wagon. What did Ken say he had named him—Crash?
“Hi,” Ken said as they strolled up. “I brought some company, hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she said, stooping to stroke the dog’s fur. “He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he?”
“He takes after me,” Ken said with a big grin.
She gave him a crooked smile, trying her best to resist his charm. Darn the big man, and his energy pulling at her. In her weakened state, after a night of tossing and turning and a hectic eight-hour shift, she was susceptible. Her immunity to him was lowered, and it scared her. Plus her friend Toni hadn’t helped matters by teasing her all day about her “date.”
“I was afraid you’d changed your mind,” he said.
Georgia gave the dog one last scratch on the head before standing. “No. Last-minute emergency.” Of course, she couldn’t very well admit the emergency had been her appearance—her hair was flattened by a sterile cap she’d worn most of the day. Her makeup had worn off long ago, and she hadn’t brought replacements with her, nor was she about to ask Toni for spares. She’d brought khaki shorts and sandals to change into, but the plain pink shirt she’d hoped to leave on had been compromised by a teenager with food poisoning. Desperate, she’d bought a yellow T-shirt in the gift shop that said Laughter is the best medicine. A nice sentiment, but hardly worth twenty-four dollars.
Ken rubbed his flat stomach, the muscles in his forearm bunching. “Just gave me more time to work up an appetite.”
And she’d bet the man could eat. From her nutrition classes, she estimated his weight, then took into account his probable activity level, and came up with an astronomical amount of calories he needed every day to maintain his build. One hot dog? The man could probably eat a dozen.
But he settled for two, loaded with relish, and a plain one for Crash. Georgia ordered another one with relish for herself, but was still rifling for cash when she realized Ken had already paid the vendor for their food and colas. “It was supposed to be my treat,” she protested.
“The treat’s all mine,” he assured her, gathering their food in his arms. “Will you pull Crash?”
Feeling a little foolish, she picked up the handle of the wagon and followed Ken to a picnic table under a sprawling hardwood tree.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“Sure.” Her pulse jerked stupidly—she had no reason to be nervous. It wasn’t as if they were on a date or something.
“Are you a photographer too?” he asked, nodding to her camera bag.
She blushed. “Amateur. It’s an old manual 35 mm, but it takes decent pictures. I’ve been wanting to get some shots of the park anyway.” She didn’t add that a photo shoot also made their little get-together seem like less of a date to her.
“Would you be willing to take one of Crash?” heasked. “I took out an ad, but I might have a better chance of finding his owner if I had a picture.”
She hesitated, only because it would perpetuate their interaction.
“I’d be glad to pay you,” he added.
“Nonsense,” she said quickly, feeling foolish. “I’d be glad to take a couple if it meant reuniting him with his owner.”
His smile was dangerously pleasing. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Oh, my. “Are you off duty today?” she asked, gesturing to his clothing.
He nodded, arranging their food so they could sit facing each other. The picnic table gleamed with a fresh coat of forest-green paint. “I pulled early morning duty.”
She lowered herself to the cool seat, glad she’d taken the time to pull her hair up and off her neck with a clip. “You must be tired.”
He shrugged, sending lots of muscle into motion. She peeled her gaze away as he sat down. “I’m not used to getting much sleep—I have problems with insomnia.”
Georgia blinked. “So do I.”
He handed her a hot dog on a little paper plate. “It’s probably our jobs, weird hours, the stress.
“Hi,” Ken said as they strolled up. “I brought some company, hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she said, stooping to stroke the dog’s fur. “He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he?”
“He takes after me,” Ken said with a big grin.
She gave him a crooked smile, trying her best to resist his charm. Darn the big man, and his energy pulling at her. In her weakened state, after a night of tossing and turning and a hectic eight-hour shift, she was susceptible. Her immunity to him was lowered, and it scared her. Plus her friend Toni hadn’t helped matters by teasing her all day about her “date.”
“I was afraid you’d changed your mind,” he said.
Georgia gave the dog one last scratch on the head before standing. “No. Last-minute emergency.” Of course, she couldn’t very well admit the emergency had been her appearance—her hair was flattened by a sterile cap she’d worn most of the day. Her makeup had worn off long ago, and she hadn’t brought replacements with her, nor was she about to ask Toni for spares. She’d brought khaki shorts and sandals to change into, but the plain pink shirt she’d hoped to leave on had been compromised by a teenager with food poisoning. Desperate, she’d bought a yellow T-shirt in the gift shop that said Laughter is the best medicine. A nice sentiment, but hardly worth twenty-four dollars.
Ken rubbed his flat stomach, the muscles in his forearm bunching. “Just gave me more time to work up an appetite.”
And she’d bet the man could eat. From her nutrition classes, she estimated his weight, then took into account his probable activity level, and came up with an astronomical amount of calories he needed every day to maintain his build. One hot dog? The man could probably eat a dozen.
But he settled for two, loaded with relish, and a plain one for Crash. Georgia ordered another one with relish for herself, but was still rifling for cash when she realized Ken had already paid the vendor for their food and colas. “It was supposed to be my treat,” she protested.
“The treat’s all mine,” he assured her, gathering their food in his arms. “Will you pull Crash?”
Feeling a little foolish, she picked up the handle of the wagon and followed Ken to a picnic table under a sprawling hardwood tree.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“Sure.” Her pulse jerked stupidly—she had no reason to be nervous. It wasn’t as if they were on a date or something.
“Are you a photographer too?” he asked, nodding to her camera bag.
She blushed. “Amateur. It’s an old manual 35 mm, but it takes decent pictures. I’ve been wanting to get some shots of the park anyway.” She didn’t add that a photo shoot also made their little get-together seem like less of a date to her.
“Would you be willing to take one of Crash?” heasked. “I took out an ad, but I might have a better chance of finding his owner if I had a picture.”
She hesitated, only because it would perpetuate their interaction.
“I’d be glad to pay you,” he added.
“Nonsense,” she said quickly, feeling foolish. “I’d be glad to take a couple if it meant reuniting him with his owner.”
His smile was dangerously pleasing. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Oh, my. “Are you off duty today?” she asked, gesturing to his clothing.
He nodded, arranging their food so they could sit facing each other. The picnic table gleamed with a fresh coat of forest-green paint. “I pulled early morning duty.”
She lowered herself to the cool seat, glad she’d taken the time to pull her hair up and off her neck with a clip. “You must be tired.”
He shrugged, sending lots of muscle into motion. She peeled her gaze away as he sat down. “I’m not used to getting much sleep—I have problems with insomnia.”
Georgia blinked. “So do I.”
He handed her a hot dog on a little paper plate. “It’s probably our jobs, weird hours, the stress.
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