Page 201 of Wild Card 13

“I own a bookstore. My entire life is other people’s hobbies.” A paper bag rustled on her end. “Also, for the record, I don’t think you hate Buzz Burns.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose beneath my glasses. “Wonderful. We’ve reached the unsolicited analysis portion of the evening.”

“I think you’re furious with Buzz Burns.”

“That is not breaking news.”

“And I think you still love Ty.”

The room seemed to still around the sentence.

I looked at the reflection in the glass.

At the woman there. Glasses slipping down her nose. One earring missing because I had taken it off during a legal call and could not remember where I had put it.

“I don’t know what I love,” I said quietly.

Naomi did not answer right away. “I know,” she said at last.

I swallowed and straightened in my chair. “I need to finish this.”

“No, you need to go home.”

“I will.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because eventually it will become true.”

“Fine.” Naomi sighed. “Finish one thing. Not twelve things wearing one thing’s coat.”

“Your metaphors are getting worse.”

“It’s late and I’ve been explaining to a grown man that Rilke is not business leadership.”

“That does sound taxing.”

“It was harrowing.”

Then Dottie’s head lifted. Not slowly. Not in the lazy, confused way she woke when a cleaning cart rattled somewhere down the hall or when my printer startled her by remembering it had a purpose.

Her head came up all at once. Both ears shifted forward. Her body went still, nose angled toward the open doorway.

I stopped with my fingers on the mouse.

Naomi’s voice came through my earbud. “What?”

Dottie stood. Her nails clicked softly against the floor as she stepped off the bed. One paw, then the other. Her tail started moving before I heard anything. A cautious sweep at first. Then faster.

My heart did something embarrassingly unprofessional.

“Lucy?” Naomi asked.

“I have to go.”

“Is that the dog?”

Dottie trotted toward the door, whole body waking into happy recognition.