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Abby took it but caught Cara’s hand as she passed it over. “I’m sorry, Cara. I don’t mean to.”
Cara shook her head. “You know I love Gen, but someday you’re going to have to let go of your four-legged security blanket.”
Abby considered her dog, sweeping the floor with her tail, ears up, head tilted and eyes flicking back and forth between the two women, as if she knew they were discussing her.
She sighed.
“Someday, okay,” she agreed. “But not today. Scott invited us both. He didn’t even complain when she got muddy paw prints all over his jeans.”
Cara snorted. “Fine. Geez. The pair of you deserve each other.”
Whether she meant Abby and Gen or Abby and Scott, she didn’t clarify.
Abby’s knee jiggled as she waited for Scott, and Gen pressed her body into the side of Abby’s leg. She absently reached down to rub the dog’s ears.
Scott had offered dinner, which Abby had blatantly refused, citing a lack of dog-friendly restaurants. His next suggestion—a local brewery with pub fare—Abby had turned down, too, proposing coffee instead. Less pressure. Plus, it let her choose the location, so she’d settled into her usual seat at Common Grounds, Gen at her feet.
The silver Audi pulled to a stop across the street, not a speck of dust on it, flashing bright and clean in the rich afternoon sunlight.
Abby snorted as it parallel parked without disrupting the flow of traffic around it. “I wonder how often he gets it detailed,” she murmured to herself, thinking of the dirt roads in the park.
Despite his height, Scott strode through the coffee shop door without ducking. He finished rolling the second cuff of his pale blue button-up as his brilliant eyes swept the room. Could that color even exist? Maybe it was a trick of his clothes, the pastel color of his shirt forcing his eyes to appear super-saturated.
Her breath hiccupped involuntarily in her chest as his gaze caught hers, a slow smile spreading over his features. Still just one dimple. Standing, she straightened her shoulders as Gen wriggled beside her.
“Easy, Gen,” she said, glancing down and placing a steadying hand on the dog’s head.
He crossed the floor in several long strides. “Hey.”
“Umm, hi.” Abby turned Gen’s leather leash over in her hands, winding it through her fingers, then unwinding it again.
He gestured at the counter. “So, coffee. What do you want?”
They placed their orders, then Scott asked, “Can I get Gen a pup-cup? I have to say thank you to her, too.”
“Usually, I don’t let her have extra treats,” Abby hesitated. “But since it’s a thank you...”
“I’m glad you suggested this instead of the brewery. I don’t think they make a dog-friendly beer.” He grinned at her, his dimple giving him a mischievous air, inviting her to share the joke.
“I don’t really drink.”
The smile fled, his eyebrows pulling together as he studied her. “At all?”
“No.” Her voice flattened as they made their way to a small table and sat down across from one another.
Scott cleared his throat. “So, you said she’s...?”
“A therapy dog,” Abby supplied with relief. She could talk about Gen all day. “We work in the hospital and at a couple of assisted-living facilities, visiting the patients.”
“I bet they enjoy that.”
Their coffee arrived and Abby took a long sip while Scott offered the pup-cup to Gen—a dog-friendly concoction of peanut butter slush topped with a swirl of whipped cream.
Abby nudged the dog. “It’s okay, girl. Go ahead.”
Gen didn’t waste any time, tasting the treat then working her tongue in and out of the cup while Scott held it steady.
“We work a lot with long-term or chronic patients,” Abby continued. “Studies show those who have a strong support structure – friends, family, a purpose, and hope—are more likely to recover. A visit from Gen gives them something to look forward to. And Gen, well, she’s pretty much magic; she has been from the start. She loves people, but not in that crazy, out-of-control way, jumping on them...” Abby paused, skin flushing in remembered embarrassment. “Well, not usually, anyway.”