Page 28 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“Hi.” I gesture to his book and the title he’s hidden from me. “We’re interrupting you.”
“Not at all.” He turns to Lisset. “Hello, Lissy.”
He’s given my daughter a nickname. I feel something move in my chest.
She offers him a shy smile. “Hi, Gideon.”
“You’re not at school today?”
“It’s a teacher development day,” she tells him, stroking the greyhound’s head. “We get to stay home.”
“Nice.”
“Mom has to work later, so I’m going to Grandma’s house.”
Before Lisset blurts out our life story, I hastily ask Gideon, “What about you? Are you not working today?”
“No.” When he says nothing more, offering no explanation as to why he’s in a coffee shop on a workday reading a book, I’m left with more questions than answers.
I look down at the greyhound, whose eyes are closed in bliss while Lisset strokes him. “How’s Uno doing?”
“Recovering nicely. I’m using a colloidal spray that heals wounds quickly.”
“Will you be at the library tonight?” Lisset asks Gideon. She knows what happened with the greyhound’s tail, although I downplayed how much blood there was. Only Tess knows the full story, and she was laughing so hard I had to hang up on her.
Gideon shakes his head. “Not tonight. But Uno will be back on track next week.”
A server materializes at my side. “I have your coffee and pastries,” she says, holding the mug and plates. “Where are you sitting?”
I look around the coffee shop. All the tables are occupied.
“You’re welcome to join me,” Gideon offers.
There are two empty chairs at his table. How...convenient. His eyes dance at the hesitancy that’s clearly playing out across my face.
“Yes, please,” declares Lisset, promptly seating herself in one of the chairs.
Holding back a sigh, I shrug out of my jacket and settle in the chair next to her. I’m starting to believe his dog and my daughter are in cahoots. “Thank you,” I say to Gideon.
“No problem.”
The scent of him—cedar with a hint of citrus—fills my nose and curls through my body.
It’s a trivial thing, but I’m suddenly pleased I made an effort with my makeup today. I’m also working with a particularly demanding client this afternoon and I dressed for the occasion in a form-fitting black top and black cargo pants. It’s my don’t-mess-with-me outfit.
Judging from the almost languid way Gideon’s eyes roam over me, he appears more than willing to mess around with me. I straighten in my seat, uncomfortable with the wild direction my thoughts have suddenly veered in. What on earth is going on with me?
“How did Uno become a reading dog?” Lisset asks Gideon, nibbling at her cannoli.
He puts his coffee mug down. My attention is drawn to his forearm, corded with muscle, and the margins of a tattoo on his upper arm covered by the sleeve of his T-shirt. I can’t work out what the ink is.
“First, Uno had to be checked out by a vet,” Gideon answers. “Then he had to go through special training and pass a number of tests before he could become certified.”
“What kind of special training?” Lisset asks.
“He had to learn to obey basic commands, not to react to crowds and loud noises, and to take food gently from someone’shand.” Gideon scratches his beard. “But you know what the scariest part of the training was?”
“What?” Lisset breathes out the word, leaning forward in her chair.
