New York, Actually: A sparkling romantic comedy from the bestselling Queen of Romance

Fliss swallowed. “Great question, but this is our big brother we’re talking about so there’s the biggest clue right there. He wants a prop. A canine prop. He yells ‘fetch,’ and the dog brings him the girl.” She stabbed another piece of bacon. “Even if you managed to meet this woman with your dog plan, you’d never keep her. What happens when you invite her back to your place and she discovers the dog doesn’t live there? Have you thought about that?”

“I never invite women back to my place so that isn’t going to be a problem. My apartment is a dog-free, woman-free, stress-free chill zone.”

“Even so, sooner or later she’ll find out you’re not a dog person, and then she’ll leave.”

“By then I’m sure we’ll both have had enough of each other, so that sounds perfect to me. It will be a mutual parting of ways.”

“Mr. Heartbreaker. Don’t you ever feel guilty that you’re leaving a trail of sobbing women around Manhattan?”

Daniel released Harriet. “I don’t break hearts. The women I date are exactly like me.”

“Insensitive and obtuse?”

“He isn’t insensitive.” Harriet tried to keep the peace. “He’s a little afraid of commitment, that’s all. And so are we. Daniel is hardly alone in that.”

“I’m not afraid of commitment,” Fliss said blithely. “I’m committed to myself, my happiness, my personal growth.”

“I’m not afraid either.” Daniel felt sweat prick the back of his neck. “Am I cautious? Yes, because that’s the job I’m in. I’m the type of guy who—”

“—makes a woman decide to stay single?” Fliss helped herself to another pancake.

“I don’t want to be single,” Harriet said. “I want to love someone and be loved by them. But I’m not sure how to make that happen.”

Daniel caught Fliss’s eye. Neither of them was in a position to offer advice on that subject.

“Given that I spend all of my extremely long working week unraveling the lives of those who didn’t choose to stay single,” he said, “I’d say the female race should be thanking me for remaining commitment-free. If you don’t get married, you can’t get divorced.”

“Well, that’s a positive outlook.” Fliss tipped maple syrup over her pancake. “One of these days, some very smart woman is going to teach you a few lessons about women. These are delicious, Harry. You should open a restaurant. I’d help out.”

Harriet flushed. “I’d muddle up all the orders and, as much as I love you, I wouldn’t let you near a kitchen. It wouldn’t be fair to the New York Fire Department.”

“I don’t need lessons about women.” Daniel stole a piece of bacon from Fliss’s plate. “I already know everything there is to know.”

“You only think you know everything there is to know about women, which makes you a thousand times more dangerous than the man who admits to being clueless.”

“I’m not clueless. Growing up with you two was an intensive training course in how women think and feel. For example, I know that if I don’t get the hell out of here right now you’re going to explode. So I’m making my exit while we’re still friends.”

“We’re not friends.”

“You love me. And when you’re not scowling, I love you back. And Fliss is right—” he smiled at Harry “—you’re an incredible cook.”

“If you loved me,” Fliss said between her teeth, “you’d be staying for breakfast. You use me, in the same way you use all women.”

Daniel reached for his jacket. “Here’s a tip from inside the mind of a guy. Stop being cranky or you’ll never get a date.” He watched his sister’s face turn puce.

“I’m single through choice,” she spluttered, and then sighed and glared at him. “You’re winding me up. Why can’t I see when you’re winding me up? You drive me batshit crazy and then I can’t think straight. It’s one of your tactics and I know that, but I still fall for it every time. Are you this annoying in court?”

“I’m worse.”

“No wonder you always win. Opposing counsel probably wants to get as far away from you as quickly as possible.”

“That’s part of the reason. And for the record, I don’t use women. I let them use me, preferably after dark.” He bent to kiss her cheek, thinking that teasing his sister was his second favorite game after poker. “So what time can I pick up this dog?”

Two (#ulink_5e8b12ee-5f3d-53b5-ace3-9be93b4e9b5e)

Dear Aggie, if men are from Mars, when are they going back?

Yours, Earthbound and Exasperated

She noticed his dog first. A German shepherd who was as strong and athletic as his owner. She’d seen the two of them every day for the past week, just after sunrise. She’d allowed herself a glance or two, because…well, she was human, wasn’t she? She had as much appreciation for the male form as the next woman, especially when that male form was as well presented as it was in this guy. And besides, studying people was her job.

Like so many other people in the park at this time, he wore running gear, but something about the way he moved told her that when he wasn’t pounding the paths, he dressed in a suit and was commander in chief of whichever empire he presided over. His hair was dark and cropped short. Doctor? Banker? Accountant? Judging from the air of confidence he exuded he was very good at whatever it was he did. If she’d had to make more guesses about him, she would have said he was focused to the point of driven, spent too long working, and found it hard to empathize with weakness. He’d have his own weaknesses of course, everybody did. Being smart, he probably even knew what they were, but he would hide them because weakness wasn’t something he’d share with others. He was the type of guy who, if he knew what she did for a living, would laugh and then express surprise that anyone needed advice on something as straightforward as relationships. A man like him would have no idea how it felt to lack confidence, to not be able to find the courage to approach a woman you found interesting and attractive.

A man exactly like Rupert.

She frowned. Where had that thought come from? She was careful to never think about Rupert. She had enough self-insight to know her experience with him had colored her view of the world. In particular, it had colored her view of relationships. In all probability this man was nothing like Rupert.

The only piece of information that jarred with her impression of him was that he had a dog. She wouldn’t have expected a man like him to want responsibility for a dog. Maybe the dog belonged to a friend who was sick, or maybe it had belonged to a deceased family member, but if that was the case then she would have expected a man like him to use a dog-walking service, like the one she occasionally used for Valentine. The Bark Rangers.

The dog was the one misshapen piece of the jigsaw that stopped her picture of him fitting together perfectly.

Determined not to be caught staring, she ran on, her feet pounding the ground in the comfortable rhythm she now found instinctively. Running was a way of testing herself. Of pushing herself outside her comfort levels. And pushing made her aware of the power and strength of her own body. Running reminded her that when she thought she had nothing more to give, she could still find more.

Even though it was early and the park wasn’t yet open to traffic, it was busy. Joggers mingled with cyclists riding hill repeats and dawn laps of Central Park. In a few hours they’d give way to parents with strollers, and tourists keen to explore the eight-hundred-and-forty-three acres of parkland that ran from 59th Street to 110th and east to west from Fifth Avenue to Central Park West.

She could never decide which season in New York was her favorite, but right now she would have voted for spring. The trees were thick with blossoms and it flavored the air with a heavy sweetness. Crab apple, cherry and magnolia bathed the park in a creamy, pink glow and exotic birds from Central and South America gathered ready for the spring migration.

She was pondering its near-bridal magnificence when Valentine shot in front of her and almost tripped her up.

He bounded after the German shepherd, who was thoroughly overexcited and refusing to come back when called.

“Brutus!” The man’s voice thundered across the park.

Molly slowed her pace. Seriously? He’d called his dog Brutus?

The dog ignored him. He didn’t even turn his head in the direction of his owner. There was no acknowledgment that they even knew each other.

Molly decided that either Brutus was the sort of dog who loved to challenge authority, or else he didn’t often find himself in the company of other dogs and wasn’t about to prioritize obedience over a good time.

Clearly there was one thing that power couldn’t command, and that was a misbehaving dog. Was there any better leveler?

She whistled to Valentine, who was having fun with his new friend.

His head came up and their eyes met across the expanse of grass. After a split second of thought he came bounding toward her, all long lines and lean muscle, and as graceful as a ballet dancer. She heard the muted thud of his paws on the soft grass, the rhythmic panting, and then he skidded to a halt in front of her, the rear end of his body moving with each swing of his tail, that canine barometer of happiness.

There was surely no more uplifting greeting than a wagging tail. It conveyed so much. Love, warmth and unquestioning acceptance.

He was followed by his new friend, the German shepherd, who skidded untidily to a halt at her feet, more bruiser than ballet dancer. He gave her a hopeful look, seeking approval.