He nods, seemingly unfazed, and continues unpacking the basket. Potato sits at his feet now, patiently waiting for whatever delights Nathan has brought him. Even Cesar shuffles over, his nose in the air as he sniffs out his supper. I gawk at him. Nathan James, billionaire bachelor, spending his Fourth of July at an animal shelter with a corgi and a basset hound—and me. How is this even my life?
I lean back on the Formica chair and rub a hand over my stomach. Nathan’s picnic dinner was wonderful: chicken wings, potato skins, barbecue ribs, corn on the cob, and cheesecake. I couldn’t eat another bite if he paid me. “I am so full. That was all delicious.”
Potato woofs his agreement from where he sits next to me, and Cesar remains lying on top of Nathan’s feet. Suitably impressed with the gourmet filet mignon doggy treats, the basset hound has been glued to my husband-to-be for the past hour.
Nathan scratches the dog’s head and smiles. “Do you ever think about taking these guys home?”
“Cesar and Potato?” I shake my head. “No way.”
He frowns.
“I mean, when I first started here years ago, I wanted to take home every stray or abandoned animal that came through the doors, but it’s impossible to do that. So we do as much as we can for them while they’re here.”
Potato jumps up onto my lap, surprisingly agile for an eleven-year-old. I pat his head, and he sits obediently with his tongue hanging out.
“But both Potato and Cesar here have been at the shelter for almost seven years. They came in together after their owner got too ill to look after them. Most dogs will get adopted within the first year, but not these adorable little guys. They were so close that we couldn’t bear to separate them, and they had a few foster trials but always got returned. After the fourth time, the management team decided they wouldn’t put them through it again.”
Potato yawns and curls up on my lap. I cup my hand under his butt to stop him from falling off. “Am I boring you?” I ask the dog.
“You’re not boring me.” Our eyes meet across the table.
My face heats, and that fluttering in my abdomen whenever I’m around him kicks up a dozen notches. I clear my throat. “This is their home now. They live here and get plenty of walks and affection from the staff. They seem happy. It would be cruel to take them away from this now.”
Nathan nods. “That makes sense.” I swear his voice alone could melt chocolate.
I pull at the collar of Tyler’s hoodie, suddenly feeling very hot. “Did I already thank you for dinner?”
His genuine smile is beautiful and disarming. “You did.”
“It was a wonderful surprise. The best Fourth of July I’ve had for as long as I can remember,” I admit.
His eyes narrow. “Yeah. Not exactly what I had in mind, but it’s been nice.”
I tilt my head, drinking in every detail of him. “May I ask what you did have planned?”
He looks up at the ceiling and hums.
I lean forward. “What?”
He looks back at me and sucks air through his teeth. “A private yacht on the Hudson. I had a section closed down for us. Fireworks. A Michelin-star chef.”
“Hold on. Back right up.” I hold up my hand. “You had a section of the Hudson fucking River closed down for us? Who are you? Bruce Wayne?”
“Oh, Spitfire, I can do things that would make Bruce Wayne look like Peter Griffin.”
My laughter makes Potato jump, and I gather him into my arms and press a kiss on his head while he grumbles his displeasure.
“But who needs yachts and fireworks when we can drink zero-alcohol wine from coffee mugs with your furry buddies, hey?” Nathan’s brown eyes twinkle, and heat rushes between my thighs. This man is perfection personified. How the hell am I going to survive this arrangement without completely falling for him?
“The yacht and fireworks sound amazing too though.”
He reaches across the table and brushes his fingertips over the back of my hand. “Some other time.”
A knock at the office door has Potato jumping from my lap and barking. A second later, Serge opens the door. “Almost time for my evening rounds, Mel.”
“Thanks, Serge.”
He nods and ducks out again.
Nathan arches an eyebrow at me. “Was that his polite way of telling me I have to leave?”
I nod. “I’m sorry. We don’t usually allow visitors.”
“Don’t apologize. He told me I could only stay for a couple of hours.” He checks his watch. “Which means my time is up in three minutes.”
I stand and attempt to brush Potato’s fur from my pants. “I had a lovely evening. Thank you so much for everything.” I start to pack up the leftovers.
Nathan pushes back his chair and helps, but when I go to put them in the picnic basket, he stops me. “Leave them in the refrigerator. Serge might like some dinner later.”
“That’s really kind of you. I’m sure he will.”
We both close the lid at the same time, and our fingers brush. Electric sparks skitter up my forearm. “I wish you could stay,” I whisper.
“Me too, Spitfire.”
He picks up the basket and cups my jaw with his free hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my lip. “Are you free next Friday night?”
