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“The leash seemed to work well. Your legs, not so much.”

I let out a single laugh. “I’m still on the ground. Your jokes are unwelcome.”

He held out his hand. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” I didn’t take his hand because of the dog pee situation. I pushed myself to standing, passed the dog off to Chad, and shook off my wet hand. Luckily, sanitizing wet wipes were at nearly every station here and I freed several from the stand by the gate, scrubbing at my hand while Asher stood and watched, his expression guilt-ridden.

I offered him a smile as I threw the wipes in the trash. “Hi.” I opened my mouth to form some sort of apology or at least an explanation about tricking him at the café, when it hit me: he had been yelling the name Gemma. What did that mean? He still didn’t know I wasn’t her?

“Hi,” he returned.

Chad gave a command to one of the dogs in the pen, reminding me that tripping was the least embarrassing thing that had happened to me in the last five minutes. That’s when my brain came up with a stupid solution. I’d saved Asher from humiliation in the coffee shop and he was going to save me now, even if he didn’t realize it.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I spit out. “Did you get the DM I sent you just now about getting coffee after work?” I bit my lip and let my eyes flit to Chad. He tilted his head as if analyzing our conversation.

“No, I left my phone in the car. But yes, that sounds like fun.”

“Awesome.” I hoped Chad was buying this new narrative, and I added this lie to the list of lies I’d have to confess to Asher later.

“Dale!” Asher called. “I found her!” He looked over his shoulder and I followed his gaze to see Dale balancing on top of one of the tunnels in the doggie play area.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

“We came to see you.”

Had his catfish really not fessed up? Had he been in contact with her at all since the café?

“When do you get off?” Asher asked.

I checked the time on my phone. “About an hour and a half?”

Dale, now down from his perch, had his phone out and was panning it slowly back and forth as he walked our way.

Asher jerked his thumb in Dale’s direction. “We can hang around until then. Do you need extra volunteers today? I’m an excellent dog walker. I know how leashes work and everything.”

“You’re a brat,” I said with a laugh.

“You should have him walk Bean,” Chad said, tossing a tennis ball. All three dogs just watched it bounce off the chain-link fence, not interested in retrieving it at all.

“I’ll walk whoever,” Asher said. “Just tell me what to do.”

There was no way I was making him walk Bean. That dog would turn him off all dogs. He was too difficult. “You need to talk to our volunteer coordinator and fill out paperwork.”

“What she means is that you’ll need to sign something that says if Bean bites you, you won’t sue,” Chad said. Why was there suddenly an edge to Chad’s voice? That was new.

“Bean won’t bite him,” I said. Bean may have been difficult, but he wasn’t aggressive.

Dale stood by the pen, aiming his camera at the three new intakes. “They look like little old men,” he said. “Do people actually adopt dogs that are on death’s door?”

I opened my mouth but immediately shut it again, holding back a snarky response.

Chad said, “Yes, they do.”

Dale shrugged and swung toward me, his phone pointed at my green polo shirt.

“What are you doing?” I asked, covering my chest.

Asher pushed Dale’s arm down, forcing him to lower the phone. “Dude.”