Page 92 of Wild Card 13

" You’ve known me my entire life."

"Exactly. Which means you should know I always have an ulterior motive."

"There it is."

He chuckled. "We've got a local rescue organization setting up on the patio today. Adoption brunch. Dogs, coffee, pancakes, people pretending they came for the dogs when they're really here for the cinnamon rolls."

"...That does sound suspiciously like Northbend."

"It is Northbend."

I looked down at the sidewalk again. More people drifted past carrying reusable shopping bags and steaming paper coffee cups, moving without hurry. Saturday had settled over the neighborhood in that uniquely Midwestern way where everyone seemed to have somewhere pleasant to be but in no particular rush getting there.

"It'll be fun," Arlo whined. "Come hang out for a couple hours."

"I don't know..."

"You don't have plans."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"I've got things to do," I offered weakly.

"Such as?"

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Arlo waited. Patiently. Smugly.

"...Laundry," I said finally.

"You've officially become an adult."

"I have."

"You can do laundry tomorrow."

"I could."

"So?"

I let my forehead fall lightly against the cool glass.

Maybe he was right. Maybe sitting alone in my apartmentpretending New York had never happened wasn't accomplishing nearly as much emotional healing as I'd hoped.

Supporting a local rescue didn't exactly qualify as reckless decision-making.

It was brunch. Outside. With dogs.

There were certainly worse ways to spend a Saturday.

"I'll think about it," I said.

"No."

I blinked. "No?"