Page 4

Four

CARA INSISTED ON coming over beforehand to help Abby pick out her clothes.

“It’s not a date. It’s coffee,” she reiterated, yet again. “It’s to say thanks for helping his son.”

“It’s not a date, yet ,” Cara replied, holding up one finger. “It will be by the time I’m done with you.”

Abby’s throat dried out and she swallowed hard. “Please, no.”

Cara spun to face her. “Fine, I won’t hold out hope, but this is the first time you’ve been out with anyone other than me in literal years . I’m not passing up this chance to be girly with you.”

“I wasn’t planning to dress up,” Abby mumbled.

“Blah, blah, blah.” Cara made a talking mouth out of her hand and rolled her eyes at Abby. “Let me have my fun. Scrubs do no one any favors, and you can hardly wear leggings and a tank top.”

“You love your scrubs.”

Cara had at least fifty different patterns, from pink and glittery fairies to rainbow-hued dump trucks. She got it from her father, who firmly believed working in pediatrics required a healthy dose of whimsy.

“I do, because the kids love them. I do not, however, wear them on a date.”

Abby sighed. “It’s not a date, Cara. It’s just...”

“Coffee. I know.” Cara rolled her eyes. “I heard you the first six hundred times.”

Abby folded the clothes they’d already rejected, stacking them neatly at the foot of the bed. Turning, she froze as Cara pulled a breezy sundress from the closet.

She wavered on her feet. “Not that one.”

Cara held it up to herself and spun around, watching the skirt flair. “Are you sure?” She glanced at Abby, then hurried to hang the dress back up. “Sorry.”

Abby’s hands shook. “It’s fine. Pick out a top and I’ll wear some nice jeans.”

“And the boots? You know how much I love those boots.”

Abby shot Cara an indulgent half smile. “You picked them out for me; of course you love them.”

“You love them, too. Don’t act like you don’t.”

Abby tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to consider, but when Cara balled up her fists and set them on her hips, Abby relented. “You know I love the boots.”

Abby reached into the clean laundry bin by the bedroom door and dug around until she found Gen’s vest. Brushing a few stray bits of lint from the bright red canvas, she smoothed the heavy fabric between her hands.

“You’re not bringing Gen, are you?” Cara frowned at Abby. “You know she’s a giant distraction, and you’re always paying attention to her instead of the people you’re with.”

Abby flinched. “I don’t do that. Do I?”

Cara shrugged, expression shuttering as she dove back into the closet. “Here, this one.” She handed Abby a floral printed top.

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.”

“Don’t worry about it! I didn’t mind.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but it still wasn’t okay.” Abby pinned Gen with a firm expression.

The dog ignored her, licking her chops for the last vestiges of frozen peanut butter, and crossing her eyes as she focused on the dollop of whipped cream stuck to the top of her nose.

“Here, silly girl.” Abby bent down and wiped her muzzle with a napkin. “Better?”

She glanced back up at Scott. “It takes a lot of training, a lot of time, to do something like therapy work. Even breaking the rules a little sets a precedent, creates a new pattern. Dogs don’t understand when something is okay under these circumstances, but not okay under those.

Or how you can do something with this person but not with that person.

We have to be consistent, or they end up confused. ”

Scott nodded. “Sounds kind of like raising a kid.”

“Maybe a bit, yeah.” Abby thought about it for a moment, then continued, “And I guess our classes and stuff are like going to school. After her puppy obedience, I took her to get her CGC – her Canine Good Citizen – certificate, which gave me the confidence to take her out in public.”

“So, then she could go everywhere with you?”

Abby shook her head. “Oh, my gosh, no. No way. Therapy dogs aren’t service dogs, so they don’t have any access rights at all, except where they’ve been invited.

We did most of our training in dog-friendly places like here.

” She gestured at the coffee shop around her.

“Fortunately, we have lots of options, but even now, I can’t—I won’t—take her anywhere if it might compromise service dog rights.

Their job is too important to risk for Gen’s training. ”

Abby loved talking about Gen the same way parents loved talking about their kids, she imagined.

For a long time, she hadn’t been able to string two or three words together, but in addition to everything else Gen had done, she had given Abby back her voice, had given her something to talk about.

Cara might call her a distraction, but Abby had needed one. Still did, honestly.

“When I approached the hospital about letting us work there, they were hesitant, but they agreed to a trial run. She hadn’t had an accident in months, but the first day I made her go three times before we went inside.

” Abby let her gaze drift as she pictured a yearling Gen, all gawky limbs and over-sized paws, trying so hard to work even as the kids squealed in excitement at the sight of her.

Gen had been fine, of course. She’d jumped on beds, snuggled children, and obeyed all her commands.

They’d gone back again the following week, then twice the week after, and within a few months, they’d become such a regular fixture in the pediatric department that the hospital began advertising an on-site therapy dog as a part of their comprehensive treatment programs.

“But she did?”

Abby shook herself. “Yeah, she did. And the rest, as they say, is history. We’ve been at Providence ever since.”

“That’s amazing.” Scott’s eyes locked with hers and she held his gaze.

She agreed whole-heartedly. Gen was amazing.

“How did you get involved in training a therapy dog?”