“People don’t think I see anything anymore, but I do. I’m not completely worthless, you know.”

“You’re not even a little bit worthless. You’re a superhero,” Alison said and took his hand. “My superhero.”

“Then trust me now,” Dale said. “Smile. You look ready to take someone’s head off—the someone who’s looking your way.”

Pride ran hot in the Armstrong family, and she was not exempt. She was, in fact, choking on her own pride at this very moment.

Players were arriving, putting on cleats and warming up, joking with each other. The evening was warm with a light breeze coming off the water. It wouldn’t get dark until nine o’clock, which was a good thing because the park didn’t have lights.

Ryan had parked and gotten out of his truck and was indeed looking at her from across an expanse of a hundred feet. He lifted a hand in greeting.

She very maturely ducked behind her uncle, pretending to paw through her purse for something critical to this moment. Maybe a lobotomy.

“You look unhinged,” Dale said.

“Yes, because terrible horrible death coming, remember?”

Her uncle snorted.

“Whatever,” she muttered. “Is he still looking?”

“You mean after he waved to you and you pretended not to see him?”

“Oh my God. Some help you are.”

“Here’s an idea. Just be nice. Maybe even wave back.” He watched her frantically search her purse for nothing. “Wow. When you’re committed . . .” he said, sounding amused. “You sure you’re okay?”

Alison turned her arm over and revealed the tiny script tattooed on the inside of her wrist: I’m fine . . . Her reminder to herself that she was always fine. Always.

“He’s still looking at you,” Dale said ever so helpfully.

Shit. New tactic. Alison grabbed her phone and brought it up to her ear, pretending to be on it, smiling and talking to no one about a deal that didn’t exist. She was still going at it, staring at her heels, when a dog let out a stream of yips that she’d have recognized anywhere for the shrillness alone.

It was Killer. The six-pound Yorkshire terrier she and Ryan shared custody of took a flying leap at Alison, who caught her one-handed since her other hand was still holding her phone to her ear. “Killer, no,” she whispered, trying to put her down. “You gotta go. Come on, baby, I love you madly, but pretty please scram before your daddy—”

Quivering with excitement, Killer was trying to kiss Alison’s face. “Oh my God. Baby, this is the exact opposite of going away—”

Too late. Ryan was striding right toward them, Killer’s leash in hand. He wore his team uniform: the blue jersey and the accompanying snug white pants that fit him like a glove, emphasizing a frame that never failed to make her mouth water. “Yes,” Alison said quickly into her phone to no one. “Absolutely, I can make that deal happen—”

Her phone rang. While she was pretending to be on it. Closing her eyes, she answered quickly without looking at the screen. “What?”

There was a pause, then a female voice. “Is this . . . Armstrong Properties?”

Alison winced and took the harsh from her voice. “Yes, so sorry. Armstrong Properties, how can I help you?” She didn’t look up. Nope, she might never look up again.

“My name’s—”

Killer started yipping again, even more shrilly and loudly, if that was possible, putting out the alarm that a golden retriever was daring to cross the field. “Shh! Sorry,” Alison said into the phone, feeling beyond frazzled, so much so that she couldn’t have repeated the woman’s name to save her life. “How can I help you?”

“I understand that Armstrong Properties owns the Oak Street building that houses Paw Pals. I’m in the middle of getting a business loan to buy the doggy day care and I’m hoping to talk to you about getting a lease in my name for the building.”

Simon had mentioned someone would be calling, as had Gabby Johansson, whose lease was up at the end of the month. “You’ll need to qualify. Soon as I’m in the office tomorrow morning, I can get you the link to the application. Should I text it to this number?”

“Yes, please.”

“Great, will do.” Alison disconnected and stared at the pair of size twelve cleats now toe to toe with her heels.

“Hey you,” Ryan said in that unbearably familiar voice, the only voice that had ever reached past her armor to squeeze her heart and leave her speechless. Then he turned to her uncle. “Hey, Mr. A, good to see you. How’s it going?”

Her uncle nodded, then nudged Alison in the ribs.

She pasted a smile on her face. “Oh hey. Didn’t see you.”

“I waved to you from my truck. You were looking right at me when you answered your fake phone call.”

“That was a real call, I’ll have you know. And plus I forgot my glasses so I can’t see much past my nose.”

Ryan just shook his head, like she was a really bad liar. And it was true. She was a terrible liar. They both knew she’d had Lasik surgery and now boasted twenty-twenty eyesight.

Killer, still in Alison’s arms, was bicycling her short little legs, trying to swim through the air to kiss her face.

Ryan watched as she nuzzled their little tyrant. “You can take her home with you for a couple of nights if you’d like.”

It was a generous offer, one that completely contradicted the custody arrangement they’d both agreed to.

Alison hadn’t gotten full, or even half, custody in the breakup, but that was her own fault. She spent much of her time in the Armstrong Properties offices, but a good part of her day was also out in the field, checking and showing properties, at all hours.

Normally, having a little dog that could fit into her purse would be perfect—except that Killer had a few behavioral issues they hadn’t been able to cure her of. Less than a foot tall, she saw herself as the ruler of all living things, to be obeyed at all costs. She would go after a Doberman or nice little old ladies with equal fervor. In short, she was an asshole. The cutest little asshole Alison had ever seen. Yes, she wanted to take Killer home, but her calendar was full tomorrow. She was presenting at a city board meeting, trying to get approval for a permit for a piece of land Armstrong Properties owned on the north side of town. They’d kept it as a green belt for twenty years, but now they wanted to build on it. “I don’t know if I can,” she said apologetically. “Work—”