by Nancy Krulik
Or if she had, she hadn’t recognized them. Alana wasn’t very good at spotting celebs. That was Stella’s big talent. On one afternoon Stella had seen Madonna, Woody Allen, and Leonardo DiCaprio. Alana hadn’t recognized any of them. So it was possible that Alana had seen comedian Jerry Seinfeld or tennis legend John McEnroe in the elevator at the Beresford and just not realized it. Then again she might have seen Mr. or Mrs. Stanhope in the lobby of the building and not recognized them, either. Alana had only seen one photo of them around the apartment—their wedding portrait. And after twenty-five or so years of marriage, she doubted they still looked the same.
It was strange that Alana had never actually come face-to-face with any of the Stanhopes. Usually the dog owners she worked for liked to sit down and meet with her to watch how she interacted with their dogs. But Mrs. Stanhope had done the whole interview over the phone and hired Alana on the spot. From then on they’d only communicated through notes and pay envelopes tacked to the big bulletin board in the Stanhopes’ kitchen.
From their short conversations, Alana had learned that the family needed a dog walker because Mrs. Stanhope spent most of her time at meetings for various committees around the city, and Mr. Stanhope was often away on business trips. Apparently, when their daughter Catherine lived at home, she’d walked Nicolette during the day. And when she’d left for Yale, someone else had taken over the job. But now the person who’d been Nicolette’s dog walker was no longer available. Mrs. Stanhope hadn’t given any details. All Alana knew was that now Nicolette was alone most days, which was why the family needed a dog walker. Frankly, Alana wondered why the Stanhopes needed a dog, since they obviously weren’t around enough to enjoy Nicolette. But Alana would never say something like that to Mrs. Stanhope. It wasn’t her place to tell people how to take care of their pets. And besides, if it weren’t for people like the Stanhopes, she wouldn’t have a job.
While she might not have recognized the two elder Stanhopes, Alana would have been able to spot Catherine anywhere. The Stanhopes had practically papered the walls with photos of their soccer-playing daughter. Everywhere Alana went in the apartment, she saw photos of the twenty-year-old: There were photographs of Catherine’s graduation from a ritzy Upper East Side girls school, snapshots of her holding trophies and playing soccer with the West Side Soccer League, even pictures of her as a baby kissing a life-size Elmo at Sesame Place in Pennsylvania. And of course, there were plenty of pictures of her smiling in front of the buildings of Yale University, where she’d been for the past two years. Mrs. Stanhope had made a point of mentioning that with pride several times during their phone conversation. Although she’d never met the girl, Alana felt like she knew Catherine’s whole life story.
That was what was so weird about being a dog walker. Since Alana had unrestricted access to her clients’ homes, she knew a lot about their lives, while they knew almost nothing about hers. But trophies and photos of a daughter away at college were the most benign of the clues to the secret lives of her clients that Alana came across on a daily basis. The calendars on the wall let Alana know just where her customers were at any given point during the day. The dishes left in the sink clued her in on just who was cheating on their diets. And as she’d already discovered at the Parkers, the things she saw in their bathrooms gave away more secrets than Alana wanted to think about.
Alana never told anyone about the things she discovered in her dogs’ apartments though. She figured the secrets she knew about her clients were covered by some sort of dog walker–client privilege. These people were giving her permission to enter their apartments when no one was home. That came with a real responsibility. Discretion was a major part of the dogwalker’s job description.
In the three months since she had been working for the Stanhopes, no one—not even the maid—had ever been in the apartment at the same time Alana was. So she was really surprised to hear a banging noise coming from the living room as she entered the apartment.
“Hello,” Alana called out nervously as she cautiously entered the apartment.
Nicolette came running at the sound of Alana’s voice.
“Good girl,” Alana said, bending down to pet the excited poodle. “You sure are happy today. Are Mommy and Daddy home with you?”
But it certainly wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Stanhope who suddenly emerged from the living room. Not unless Mr. Stanhope was about eighteen years old or so, because the guy Alana was facing couldn’t be much more than that.
Whoever this fellow was, he was certainly comfortable in the Stanhope apartment. He was walking around bare-chested, wearing nothing more than a pair of faded jeans and a tan leather tool belt. He was also probably the most gorgeous example of man Alana had ever seen.
“Hello,” Alana said, forcing herself to shift her eyes from his incredibly sculpted six-pack abs to his face so she could actually get up the courage to speak to him. But the change of focus was no help, since his deep-set, chocolate brown eyes were every bit as disarming as his abs. “I’m Alana, the dog walker.”
“Connor,” the hottie replied. He placed his hammer back into his tool belt and held out his hand for her to shake.
“I didn’t know anybody would be here,” Alana said weakly, nearly melting at the touch of his hand. Man, this guy is so amazing looking. Like something out of an A&F catalog.
“I just stopped by to fix the curtain rod in the living room,” Connor explained, running his hands through his shoulder-length brown hair.
That explains what he is doing in the apartment. He’s the building superintendent or handyman or something. “You did a good job,” she complimented him, not sure of what to say. “The curtains look straight.”
“I can be a perfectionist when I need to be.” Connor flashed her a grin. “I’ve never seen you here before. Do you walk Nicolette every day?”
Alana shook her head. “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Those are the days Mrs. Stanhope has her meetings.”
“Oh yes, those society meetings,” Connor said in a sarcastically snooty voice. “Very important.”
Alana laughed. This whole thing was like something out of a British independent film. She and Connor were the hired help, working while the society folks were out doing whatever it was rich people did during the day. Connor was the hottie handyman, while she was the…Alana glanced down at her old, black running shorts and the tie-dyed T-shirt she’d made at camp three summers ago. Oh great. What a day to be dressed like a slob!
“I…uh…I’d better go check the bulletin board and see if Mrs. Stanhope has left me any instructions for Nicolette,” Alana said.
“She leaves you notes instead of calling you?” Connor asked.
Alana nodded.
“That doesn’t insult you?”
“No. It’s easier that way.”
“I’m sure,” Connor replied with a laugh.
“Do you know the Stanhopes?” Alana asked him.
Connor nodded. “Sure. But we mostly communicate through notes too.”
Alana could feel her heart pounding slightly as he spoke, and she suddenly caught herself staring at his abs again. Her cheeks began to feel all hot; she was certain Connor could tell she was blushing. “Well, um…it was nice meeting you,” she murmured. “I…um…really should get started with Nicolette.”
As Alana hurried into the kitchen to check the bulletin board, an overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over her. What was she doing staring at Connor that way? She had a boyfriend. A guy she really liked. She wasn’t supposed to be staring at someone else’s abs or admiring the way his eyes were so dark brown they looked like chocolate cupcakes floating in a sea of white cream.
Yikes! She really had been studying him. This was not good.
Come on, Alana, chill out, she told herself silently. You aren’t doing anything wrong. A girl can look at the menu all she wants, as long as she doesn’t order anything.
Yet somehow she knew Sammy wouldn’t see it that way. He’d gotten so mad over Leo, a
nd Alana wasn’t attracted to him at all. Not that she was attracted to Connor or anything. That would be impossible. After all, they’d only spoken a few words to each other.
And Alana was going to keep it that way. She hurried into the kitchen and immediately busied herself, getting Nicolette’s portable, collapsible water bowl from the cabinet and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. The sooner she got out of there, the better.
“Thirsty?” Connor asked in his deep, friendly voice.
Alana whipped around and once again came face-to-face with those brown eyes. “No,” she said quickly, trying to look away. “I mean, it’s not for me. These are Nicolette’s water bottles. Mrs. Stanhope wants her to have only bottled water.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “She’s a dog.”
“I know,” Alana said. “But she’s Mrs. Stanhope’s dog. I do what she tells me to do for her.” She glanced up at the bulletin board. “Oh, man,” she groaned.
“What?”
“Mrs. Stanhope says there’s a steak in the refrigerator for Nicolette. She wants me to cut it into bite-size pieces for her after we get back from the park.” Alana sighed heavily. “I swear, with the money that steak cost, they could probably feed four homeless families and…” She stopped herself midsentence and looked down at the floor. She really wasn’t in the habit of complaining about her clients to people she didn’t know. But for some reason, she sensed Connor would understand what she meant. After all, Connor was the handyman in a building full of wealthy people. He probably dealt with plenty of folks who squandered their money the way the Stanhopes did.
“These people definitely have weird priorities,” Connor agreed, as if confirming what Alana was thinking. He grabbed an orange from a nearby bowl of fruit and slowly began tearing away the peel. “So what do you do when you’re not working for Mrs. Stanhope?”
Alana looked at him with surprise. She would never have taken anything to eat or drink from any of her clients’ apartments. But Connor had made himself completely at home in the kitchen.
“I…uh…I’m a senior, at Lincoln High. And sometimes on weekends I volunteer at Helping House…,” Alana muttered nervously. What is it about this guy that makes me so tense, anyway?
“Helping House?” Connor asked.
“It’s a place for women and kids who have been abused. They help them get back on their feet. I spent a lot of time there over the summer but not so much now. Although this Saturday afternoon I’m going to go over and help with their carnival. It’s a big fund-raiser. There are rides and snacks and old-fashioned carnival games, like a dunking booth and stuff.”
Connor grinned. “That was always my favorite as a kid. Especially if I could make sure my teachers got dunked.”
“I know what you mean,” Alana said, returning his grin. Then she caught herself staring into his eyes again. “Anyhow,” she continued, forcing herself to look away, “school takes up a lot of my time. And then there’s all the dog walking. I need to do that, though, if I’m going to pay for college next year.” Alana frowned and struggled to stop herself from talking. She was definitely jabbering on too much.
But Connor didn’t seem to mind. He just sat there, listening to her every word, his eyes never leaving hers. They were practically burning right through her.
“So…um…I’d better run,” Alana said, heading back toward the front hall where Nicolette’s leash was kept.
Connor followed close behind. So close that Alana could practically feel him. “Do you ever have time in that busy schedule to go out—like to a movie or dinner or something?” he asked her.
Alana turned to look at him. Her heart was beating really hard now. “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, I sort of have a boyfriend.”
“Sort of?” Connor asked, his eyes twinkling.
“No. I mean, not sort of…Definitely. I have a boyfriend,” Alana jabbered helplessly, unable to control her own mouth. “His name’s Sammy.”
“Oh,” Connor said. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Well, lucky Sammy. My loss. Have a good run with Nicolette.”
“Thanks,” Alana replied. She hurried out the door with Nicolette by her side. She pushed the button for the elevator and stood there, fully aware that Connor had not shut the apartment door and was staring at her from down the hall.
“Well, that was a disaster,” Alana told Nicolette as she stepped into the elevator and watched the steel door slide shut. “I made a complete jerk out of myself. Good thing I’ll never see him again.”
The poodle looked up at Alana and barked.
But Alana did see Connor again. The minute Alana entered the apartment on Wednesday afternoon, he walked out of a back bedroom, with Nicolette happily nipping at his heels. This time he was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with the logo of Rolling Stone magazine emblazoned on the front. Alana was glad for the T-shirt. The sight of a bare-chested Connor and those amazing abs was really just too much for her to handle.
“Hi, Alana.”
“You’re back again.” Alana frowned as the words exited her mouth. Of course he’s back again, you jerk. He’s standing right there.
Luckily, Connor didn’t seem to notice the obviousness of Alana’s statement. “I was just fixing something in the—um—spare bedroom,” he told her. “You and Nicolette going for a run today?”
Alana shook her head. “Just a regular walk. But I’m taking four dogs.”
“All at once?” Connor asked, sounding impressed.
“Yep,” Alana told him. “It’s not that bad—unless one of them spots a squirrel.”
Connor chuckled. “I can see where that might be a problem.”
“You have no idea,” Alana agreed. She bent down and petted Nicolette. “How are you, pretty girl?” she cooed, using the dog as an excuse not to stare into Connor’s eyes any longer. She wasn’t sure what it was about this guy that made her feel so guilty. It wasn’t like she was even flirting with him or anything. Or like he was flirting with her. He was just working. Same as she was.
“I’d better go check the board for instructions,” Alana said, heading into the kitchen.
“Maybe Mrs. Stanhope wants you to prepare pheasant under glass for her precious pup,” Connor joked.
“Nope,” Alana replied with a laugh. “Too many small bones.” She looked at the note on the board. “Actually, Nicolette’s getting dog food today. A new recipe from the Barkery.”
“The what?”
“The Barkery,” Alana repeated. “It’s a dog supermarket on Columbus Avenue.”
“You mean a pet shop?”
Alana shook her head. “Not exactly. This place bakes its own treats and grinds its own meat.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “And it costs a fortune, right?”
“Yep,” Alana said.
“The Stanhopes are amazing,” Connor said. “I don’t get it. I never have.”
“Me either,” Alana agreed. “But I try not to judge.” That wasn’t exactly true. She judged all the time. She just would never do so out loud.
Alana moved toward the edge of the kitchen, squeezing past Connor to get to the hallway for Nicolette’s leash. The proximity of his body to hers sent a flash of heat through her limbs. She hoped she wasn’t blushing too hard.
“You want company on your walk?” Connor asked her.
Alana wanted to say no. She knew she should say no. But the only word that came out of her mouth was “sure.”
Connor flashed her a big smile. “Great!” he exclaimed, sounding as happy as a three-year-old who’d just been offered a ride on the carousel in Central Park. “I really need to get out of here for a little while.”
“You’re incredibly good with dogs,” Alana complimented Connor a little while later as they walked through the Ramble with Nicolette, Noodles, Frisky, and Curly. “Especially Nicolette. She’s usually skittish around strangers, but she’s acting like she’s known you her whole life.”
“Animals like me,” Connor
said. “I don’t know why.”
“My dad says you can tell what kind of person someone is by the way he gets along with animals,” Alana remarked. “They’re true judges of character.”
Connor flashed her another of his disarming grins. “So I guess that means I’m okay.”
Much better than okay, Alana thought as once again she struggled to keep her breathing in check while she was in Connor’s presence. After a beat she said simply, “Yeah, that’s what it means.”
They walked along in silence for a little while enjoying the quiet of the woods and each other’s company. After a while, they reached a brown, wooden pagoda that was hidden away among some trees. “You want to sit down for a while?” Connor asked.
“Sure,” Alana agreed, following him to the bench. For once the dogs cooperated, lying down in a row at their feet. “They’re tired,” she remarked. “Even Frisky, which is unusual. He’s usually bouncing all around. But look at him—he’s just lying there, totally fried.”
“Mmhmm,” Connor replied. “I am too. The heat can take it out of you.”
“Your work is pretty physical too,” Alana reminded him.
“My work?”
“Yeah, you know, fixing things at Beresford. That must be hard work.”
“I’ve always been good at fixing things,” Connor replied nonchalantly. “But my real career is as a photographer. I’ve been putting together a portfolio.”
Alana was genuinely impressed. “I had no idea you were an artist.”
Connor smiled. “You don’t know a whole lot about me,” he reminded Alana.
She blushed slightly. That was true. “So tell me about yourself. What kind of photography do you do?”
“Candids mostly. People just being people. I think those are the most interesting kinds of photos.” His whole face lit up as he spoke about his photographs. “Like there’s this one I took in Coney Island last summer. I spotted this old couple, all dressed up, walking on the boardwalk. She was in this lacy dress, and he was actually wearing a sport jacket—in the middle of the summer. They looked so out of place among all the people in their bathing suits and shorts. Like they were from a completely different time or place. But they were the most romantic people I’d ever seen. They were holding hands and smiling at each other. And I just pulled out my camera and captured the moment.”
