“Yeah.”

I sit in the chair and listen to the vet explain that this, while upsetting, isn’t that uncommon, and for the most part, a seizure will pass on its own. Loki is an old guy, but he’s in great shape, and obviously Leo takes good care of him. She gives Leo some medicine that should help Loki feel more energetic, then reaches down and pets Loki herself. “You’re all set. Just see Gina on the way out.”

“Thank you,” Leo and I both say. We sit there a minute, me in the chair, Leo on the floor with his dog, until he looks up at me. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

When we go out to the waiting room, Dorothy is gone.

“Do you happen to know that lady’s name?” I ask as Leo pulls out his credit card. “The one with the cockatoo? I think I know her.”

“Um, let me check,” Gina says. “Dorothy Puchalski.”

Dorothy Puchalski.

The name sits in my heart like a rock.

* * *

I drop Leo and Loki at home, then run to Luciano’s and get us some eggplant parm, garlic bread and salad. When I get back, I go right into Leo’s. He’s sitting next to Loki’s doggy bed, petting the old guy. The dog is snoring.

“Everyone good here?” I ask.

“Much better.”

I set our food on the table, then open a bottle of red wine and pour us both a big glass. Leo gets up. He looks older, the poor thing, not quite recovered from tonight’s ordeal. God help him if he ever has a kid.

“So where’d you get this guy, anyway?” I ask.

Leo takes a sip of wine. “He came from a shelter.”

“Best place to get a dog, I hear.”

“It is.” His eyes flicker to mine, then back again, as if he’s embarrassed at what I’ve seen tonight. “So who’s Dorothy Puchalski?” he asks.

I jerk a little. I hadn’t thought he was paying attention. “Um...someone my parents used to know.”

“How did your father die?” he asks, and it’s such a normal question. It’s true—my father is dead. Leo knows this. He’s even seen Dad’s grave; Rachel told me how he sat with her that time. Me, I haven’t been there in years.

“He was shot in a convenience store robbery,” I say. “Buying a Green Watermelon Brain Freeze. He loved them.”

Leo doesn’t say anything, but his face... Crap, I’ve never seen a face that holds so much before in my life. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen Dorothy, or maybe it’s the well of sympathy in Leo’s eyes, but my throat tightens unexpectedly.

Over the years, I’ve told dozens of people how my father died. It’s become part of my life story, another fact, same as having a sister, same as having black hair. I’m used to it.

But right now, I’m afraid to say anything else, because I haven’t cried over my dad in a very long time. I didn’t when I told Owen; horribly, I was almost glad to have something so unusual to talk about, to see the gentle sympathy in his dark, dark eyes.

But Leo... It’s different. Owen was almost always gently sympathetic, now that I think of it. Dr. Perfect, all day, every day with everyone.

Sympathy from Leo somehow carries more weight.

I clear my throat. “So my ex-husband and his perfect wife have invited me to a dinner party in the city, in the same apartment where I used to live with him. Want to come? Should be a fun little freak show.”

“Hell, yes.” Leo smiles, and his face goes from tragic empathy to wicked, and I’m filled with relief. Back on safe land. “When is it? Doesn’t matter. I’ll clear my schedule. I’d miss dinner at the White House for this.”

I get up to clear the table, and Leo rises, too. “So glad to entertain,” I murmur. “Feel free to laugh at my personal heartbreak.”

“You’re not heartbroken,” he says with a wink. “Not anymore.”

“Is it hard, being a woman trapped in a man’s body?” I ask. “Because you know so much about the female heart, I can only assume you’re—”

He leans over and kisses me, just a warm press of his lips against mine, lasting just a beat too long for it to be just friendly... A kiss, and it’s over before I can figure out what to do with my hands or my mouth.

“Thank you for tonight, Jenny Tate,” he says, and his eyes are warm. “You’re a good friend.”

“And thank you, Leo Killian, for just kissing me and confusing me and making me think you like me.”

“I do like you.”

“‘Like me’ as in ‘want to sleep with me’?”

“Of course. I’m a guy.”

“But you don’t want a real relationship.”

“Correct.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “I hate men.”

A delighted smile. “Get a cat.”

“Maybe I will. See you around.”

“Jenny.”

His face is like New England weather, sunny one minute, rain the next. I’ve never seen a face change the way his does. Right now, that sorrow is scudding across his eyes like storm clouds, and I think he’s about to tell me something real, something more, and the hair on the back of my neck lifts in anticipation.

“Yes?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away, and then his eyes drop to the floor. When they return to mine, I can see he’s changed his mind. “Thank you again,” is all he says, then opens the door for me to leave.