How can he be real? How can he be so perfect? Even from this distance, I can see his thick eyelashes and the way his long, dark, wavy hair cascades almost to his shoulders, catching the light. What kind of shampoo do you use to have hair that shiny? His hair is being held back from his face with a pink headband. Is that terry cloth? With a strawberry on it? I like it. I bet it’s from some start-up fashion brand started by a rap star …
And now he’s waving. At me? At me! Rafe Barzilay is waving at me.
A second too late, I realize I’m about to run off the drive. My wheels bump up against the stone curbing and I course-correct, veering to the other side of the driveway before centering myself again. I jerk to a halt, putting the car in park. I have no more than five seconds to gather myself as Rafe jogs over to the car. It’s just Rafe Barzilay. This is normal. It’s normal that Titanium Man is approaching my car, wearing the world’s smallest set of running shorts. I’m not looking at his package. I’m just minding my own business.
I roll down the window.
“Hey,” he says, a little crossly. “You should watch where you’re going. There are kids living here. And pets. You could have killed someone.”
“I was watching,” I argue. “I could see there were no kids in the driveway. You just distracted me when you waved.”
“I waved because you were driving way too fast,” he chides. “Who are you, by the way? What are you doing here?”
There’s a drop of sweat in the divot of his collarbone. I cannot look away. The breeze picks up and I can smell him. He doesn’t smell sweaty. Of course he doesn’t. He smells like cardamom cake and cedar trees. Like clean air and a warm bed. Why is it that his clean smell makes me think dirty thoughts? His scowl doesn’t even do much to cool me off. If anything, it does the opposite.
Just then, Lorelei throws the front door open and steps out onto the covered porch. She’s wearing a flowing, black, linen caftan with striking tribal embroidery and an oversize pair of dark sunglasses. “Back off, Rafe. This is Kenna. She’s doing our headshots for the playbill. I asked her to come by today. Didn’t Dean text you?”
“I can’t do headshots today. Why didn’t anyone check with me?” he complains.
“I wasn’t planning on taking the photos today,” I explain. “I just want to scout out some good places to do them.”
As I’m speaking, a small, furry dog barrels past Lorelei, racing out into the driveway and making a break for it.
“See!” Rafe gestures at the dog. “What if she ran out a minute earlier? Lorelei, you need to be more careful.” He makes a clucking noise at the dog, but she ignores him, running rings around him.
“Princess!” he calls. “Heel! Get over here!” He chases after her, unsuccessfully lunging and missing her. She barks excitedly and wags her tail, clearly enjoying this game.
“Princess!” he calls exasperatedly, again, and I can hear the slightest remnant of his Israeli accent. The dog runs in large circles, taunting him, leaping in the air and dancing on her hind legs. I can’t help but laugh.
“You think this is funny?” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “This dog is a runner. I only just rescued her from a shelter this past weekend. If we don’t catch her, who knows what could happen!”
The dog sits down in the middle of the gravel driveway, daring him to chase after her. Her little, pink tongue is dangling off center as she pants excitedly.
That’s when I recognize her. I realize that I know this dog. Princess! Princess Von Floofy! She’s the same Pomeranian that I photographed at the shelter. How on earth?
“Come here, Princess Von Floofy!” I throw open the door of my car and reach into the glove compartment for the dog treats I bring to photo shoots. “Come on, girl! You remember me, don’t you? We’re besties!”
Princess raises her nose to sniff the air. I shake the bag of treats. “Come here, Princess! Wanna go for a ride?”
That’s all it takes. The dog makes a beeline for me, leaping into my car and up into my lap, where she smothers me with kisses.
“Awww. You remember me, too! How did you end up here, sweetheart?” I dig in the bag for some treats, which she eats out of my hand while I speak soothingly to her. “What a good girl. Why are you trying to run away?” With my free hand, I pull the car door shut.
A moment later, Rafe is back at my window, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did you know to do that?”
“It usually works with the runners. You might want to try luring her into a car instead of chasing her next time,” I suggest, still petting the dog and not minding one bit having my face licked. “She’s a sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” Rafe breathes a sigh of relief as I hand the dog back to him through the window.
“Is she really your dog?” I ask, still trying to puzzle out how this happened. I swear Princess is staring smugly at me. What a lucky little bitch. Literally.
“She’s my daughter’s dog.” He frowns sternly at the Pomeranian. “Shame on you,Hamuda! You nearly gave me a heart attack, running away from me like that—again.”
The little dog seems unfazed by his reproach. She licks his face enthusiastically, wagging her entire, little body. And who could blame her?
“Oh, please, that is totallyyourdog, Rafe.” Lorelei rolls her eyes as she comes down the steps toward me. “You’re not fooling anyone. You’re like a mother hen with that smelly, little beast.”
“Princess doesn’t smell!” I argue. “She was just groomed.”
