Page 97 of Wild Card 13

"I mean it," she said. "Not one word."

"You promise?"

"I swear on coffee."

Beside me, Bea gasped. "That's legally binding in your world."

Naomi nodded with exaggerated solemnity. "The highest oath available."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"I figured," Naomi said, her voice softening, "today we could just be friends."

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She hugged me back without hesitation. Without expectation. Without making me earn it.

When we pulled apart, she smiled like nothing had happened. Maybe that was exactly what I needed. Not permission to pretend New York hadn't happened. Just permission to have one morning where it wasn't the only thing in the room.

Arlo steered us toward the corner table he'd reserved where a basket of miniature pumpkins sat beneath the heater beside jars filled with maple leaves and battery-powered candles. "I'll be right back," he said. "Kitchen owes me favors."

"You own the kitchen," Naomi called after him.

"Exactly." He disappeared through the back door.

"I like him," Bea said.

Naomi looked at her. "You've known him for over a year."

"I know." Bea smiled. "I still like him."

I pulled my chair out and settled beneath the warmth of the patioheater, letting my hands wrap around the fresh mug Arlo had practically forced into them.

For a few quiet minutes, none of us said much. We didn't need to. The patio carried enough life to fill the silence.

Silverware clinked against plates. A toddler squealed somewhere near the sidewalk when a floppy-eared hound licked his face. Someone at another table laughed loudly enough to turn a few heads before immediately apologizing to everyone around them.

The rescue volunteers moved between portable exercise pens arranged along the far edge of the patio, answering questions and introducing dogs to families one at a time.

Every few minutes another leash disappeared through the gate for a meet-and-greet.

"You know," Bea muttered, watching a boxer puppy enthusiastically attempt to climb into an elderly man's lap, "I'm not saying I need another animal."

Naomi snorted. "But..."

"But..." Bea admitted.

I took a sip of coffee. "Alois is going to age ten years before lunch."

"He already thinks I'm bringing one home."

"Are you?" Naomi asked.

She considered it with alarming sincerity. "...I haven't ruled it out."

Naomi leaned toward me. "Should we warn him?"

"I think he already knows," I giggled.

Bea's phone buzzed. She looked down. Then burst into laughter.