Page 27 of Falling for the Enemy

“That is a set. My six is on your five.”

Soren left them bickering over their card game and continued toward the wharf, only to duck when Simon Mosley yelled, “Look out!”

A mini pumpkin bounced across the walkway and rolled into the street as Simon stumbled after it. Soren frowned at the getup he wore. He might have been going for an autumn scarecrow, but he looked more like a deranged clown.

“Sorry, Soren. Almost clocked you in the head.” Once the gangly goober retrieved his lost pumpkin, he attempted to juggle again. But that didn’t last long. Simon had many gifts. Most prominent was his talent at being uncoordinated at everything.

The citizens of Hideaway Bay got a serious hard-on whenever the seasons changed. They seized any excuse to throw a festival and came out in droves, volunteering to pull themed events together for travelers who visited to see the spectacle. Speaking of which…

His gaze scanned the greens, locking in on chestnut hair piled up in that sloppy twist of misbehaved waves. She stood behind a table, chatting with an older woman as she handed out lollipops to children passing by. When she laughed, her voice carried over the sound of the crowd as if captured by the sea breeze. She reminded him of the sirens they used to read about in old fishing tales—tempting, dangerous, alluring in a way men couldn’t resist.

He hadn’t come here with a set purpose, but the closer he came to that denial, the more he realized he was, once again, lying to himself.

To appear less eager, he stopped to pet a scraggly mutt trying to climb out of one of the dog pens.

“That’s Buttons. He’s a twelve-year-old Shih Tzu mix,” a young volunteer in a shelter T-shirt informed Soren. “Do you have pets? Buttons doesn’t get along with cats.”

That quickly, Soren withdrew his hand. “I’m not a dog person.”

“Cat person? We have some⁠—”

“No thanks. I’m not a pet person.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

The kid nodded and moved on to talk to a woman with three children swooning over a litter of golden retriever puppies. Soren turned and stilled as his gaze collided with a pair of the most soulful brown eyes he’d ever seen.

The giant dog panted the moment their gazes collided, transforming his stoic expression into a wide grin.

“Well, look at you.” He crossed the lawn and approached the goliath in the large pen. He was a cluster of long legs and awkward knees beneath a smooth golden coat. “You’re a beast of a dog, aren’t you?” He checked its undercarriage. “Definitely a boy.” He laughed.

Its tongue lolled out of its mouth, hanging nearly half a foot down its chest, where his nametag glinted in the afternoon sun. “King. That’s a good name,” Soren said in a gruff, doting voice he never used before.

He didn’t have to bend far to scratch the dog’s ears. The moment he did, King nudged him with his huge head and nearly knocked Soren back a step.

“You like that, don’t you, big guy? Oh, yeah. Royal treatment for the King.”

He had a dark muzzle and brown ears against his golden coat. His fur was soft, and he stood with noble posture. For a dog, he was incredibly impressive. Probably purebred.

The volunteer from earlier walked by and Soren flagged him down. “Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“What kind of dog is this?”

“He’s a Great Dane.”

“Thoroughbred?”

The volunteer nodded. “Pedigree bloodlines. We have all his paperwork if you’re interested.”

“How old is he?”

“I believe two, but I can check.”

“Please.” Soren went back to petting King as the volunteer searched for the paperwork. “Why are you here? You’re too handsome for this little pen.” He couldn’t stop using that Scooby Doo voice.