“No cats allowed in the pub,” Finn said.

“Professor PuddinPop is the smaller retriever,” Spence said. “His brother Colonel Snazzypants is a specialist in evacuating his bowels over a wide area. Watch yourself. You’ve been warned.”

“What’s the cat’s name?” Pru asked.

“Good King Snugglewumps,” Spence said with a straight face. “He’s actually an emotional support cat, which you look like you could use right now. What the hell happened to you?”

“I slid trying to catch a ball at my softball game,” she said.

“With your pretty face?”

“No, that was collateral damage. But I did catch the ball.”

“Nice job,” he said with a smile and a high-five.

Finn had crouched down low to interact with the animals. The cat was perched on his bent leg, rubbing against him, and both dogs had slid to their backs so he could scratch their bellies.

“The Animal Whisperer,” Spence said. “They always gravitate to him.” He shook his head at Good King Snugglewumps. “Man ’ho.”

Good King Snugglewumps pretended not to hear him.

Finn grinned. “I’m the Animal Whisperer, and Pru here is the Fun Whisperer.”

Spence turned to Pru. “How’s that going? He learning to have fun yet?”

“He’s not much for cooperating.”

“No shit.” He looked at Finn. “Keep your shoes on, that’s all I’m saying.”

And then he strode off, two dogs and a cat in tow.

Finn pulled out his phone and snapped a pic of Spence from behind.

Spence, without looking back, flipped him off again.

Still grinning, Finn shoved his phone back into his pocket and reached for Pru’s hand. “Let’s get you home.”

Good idea. In just the minute that they’d stopped to talk, she’d gone stiff, but did her best to hide it. They entered the courtyard and she glanced at the fountain, which, she couldn’t help but notice, had not been very busy fulfilling her wish for love for Finn. She sagged behind him just enough that she could point at the fountain and then at her eyes, putting it on notice that she was watching it.

The fountain didn’t respond.

But apparently Finn had eyes in the back of his head because he laughed. “Babe, you just gave that thing a look that said you’d like to barbeque it and feed it in pieces to your mortal enemy.”

She would. She absolutely would. Hoping for a subject change, she waved at Old Guy, sitting on a bench.

“Eddie,” Finn said with a male greeting of a chin jut. “You look better than the other night.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, it was either a twenty-four-hour flu thing or food poisoning,” he said.

“You could stop eating everything everyone gives you,” Finn suggested.

“No way! I get good shit, man. Cutie Pie here gives really good doggy bags. Chicken wings, pizza . . .” He looked at Pru. “You know what we haven’t had lately? Sushi—” He broke off, narrowing his eyes. “What happened to you, darlin’? This guy get tough with you? If so, just say the word and I’ll level him flat.”

Eddie was maybe ninety-five pounds soaking wet and looked like a good wind could blow him over. Finn had at least six inches on him and God knew how many pounds of lean, tough muscle, not to mention a way of carrying all that lean, tough muscle that said he knew exactly what to do with it.

Pru caught him looking at her with a raised brow, like are you really going to say the word?

“I roughed myself up,” she admitted. “Softball.” She started to reach into her pocket for a few dollar bills to give Eddie but Finn put a hand on her arm to stop her. With his other hand he fished something out of his duffel bag.

The third sandwich he’d bought at the deli.

Eddie grinned and snatched it out of thin air. “See? I get good stuff. And you know your way to a man’s heart, boy. Mayo?”

“Would I forget? And extra pickles.”

“Chips?”

Almost before the word was out, Finn was tossing Eddie a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

Eddie clasped a hand to his own heart. “Bless you. And tell Bossy Lady that I got the bag of clothes.”

“Elle?”

Eddie nodded. “She said I was going to catch my death in my wife beaters and shorts, and insisted I take these clothes from her.” He indicated his trousers and long-sleeved sweater. It was the surfer dude goes mobster look.

“How do they fit?” Finn asked, smiling, enjoying the old man’s discomfort.