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Me: Beowulf?
Instead of words, I got back a picture of the cutest mastiff puppy, a miniature Hrothgar but with soulful blue eyes.
Me: OMG. I am a puddle of goo now.
Him: That’s all it takes? Eggplant emoji followed by a champagne bottle popping its cork.
I stared in shocked silence at my phone screen and finally typed, Are you sure you’re a professor?
Him: I’ll bring my diploma to lunch.
Me: The dogs will be fine. In fact, maybe you should stay home and the dogs and I will go out.
Him: I see how it’s going to go.
Did he? My head was spinning from the endorphin rush of our conversation. Before I blurted out something truly embarrassing, I decided we should make our plans and wrap things up. It seemed Elliott had the same idea, because his next message was a suggestion for Off the Grid at the Presidio this coming Sunday. Which gave me three days to google the shit out of Professor Porter and go for a combined breakup/date prep mani-pedi. Should I do a bit of waxing, too, in the optimistic thought the date might go very well?
Me: That sounds great.
Him: We can bring a blanket, get what we want to eat, and then take the dogs for a walk.
Me: Perfect.
Also me: My name is Lucian, BTW, but everyone calls me Luc.
Him: Looking forward to getting to know you, Luc.
OMG. I had a date and an inkling that I might be catching feelings for Professor Porter. Which was ridiculous. Could you fall in love at first text? I had no idea, but Sunday couldn’t get here soon enough for me to find out.
Sunday dawned with the perfect weather for a picnic. The heat wave had been short and crested the day before so it was still warm in the morning, but, by the time I was supposed to meet up with Elliott at one, the temperature had reached its zenith and there was a hint of fog on the horizon.
I saw him before he saw me, of course. He was pulling a red market wagon, but with the two dogs walking at his side, it was easy to pick him out of the crowd. Even without the dogs, I would have noticed him. The tweed jacket had been replaced by a red v-neck tee that showed off Elliott’s toned arms and enough chest that I could tell he kept fit. He was wearing a pair of nicely fitting madras shorts that revealed legs that were well-muscled and firm. If I had to guess, I would say the good professor was a runner or biker, maybe both, but he wasn’t a gym rat. Nor was it his body that had me feeling tingly all over. He was gorgeous and had a killer smile.
He was stopped every ten feet by people who wanted to coo over the puppy. Little Beowulf was all big feet and loose skin, like a kid who was playing dress up with his daddy’s clothes. He was, in a word, adorable, and Elliott’s smile every time someone bent down to give the puppy attention was full of love and laughter, and his eyes pretty much twinkled with joy. I couldn’t get to Elliott quickly enough, wanting to be near him, to talk to him, to see if there was really something here or if it was just puppy love. As soon as I got close, I started to worry about coming on too strong, so I bent down to get some sweet puppy-breath kisses from baby Bey. Hrothgar was not impressed. I supposed it was a case of big-brother syndrome and the puppy getting all the attention.
“Don’t worry, Rothy, I’ve got enough love for both of you,” I said as I leaned over and gave the big dog a good ear scratching.
When I finally glanced up at Elliott, he had a goofy smile on his lips. “You’re Luc, I presume?”
The question took me aback, but then I realized I’d had my helmet on and started to laugh. Sheepishly, I put the puppy down and stood up, finally getting a chance to see Elliott’s eyes up close and personal. They were hazel with flecks of green and gold. I cleared my throat. “Ah, yeah. That would be me. I guess I look a bit different without a motorcycle helmet on my head.”
“A bit.” Elliott gave me a once-over. “Not that I’m complaining.”
O.M.G.
“Neither am I,” I shot back, giving him a coy smile.
“I’m Elliott, by the way, with two l’s and two t’s.”
Oh, yeah, I hadn’t actually asked him his name since I’d googled his pic at Cal, but by the way he was smiling, I could tell he knew that. “Two l’s, huh? Kind of like Elliott and Luc.”
Elliott fixed me with an intense gaze, but the puppy barked at that moment and went into a frenzy of play pounces because there was another puppy nearby, which made us both laugh.
And then we were walking past the various food trucks and talking about what we wanted to eat and finding a spot to spread the blanket Elliott had in the wagon, then organizing who was going to get food first and who was going to stay with the dogs. Once we were settled with our meals—Elliott went with a lobster roll, and I’d opted for a Philly cheesesteak—we started talking about nothing and everything, sharing stories and history and getting to know each other. The dogs continued to get lots of attention, especially baby Bey, so I made sure to give Rothy some love whenever someone couldn’t get enough of the puppy’s adorably wrinkled face and big feet.
“I saw a pic of a dog like this on Insta,” a young woman said to Elliott, who glanced at me.
“Sitting in the back of a car?” I asked, and she nodded. “That was him. I took the pic.”
