Page 41 of The Hanukkah Hoax
Since their arrangement started, she was hard-pressed to find a time when he hadn’t been there, holding her hand, urging his strength into her.
Lingering.
And now, with the chaos of Christmas swirling around her in boxes, she couldn’t remember what it was like without him.
Chapter 17
Alec settled his hands on his hips and evaluated the pop-up tents stationed around West Meadow’s dog park. Three tents in total, with an adoption day crowd that was nothing to sneeze at. No, it wasn’t the largest gathering, but it was a fair bit better than anything else he could call to mind for a staged outing with Marisa, given the time constraints.
Where there would be kissing.
Might be kissing.
Very hopefully would be touching of some sort. If she needed him to.
If she let him.
“Oh, bloody fucking hell.” Alec threw his fingers into his hair, angling for the distraction that usually came when he was looking to tug out his frustrations, but then he recalled he’d opted to keep his hair short the past several months.
Because it impeded his play during the season.
Because it required too much upkeep otherwise.
Because he was responsible and had a bloody job to do.
The self-criticism had been a touch overloud, apparently, because at his side, Hugh snorted his thoughts on the matter into the crunchy snow around them, painting the light crust with a drool string that dried on contact.
At least Hugh hadn’t pissed all over Alec’s boot like the last time the cur felt the need to criticize his plans.
Alec crouched down and gathered up the wily beast’s wrinkly face. “Now you listen here. I’ll be introducing you to a new friend shortly, and I want you to play nice. Play better than nice. Play the nicest you’ve ever played. That means minimal slobbering, no jumping, and keep the tricks to fetching a stick and bringing it back. This is what we call a photo op, which means we need to look and behave our best.”
Then he leaned close so his nose was almost touching Hugh’s snow-covered snoot. “And whatever you do, do not run after whatever strange scent you might pick up on. There are a ton of dogs here, as well as families all looking to give one of them a home. It won’t do to have you barking and grinding all over a pack of eight-year-olds because one of them has dog treats in their pocket.”
The cunning look that flashed in the mastiff’s brown eyes wasn’t the reassurance Alec had been hankering for, but it was what he’d have to work with. Huffing, Hugh settled into the snow and began nonchalantly crunching away as if Alec had said nothing important.
Infuriating creature. He’d gotten kinder lectures from Brennan after he’d blown a match. To Argentina, of all teams.
“Alec!” Marisa churned up a flurry of chunky snow as she trotted across the field from the parking lot.
His chest tightened, and he couldn’t help but smile. Och, she was like a veritable bouncing puppy coming to greet him, all eager limbs and floppy enthusiasm. The crocheted hat she wore sat flat over her ears and cheeks, ending with two pom-pom-studded tassels that swayed in time to her steps. He chuckled to himself.
Could she be any more adorable? Not bloody likely.
With her high-necked puffer coat and massively oversized furry hood, there was very little to distinguish her from several of the other double-doodle-dog whatnots prancing about in their Christmas coats and jingle bell collars.
Except her smile.
A fluttery sensation warmed his skin, and his heart nearly sprinted out of his chest at the sight of it. Quickly, he searched his brain for what he’d done that could have earned him such a greeting so he could be sure to repeat the effort, but all that came to mind was her wanting to kiss him again.
And him being way too fucking eager to oblige.
Contrary to his earlier pep talk, he was not responsible.
Hugh stood up, let out an eager bark, and began whacking Alec’s calf with his tail.
“Easy, Hugh. You’ll get your sniffs in. Just be patient.”
“And who would this be?” she asked when she greeted them, all flushed and cheerful, holding out her hand for Hugh to smell.
