Page 8 of Falling For You

He leaned against the back wall. "I call her. Every time. Even if it's just thirty seconds. She picks up, I tell her I'm sorry, she tells me to stop apologizing and come home safe. Then I stop at that bakery on Decatur and bring her an almond croissant. She acts surprised every time even though we both know she's expecting it."

"That works?"

He shifted his weight. "It's not about the gesture. It's that she knows I'm thinking about her even when I'm here. That's what matters to Diana. She doesn't need me to show up at some specific time. She needs to know I wish I was there."

I absorbed this bit of Doug and Diana wisdom. Maybe that was all it took. Maybe I just needed to reach for Elliot instead of waiting for him to reach for me. Show up at his place with dinner. Close the distance myself.

Somewhere between the fourth floor and the third, the car stopped.

The lights stayed on. The panel went dark. I pressed the lobby button again. Nothing.

I hit the emergency call button. "Building security, this is Officer Walsh, LVMPD. We're stuck in the east elevator between four and three. Can you send maintenance?"

The speaker crackled. "Copy, Officer. Maintenance is on the way."

Doug's breathing changed. I could hear it. The deliberate inhale through his nose, the slow exhale through his mouth. His hands were flat against his thighs. The man who'd just been arguing for a retired police dog looked like he was trying to hold himself together by force of will.

"Doug?"

He didn't answer.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He wasn't. "I'm just not great with the idea of being in a tight space for a long time."

Claustrophobia. Doug filled most of the elevator just standing in it. The ceiling was a few inches above his head, the walls close enough to touch on both sides. To me, it was an elevator. To him, it was a box.

"Okay. Look at me. Maintenance is coming. The car is stable. We're between floors, not falling. You're going to keep looking at me and we're going to talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"Like this K-9. Have you already picked one?"

"I have a shortlist."

"Of how many?"

"Five."

"Tell me about each of them."

He shifted against the wall. "Okay. There's a German Shepherd. Rocky. Seven years old. Patrol and narcotics, clean service record."

"Rocky," I said. "That's a good name."

"Right? And then there's a Malinois. Jax. Explosives detection. Incredible dog, but the coordinator said he needs about two hours of hard exercise a day and gets reactive without it."

"Who's going to run the dog when you're at work?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. But you should see this dog, Andy. I'm not ready to rule him out yet."

He went through all five. A Bloodhound named Dolly who was the best tracking dog in the state but slept all day off-duty. A Lab that worked airports. A Dutch Shepherd the coordinator called the safest pick for young kids. Each one had a name and a service record, and Doug had an opinion about every single one. His breathing evened out somewhere around dog four. By dog five he was using his hands, describing the Dutch Shepherd's temperament like he was pitching a case to a jury.

The intercom buzzed. "Officers, maintenance can't get the car restarted. We've called the fire department."

I closed my eyes. I knew which station covered this zone. I knew which crew was on shift.

"Thank you," I said into the intercom.