She snorts as she pulls her top lip between her teeth to get the remnants from her last lick off of it. "Maybe." Pulling a napkin from her back pocket, she wipes her mouth. "But that one was his." She points to the now-empty spot below a chomp-licking Sammy and tilts her head behind her.
Another thing I must not have noticed—because of Sammy's behavior, of course—is that she's not alone. Not technically. A man in black joggers and a grey quarter-zip sits on the bench behind her, his eyes squinted as he exerts what looks like all of his brainpower to zoom in on his phone screen.
"He's not gonna eat it," she continues. "He just got one because he knew it'd shut me up. Where's the fun in eating ice cream alone?"
I hold back my comment about herstilleating alone if he's over there doing whatever it is he's doing, and grab the leash now at my feet. "Then it's a good thing Sammy here helped you out with that."
"Yeah," she says. She squats back down and brings both hands behind the dog's ears. "HowdidI get so lucky?" She looks up at me and cocks a brow.
The corner of my lips turn up as I exhale heavily. "I stopped to tie my shoe," I explain to Sammy's nose, now pointed in the air.
"Well, why did you do that?" she asks in a playful voice. She's looking at Sammy, but I assume she's not waiting for his answer.
"I'm not sure, honestly. I guess I thought it might prevent an injury—maybe avoid some sort of embarrassing situation in front of a stranger."
"And how did that work out for you?" Her head lifts as her eyes drift to mine. The green in them catches the light of the distant sunset, and I find myself noticing.
"You tell me."
We hold each other's gaze for longer than I realize until Sammy turns around and jumps on me, stretching his paws up my chest.
"Hey," I say, my mind drifting back to what it always does at times like these—Ruthie.
I pet Sammy once before pushing him down, ignoring the way his new favorite person tracks the peaks and valleys across my shirt. "I know this is probably a long shot—also very likely that it's creepy—but is there any chance you still do the nanny thing and are as good with preteen girls as you are with dogs?"
Her eyebrows lift as she stands again. "In the caretaking sense," I clarify. "I have an almost twelve-year-old daughter, and the woman who helps us is leaving as soon as we find a replacement."
"Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that."
"I'm actually not."
Her eyes go wide. "That bad?"
"No," I quickly clarify. "I'm just super happy for her. Nellie is an amazing artist and an even better person. She'll do great where she's headed, and thankfully, we'll still get a chance to see her. But she's definitely gonna leave a hole in our lives."
"Sounds like you were all close."
"We were," I say, grinning. She nods, and a weight settles in my chest. It's so light I almost don't feel it, but it's there. And I do. "Professionally, I mean."
She takes a sudden interest in the way the fur on the top of Sammy's head curls, running her finger along the path of the cowlick. "I've been with a new family for a little under a year now. It's always hard to leave."
I offer a closed-lip smile and nod. "I figured. Worth a shot. It'll all work out."
She licks up the side of her cone to catch a drip, and my eyes dart away like I'm witnessing something I'm not supposed to. I clear my throat and shake the thought. "Thank you, by the way."
She smiles and holds out her hand. "Oh, of course."
"I'm L—"
"Babe!"
The guy who was once on the bench, so distracted that he missed our entire conversation, is now standing behind her with his hands on his hips. She looks over her shoulder at him, and he throws his arms open. "What are you doing?"
She spins back around and smiles shyly. "It was nice to meet you." She bends down and scratches my dog behind the ears. "You too, Sammy."
Then, without another word, she turns and walks away. I contemplate calling out to her.
You never told me your name.
