by Julia London
“Well, you know . . . Jamie,” he said with a slight shrug. “He and Jamie are kind of a package deal. Personally, I would love to see my brother in a group home for adults. But my dad is very protective of him. Doesn’t want him out of his sight, you know? I think it’s a big step forward that Dad’s agreed to a dog.”
Carly couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a severely autistic adult in the house. She could hardly deal with her family as it was, and none of them needed supervision. Or rather, they needed supervision but would not accept it. “I meant to ask you if your brother enjoyed the dog show. I was so desperate to get out of that skirt I completely forgot.”
His gaze flicked down the length of her. “That was some skirt. And that is a favor I won’t soon forget.”
“You and me both,” Carly murmured. The blush in her cheeks was spreading. “The dog show?”
“It was interesting.”
“Fun?”
He gave a half-hearted wince. “I don’t know if I would say it was fun.” He smiled sheepishly, and the effect was incredibly charming.
“So what happened?”
He laughed a little self-consciously. “I don’t want you to think I’m a bad scientist.”
“How could I think that from a dog show?”
“You know, I haven’t told anyone about that weekend. Not even my dad.” He snorted. “Especially not Dad.”
“Okay, now you have to tell me,” she insisted. She propped one elbow on the table, her head in her hand. “I’m all ears.”
“The truth is, that weekend was a huge drag.”
“Impossible. It was a weekend filled with dogs.”
“I know, right? Good dogs, too—it should have been amazing. But it sucked. My entire professional career has been about cognitive dysfunctions and neurodevelopmental disorders, and the reason I even went into that field was because of Jamie. I grew up with him. I think I know him better than anyone, except my dad.”
“You don’t?”
“You would think. But . . . I could hardly handle him. I was terrible with my own brother, who has a neurodevelopmental disorder, the very thing I study and teach and research. I was a total fish out of water one-on-one with him.”
Carly was surprised by his admission. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I wish I was. I’m ashamed, and honestly I don’t know why I am telling you this, because this is no way to impress a woman. I guess I need to get it off my chest. I figured out that while I study this for a living, what I know is the brain. And what I got was the personality. I got really frustrated with him. And he got frustrated with me, too.” He laughed sheepishly. “We practically came to blows in the airport.”
Carly sat up. “You didn’t.”
“We didn’t,” he hastened to assure her. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Great. You probably think I’m a jerk, ragging on my autistic brother.”
“No! I think you’re honest and human and . . . and do you know how many times I’ve wanted to haul off and punch my sister? What’s Jamie like?”
Max glanced down at his hand. “Well, he’s got a big heart. He’s an artist, like I told you. Loves dogs—you know that, too. He loves Dad and he gets really anxious when Dad isn’t around. And . . . and I think he loves me, too. The bottom line is that he’s so much more than his disability allows anyone to see.”
He put down his drink and told her about a man who collected oddly shaped rocks, who never missed a day of work, and was obsessed with his clothes. “They have to be pristine,” he said. He told her about Jamie’s paintings, and how unique and interesting they were, a bit like peeking into Jamie’s head. He told her it was just Jamie and his dad, that his mother had died a few years ago from a heart attack. And that he lived close by so he could be there quickly if anything ever happened. He told her how, for the most part, things were good, but that there were times when Jamie couldn’t communicate the way he wanted to and would grow frustrated and act out. “Those times are relatively rare because he has such a steady routine. Jamie seems content to live in his own head and with dogs.”
He told her how he’d been trying to get his father to agree to supervised living for Jamie so that he could be on his own. “I’ve been trying to convince my dad for a couple of years now. Jamie is twenty-seven. With the right setting, he could do it, he could thrive, maybe learn how to navigate the world a bit better—especially if he has a trained dog to help him. And my dad would have some time to himself.”
“Why doesn’t your dad like this idea?” Carly asked. “It sounds amazing to me.”
“I think what he doesn’t like is letting go. He’s protective. But who knows? Like I said, he was out last night, so maybe he’s coming around to it. But, having said that, the weekend at the dog show made me realize that I don’t know what my dad goes through on a daily basis.” Max sighed, rubbed his nape. “I’ve been pretty arrogant about it, I think.”
She smiled. “You’re being too hard on yourself.” She squeezed his arm. “Would you like my expert public relations opinion?”
“I am dying for an expert public relations opinion.”
“It’s hard to see family objectively, at least in my experience. But how wonderful that you took him at all. How wonderful that Jamie has people around him who care as much as you and your father do.”
He smiled gratefully. “Thank you for that. And thank you for listening.” He cast his gaze skyward and laughed. “I can’t believe I just dumped all my problems on a new friend.”
“If that’s all your problems, you’re living a pretty sweet life, my friend.”
“Oh, I’ve got more, trust me. But I think I’ll save them for the next time. What about you? What’s your family like?”
“Super dysfunctional. But I love them.”
“Come on, give me something. I don’t want to be the only one who spent Baxter and Hazel’s second date spilling my guts.”
Carly groaned theatrically. “I don’t know, Max. There’s a huge difference between your family and mine—if I start, I will never get to the end of the story because they are all so extra. Every single one of them. Completely bonkers, the whole lot.”
“Give me an example.”
“Okay, here goes. I have a brother who lives in Dallas and steers clear of us except at mandatory holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. My sister is very high-strung, always has been, and she’s got three small kids who are all over the place. Her husband travels for work to China every month for about ten days and she’s alone with them and nearly loses her mind each time. Oh, and my parents? Recently divorced after forty years of marriage. My dad has taken up selling time-shares in South Padre. My mother says one of the reasons she divorced him was because he made terrible decisions, like buying into time-shares. My mother, on the other hand, is playing the field. Incidentally, my dad says one of the reasons he divorced her was because she was always looking for a party. Well, she’s found a few. She’s dating anything with two legs and a wallet.”
Max laughed.
“Oh, you think I’m kidding,” she said, pointing a carrot at him. “I’ll just leave you with this—when I’m dating someone, I have to date him at least six months before I even think of mentioning him to the gang.”
“That’s just good date management,” he said with a laugh. “But it does beg the question—are you dating anyone?”
The question landed with a thud in her head. “Nope.” She sipped her drink, then peered into the empty cup. “I’ve been crazy busy.” Which sounded like a practiced excuse. Which it was. She made herself look up and smile like it didn’t affect her. “And I’m also not that great at meeting people. I tried the online thing, but when I filled out the form, I sounded so boring. I couldn’t think of a single cute username. The only decent photo I have of me is half in shadow. And when I tried to take a selfie, they all make me look
so insane. So, for right now, it’s just me and Baxter. And even he kind of appeared on the scene by accident.”
“I see,” Max said.
Carly feared he did see, and with twenty-twenty vision. “You?” she asked. “Fighting off the girls? I bet you’re very popular on campus.”
He looked amused by that. “Why?”
“Because you’re cute! And you’re nice. And you’re smart. That’s a home run, Max. And if you’re rich, it’s a bases loaded home run. You’re going to the Super Bowl.”
“I think you mean World Series. And I’m not rich.” He stretched his legs in front of him and folded his arms across his chest. “But it’s nice to know you think I’m cute.”
His gaze was on her mouth, and it had the effect of making her heart skip around in her chest. “Is that what I said?” She had to be more careful with her loose lips.
“Pretty sure I heard it with my perfect hearing.”
“Then I must have. Well? I do think you’re cute, Max.”
“For the record, I think you’re cute, too.” His eyes met hers. “Amazingly, astoundingly, drop-dead cute.”
The fluttery thing turned liquid and warm and left Carly feeling slightly dizzy. She tried to think of what to say, something like, Then maybe we should date, or Am I reading too much into this, or Do you like to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you? Or Can I crawl inside your shirt and just smell you? Just something light and breezy, something clever and witty, but all she could do was smile like a loon. “Why, thank you, Dr. Sheffington. I’m suddenly feeling a little floofy.”
His gaze drifted lower. “Floofy. I’ll take it.”
The fluttering in Carly got a little more intense. “But you didn’t actually say if there was anyone special?”
“There’s one.”
Figured. She turned away from him, propping her elbows on the table behind her so that she could better contemplate how ridiculous she could be. What, she was going to meet a great guy through a dog mix-up and suddenly find happiness? Only in the movies, girlfriend.
“It’s a little odd.”
“Kinky odd?” she asked with a little too much hope in her voice.
“Just a little one-sided. Her name is Hazel and she’s awesome.”
“Oh man,” Carly said with a groan of laughter. “You had me, professor.”
Max sat up and took her hand. “That’s the kind of smooth operator I am,” he said, and pressed her hand to his very broad chest. He glanced around them, then leaned close. “I don’t want to dispel any illusions you might have about me, especially since you think I’m cute, but I am horrible at dating. I’m horrible at reading women. I honestly can’t tell when someone is flirting with me. I’m terrible at drinks or happy hours—”
Carly gasped and shoved his shoulder. “I’m like that! I’m horrible at happy hours!”
“Right?” he said. “If I ever see a girl I would like to talk to, I can’t think of any sort of opening line. And if she talks to me first, forget it—my small talk game really sucks.”
“Same!” She laughed with delight. “And I never see the right movies—like I never see Oscar movies because I spend my time at superhero movies—”
“Really?”
“Swear. I have a younger brother who used to make me get him comic books.”
“And I have this job that puts people to sleep, or they want to know how much the brain weighs or why they can’t remember their phone number from first grade, and the next thing I know, I’m in full professor mode.” He laughed. “It’s a real nerd bonanza over here,” he said, gesturing to himself.
“You and me both.”
His grin was dazzling. “Superheroes, huh? DC Comics? Or Marvel?”
“Dude . . . DC of course.”
Max’s grin broadened. Carly could have walked into his smile, never to be seen again, but she was jolted by a dog jumping up onto her lap and panting his bad breath into her face.
“Baxter!”
Max faded back from her, laughing. “They must be hungry,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
She hadn’t noticed, but the sun was sliding down into the horizon. Even the young musician was packing up her things. Carly didn’t want this afternoon to end. She wanted to sit right here and stare into Max’s eyes forever.
He obviously had different ideas. He was picking things up.
They cleaned up, gathered their dogs. On their way to the gate, Carly stopped by to put a couple of dollars into the woman’s guitar case. “You’re so good,” she said.
The young woman grinned. “Thank you!”
“Do you have a card or something? I’d love to catch you in town.”
“Oh.” The woman patted herself down, then began to dig through her purse. “I don’t have a card, but I can give you my name.”
“That’s okay. What’s your website?”
The woman looked up. “I don’t have a website.” She had found a receipt and a pen, and dashed off her name on the back of it, then handed it to Carly. “I’m playing at Scholz Garten’s chili cook-off next weekend.”
Carly looked at the piece of paper. Suzanna Harper. “Great. Thank you!” Appalled by Suzanna Harper’s publicity game, Carly stuffed the paper into her pocket. That woman had some real talent and all she had was the back of a receipt? She resisted shaking her head and hurried to catch up to Max.
Max had hooked the dogs to their leashes and opened the gate for her. They walked out to the parking lot and paused so that he could give her Baxter’s leash. “This has been great, Max.”
“Yes, it has, and I’m so glad you think so, too. I can’t remember the last time I talked so much about myself. I was a little worried.”
She had really enjoyed it. She glanced at the parking lot. “I was thinking . . .” She looked down at the dogs.
“That we should totally do this again?”
The flutter in her began to beat like a flock of hummingbirds. “I mean, you know, Baxter obviously really, really needs this. And I don’t think I’m getting another dog walker.”
“Absolutely. It’s clear that Baxter’s neurotransmitters are not firing on all cylinders.”
“I was just going to say that.”
“And as I have not had the time to find another dog walker, Hazel needs it, too.”
“You have to look out for her. She’s your girl.”
“Red Bud Isle Park?” Max suggested, his gaze on her mouth again.
“Tuesday?”
“Perfect.” He put his hand on her elbow.
“I don’t know how Baxter will survive until then.”
“That’s the great thing about dog brains. They have no concept of time.” He pulled her close. “Thank you for today, Carly. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to talk.”
Her gaze went to his mouth, too. Full, plump, kissable lips. Very kissable lips. “I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to listen. I particularly liked the part where you confessed to being bad at dating.”
“I don’t mean to brag, but there is so much more where that came from.” He dipped his head, slipped two fingers under her chin, and tilted her face up to his. “I’m probably going about this all wrong, but . . .” He touched his mouth to hers. His lips moved on hers, shaping them to his. It was a simple kiss, not overly sexual, but somehow that made it so hot that Carly was surprised she was still standing. And when he did lift his head, he ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Hazel and I can’t wait for Tuesday.”
“Baxter and I . . . are trying to breathe,” she stammered.
He chuckled softly, let go of her elbow, and walked across the parking lot, Hazel trotting alongside. Carly wanted to move but her legs felt as buzzy as her head, and Baxter didn’t seem to care.
Oh, but Tuesday would not come fast enough.
Twelve
; Max had turned into a chatterbox. He shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot, annoyed with himself. He hadn’t meant to talk so much. Jesus, he’d even brought up tenure. “Man, what a nap magnet I’ve turned into,” he muttered.
And that kiss! It had felt the thing to do, and she’d been looking at his mouth, kicking up all kinds of dust in him. So he’d kissed her. He was aroused and her lips were as soft as butter, and she tasted good, and he could have been a goner.
He still couldn’t say what exactly was happening with them, but whatever it was, he liked it. A lot.
Hazel surged forward onto the front seat console and lashed her tongue across his face. “Cut that out,” he said, but then pulled her forward a little so he could scratch her behind the ears.
He wished he hadn’t brought up the tenure thing. It sounded defeatist, and mostly it was fear talking. But it was weighing on him and, he’d discovered belatedly that once he started talking, he couldn’t stop. Maybe because he really didn’t have that many people in his life he could talk to about things like that. But there had sat Carly, looking interested and cute, and she was listening and engaged, and, wow, he’d felt so comfortable he’d let it all out. He had felt like he could say almost anything to her. He pretty much had—what had he left unsaid today?
He supposed there was some biological basis for that sort of trust to explode out of nowhere, some unemotional delineation between sexual and romantic attraction. But he didn’t want to think about that now. For once, he did not want a scientific explanation, he just wanted to experience this heady sensation of attraction and this need to be near her, to talk to her, and the overwhelming desire to touch her . . .
It had been a very long time since he’d experienced anything like this.
On his way to his father’s house, he thought back over the serious girlfriends he’d had. There hadn’t been so many. His first love came when he was a high school senior and had ended when they went off to different colleges.
In graduate school, he’d met Flavia. The Argentinean beauty was the most significant girlfriend he’d had. He’d once believed she would be his wife. They’d lived together in a tiny studio apartment west of campus. She’d met his family, and she liked Jamie. Max had assumed they would marry. He’d assumed they would research together, teach together, coauthor papers together, and be together for the rest of their lives. Six months after cohabitating, they were through. The fire that had burned so brightly from the moment they’d met flamed out. A couple of years ago, he’d heard that Flavia had returned to Argentina and had a job at a university there.
