truck, his uneven gait more pronounced than usual.

“His leg must be hurting,” I said. “He hates wearing the prosthesis. We’ve tried eight different models.” I frowned. “Can we stop at the pharmacy on the way home? He’s out of Lanacane, and I’ll bet he won’t remember to pick some up.” Glancing at my watch, I winced. “Shoot, they’re closed already.”

“I have some in the office,” Ian said.

“Really? Thanks, Ian,” I said. “See? You’re getting good at this nice thing. Just like me.”

He gave me a tolerant look, and I smiled.

As we approached the office, a new-model Saab pulled into the lot. The driver got out. I recognized her immediately—it was the woman from the ladies’ room at Whoop & Holler. The one who told me I wasn’t an idiot.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. “How you doing, Kate Spade?”

“Hi there, fabulous shoe woman!” she called right back. “How are you?” Then she looked at Ian, and her expression softened. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. I sensed a tremor in the Force, if you know what I meant. Ian had gone very still.

“I didn’t realize you had an … event,” she said, gesturing to where the rental folks were taking down the tent.

“Yes,” he said, offering no more. They looked at each other for a moment, the air suddenly was crackling and brittle.

“Got a minute?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, then, turning to me, added, “Callie, though I take it you’ve already met somehow, this is Laura Pembers. My ex-wife.”

THOUGH I OH-SO-CASUALLY circled the building with Angie, I was unable to find a spot where I could eavesdrop on Ian and Laura without climbing a stepladder and pressing my ear against the window … and sadly, I didn’t see a ladder anywhere.

The last of the pet fair people left, trickling away with waves and compliments. I kissed my nieces and managed to catch Seamus and kiss him as well, though he was getting to the age where he kind of hated, kind of loved that sort of public display. With a sigh, I flopped on the grass under a pear tree, the silvery leaves rustling slightly in the breeze. Angie joined me, lying down with her front paws crossed daintily as if she were the Queen of England. I stroked her silky fur and was rewarded when she put her head in my lap.

So. Ian’s ex-wife was gorgeous, friendly and most important, had great taste in accessories. I remembered thinking that night in the ladies’ room that she looked familiar, and now I knew why. Her picture was still in Ian’s office, though her hair was shorter and darker now. I don’t think he’s over his ex-wife, Carmella had told me the first day I’d come to check Ian out. Ian himself told me he wasn’t looking for a relationship. So I guess I knew what he’d meant that day, when he’d told me I didn’t have to try so hard with him. It didn’t mean he was interested in me. And heck, he’d made that clear, hadn’t he? Actions spoke louder than words. He’d never touched me, except to help me into the kayak. Certainly didn’t flirt. So what if he laughed this morning? I was easy to laugh at.

I heard a car door close, then an engine start. As Laura drove down the driveway, she slowed. I stood up and waved. “Nice to meet you, Callie!” she called. Angie woofed softly.

“Same here,” I shouted back. Then I headed back toward the building where Ian stood looking where Laura’s car had been, his hands in his pockets, face more than a little grim.