Addison descended the stage stairs like Cinderella at the ball. She escorted Rosie and Princess down to the floor level, or rather they escorted her. They were so well trained, there was no fighting, or sniffing, or barking like there would be with any other dogs. In fact, they owned the room, two hot chicks out on the town. Make that three, Addison added in her head.
Rosie was elegant in her necklace, and Princess looked ready to do the Charleston in her 1920’s-style dress. They weaved their way through cocktail tables toward the bar located in the center of the room where Rosie’s owner, Rex Harris, said he’d meet her. They strutted with confidence. Only, Princess’s stride had the slightest hiccup. The little limp that you’d notice only if you were really paying attention. Addison liked to think of it as a swagger.
The lights had been dimmed, the mood accented by hundreds of candles scattered around the room. Their flickering light reflected off the gilded wall decor surrounding the upper balcony and off champagne glasses, diamonds caressing throats, gold Rolexes, and her own dazzling sequined dress.
The ambiance, the energy, the allure. It was all so romantic, like a real fairy tale. The perfect place to meet her Prince Charming.
Her eyes cast around the small groups of show dog owners and event supporters sipping their martinis and Pino Grigio in search of Rex. She spotted him on the other side of the bar, hair coiffed fashionably, svelte in his three-piece suit. The bartender passed him a drink across the counter as Rex leaned against the bar, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle.
He watched the room with a confident ease as he sipped his drink. Whiskey, maybe. No, a martini. Just like James Bond. Yes, he looked exactly like the secret agent—Pierce Brosnan style. Ooh, Addison liked that. Definitely five-star potential.
When Rex spotted her slinking toward him from across the room, his eyes drifted down the length of her curvy body appreciatively. Well, she thought so, until his eyes didn’t roam back up. They remained fixed on Rosie.
Ouch.
Second-guessing herself, Addison glanced down at her evening dress with its sleek black lines and revealing—though not too revealing—neckline. There was a fine line between saying “I’m your one” and “I’m your one night stand.” But when she noticed the tall, dark, and sexy bartender flash her a lingering look over the bottles of top-shelf liquor, she knew it wasn’t the dress’s fault.
Never mind then. She’d dazzle Rex with her sparkling personality.
“Rex Harris.” She smiled as she approached the bar. “Rosie is all ready for you. What do you think?” To let him know she didn’t mean the grooming, she leaned against the bar to give him a better shot of that low neckline—okay, even Prince Charming probably needed baiting.
She toyed with Rosie’s leash, wrapping it teasingly around her finger. But Rex’s loving gaze was still glued to his pedigree pinscher. Oblivious to her efforts, Rex bent down and gave Rosie a pet.
Addison thought she heard a soft snort from behind the bar. When she turned to the bartender, he was studiously wiping down the glass counter, but she could have sworn that was a smirk on his lips.
“Oh wow,” Rex said, drawing her attention back. “Rosie’s fur has never looked so shiny. How did you do that?”
Addison beamed. “That’s the yogurt and oatmeal rub.”
“Yogurt?” He glanced up and seemed to notice her for the first time.
If she had a tail, it would be wagging. “Yes, the yogurt strips away the dirt and moisturizes, while the oatmeal treats the skin and softens the fur. It also makes for a good breakfast,” she joked.
He smiled, standing back up to take in the full view. “I can think of better breakfasts to make. I know my way around a kitchen.”
“You like to cook?” Mmm, she thought. Cooking skills were definitely worth a star.
“Only for someone special.” He swirled his drink before taking a sip, eyeing her above the rim. “Maybe I could cook for you sometime.”
That would make Addison someone special. She liked the sound of that. “Sounds delicious.”
“Why don’t you give me a call sometime?” He reached into his suit coat. “Here’s my card.”
“Thanks. Maybe I will.” She took the card and traded it for Rosie’s leash.
“Thanks again,” he said. “Come on Rosie. Shall we go for a walk?”
The pinscher’s nubby black tail shook in response.
Rex gave Addison a wink and turned to head across the ballroom, holding the leash aloft in true show form. Rosie trotted alongside him like she was already showing off for the judges attending the cocktail mixer that night.
Addison and Princess were watching him stroll away when a small wastebasket was thrust in front of her, obscuring her view. She flinched back and turned to find the sexy bartender holding it out. His dark eyebrows quirked up as he shook the basket expectantly.
She frowned at it. “What’s that for?”
“For that card,” he said.
“For Rex’s card? Why?” She clutched the slip of paper protectively. “Maybe I’ll give him a call.”
“You and about ten other girls at this party tonight.” He shrugged and put the wastebasket under the bar again. “But it’s your call.”
Her face fell. “Ten?”
In response, the bartender tilted his mop of dark curls across the ballroom where Rex was slipping another card from his pocket and flashing it at a young brunette waitress. Maybe I’m not so special after all, Addison thought. She picked Princess up, needing a little moral support from her girl.
“You think I’m special, don’t you baby?”
Princess gave her a kiss on the neck in reassurance … or maybe it was because she was wearing coconut body butter.
“Don’t feel bad,” the bartender said. “I’ve got eyes like an Afghan hound. I see all. I know all. Most of all when it comes to slimeballs like him.” He gave her a cheesy wink.
Addison gave the tall bartender the once-over. He had a certain tilt to his square jaw that spoke of confidence, or cockiness, she wasn’t sure which. Being a bartender, she was sure he’d had plenty of conversations across a bar with a pretty girl to make it the latter.
She leaned against the bar with a wicked grin. “Is that right? Or does it just take one to know one?”
She’d been that pretty girl across the bar and had heard every cheesy pickup line there was—she’d certainly fallen for enough of them. And she wasn’t about to fall for his.
He flashed a good-humored smile. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No thanks. I’m on the clock.” She turned her attention to the rest of the room to resume her search for true love. Her head bobbed around, and it was all she could do to not climb on the counter to get a better look at her options.
“Looking for someone?” he asked.
“Yes. I happen to be looking for Mr. Perfect.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day,” he said. “You’ve found him.”
Falling for it, she glanced back at him.
He spread his arms outward, presenting himself. “Right here.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “We must be talking about a different guy.”
He chuckled, not deterred in the slightest. “Oh, you mean a different perfect guy. Sorry about that.” He went back to wiping the counter with his cloth. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. There’s no guy that’s perfect.”
“Sure there is,” she said. “I just haven’t found him yet.”
“No, really. Trust me. I know people.”
“People?”
“All people. Even your Mr. Perfect.” He gestured around the room vaguely. “I’m in the perfect position to people-watch, to observe the human species, to understand what makes them tick. I have years of practice.”
“That and the fact that if you ply anyone with enough alcohol they’ll spill their guts.” She used a dismissive tone, trying to send the guy a hint. She didn’t have long before the clock struck ten and she had to be backstage again.
He leaned on his elbows, settling in for a long discussion—apparently observing people didn’t make him an expert at taking hints. “Oh sure. People open up to a bartender. I’ve seen and heard it all. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
“I can only imagine.” As hard as she tried to ignore the guy, her curiosity was piqued. He was a good talker, engaging with an undeniably charming smile that bordered on devilish, the kind of smile that probably earned him a mint in tips.
He held her cornflower blue eyes with his own brown gaze, and she imagined he could sell a Jägerbomb to a nun. Maybe he had. She began to wonder what kinds of things he’d seen and heard.
But she didn’t have time to get distracted by stories. She hadn’t pulled out her best dress that night for nothing. Prince Charming was somewhere in that room. She could feel it.
“But there’s more to it than that,” he continued. “There’s a difference between what people are telling you and what they’re saying. When someone talks, at the same time an entirely different conversation can be going on. You just have to know how to tune into it.”
“How do you do that?” She was only half-listening, scanning the room again.
“Watch, listen, read between the lines. It can be how someone enters the room, in the way they dress, what drink they order, how fast they drink it, posture. Body language, you know?”
“Uh-huh. Is that so?” She was trying her best to block him out now.
“Take you, for example.”
“Me?” Her attention suddenly wheeled back around to him, her man-hunt on hold. She narrowed her eyes. “What about me?”
He began rearranging the liquor bottles until all the labels faced out. “You walk in here like you own the place, yet you’re practically the help—”
“I’m not the help.” Her chin rose indignantly. “I’m an artist.”
“An artist? And your canvas … dogs?” He gestured to Princess in her arms.
She ignored the rush of heat beneath her skin. “Well, I am an artist. Business is booming,” she told him matter-of-factly, maybe even a little sourly. “Everyone in the doggy couture world will know who I am. I’ll be a household name.”
“What kind of house?” he asked with a sly grin. “A dog house?”
This guy was making fun of her. She wrinkled her nose at him. Who did he think he was? He didn’t know the first thing about her. Arrogant son-of-a— She stopped herself before she lost her cool. What did his opinion matter to her anyway?
“Look”—she glanced down at his nametag—“Felix. Canine fashion is very popular, I’ll have you know.” She ran a critical eye over him. “Of course, what would you know about fashion?”
He wasn’t even clean-shaven for the stylish event. And she could just tell by the way he let his loose curls flop around unchecked that he’d probably never heard of styling gel. Although she had to admit he did have a nice head of hair. Just long enough that the soft waves curled around his handsome face.
As though he noticed her scrutiny, he tucked a curl behind his ear. “Okay, okay,” he relented. “I can believe that. I’ve been working the dog show scene for a few years now.”
“Good. See? You don’t know what you’re talking about. And you don’t know the first thing about me.”
“You’re right, Addison Turner. I don’t.”
Her mouth popped open. She was about to ask how he knew her name when he held up one of her business cards. “I assume this belongs to you. I’ve been finding them left all over the bar.” He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m running out of garbage bags from cleaning them up.”
Addison raised her chin, already turning to leave. She didn’t need this kind of negativity. “Excuse me. But I have to look for someone.”
She and Princess walked away, but he called out to her. “Wait! Wait. You didn’t let me finish.”
Addison hesitated. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to leave, especially once she saw the sheepish look he gave her. Cautiously, she returned to the bar, giving him a steady stare like he was a door-to-door salesperson and she was waiting for the catch.
“You’re right. I don’t know everything about you,” he began. “But I do know that your posture is strong and proud, like you’re six feet tall, not five-foot-nothing.”
She scowled. “Five-foot-two.” Why was she even bothering to argue with him?
“Five-two. Okay.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “So you’re clearly very confident, gorgeous, intelligent”—she smiled—“but desperate.”
Her face fell. “Desperate?” Her voice rose, then she noticed an elderly couple with a Tibetan terrier shoot a look her way. She lowered her voice and hissed across the bar. “What do you mean ‘desperate’?”
“Your eyes scan this room like laser beams. Your target? Any single man.”
Her mouth fell open and a sound of complete and utter indignation came out, although she couldn’t quite find an argument. Her mouth snapped shut. She didn’t even want to dignify that with an answer.
Addison looked at Princess like Can you believe this guy? Where does he get off? But she couldn’t ignore Princess’s piercing stare. She knew Addison too well.
Traitor, she thought as she placed the dog on a stool.
Addison’s shoulders slumped. Okay, well, maybe that’s exactly what she’d come out there in search of, but was it really so obvious? The resentment his words created suddenly fizzled out of her.
“Is it so wrong?” she asked, at last. “I just appreciate someone with style. Grace. Good breeding.”
“Are you talking about a man, or a dog?” Felix asked. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. You know what you want. But you’re like a girl on the prowl. I can feel the anxiety oozing off you.”
Addison rolled her eyes. “You cannot.”
“In fact, you’re getting it all over my counter.” To prove his point, he picked up his cloth and shooed her away before wiping down the spotless glass.
“And I’m not anxious.”
“Really?” His eyes dropped pointedly to her hands.
She followed his gaze and froze as she noticed the confetti in her hands. She’d shredded Rex Harris’s card into a million pieces. Okay, so maybe she was a bit nervous. It didn’t mean she was desperate.
Felix reached under the bar and brought out the wastepaper basket again. He held it up while she threw away the evidence.
He leaned against the bar, resting on his elbows like he was at home and not in a room full of San Francisco’s high society. “Maybe you’re not desperate. But you’re coming off that way. You’re a pretty girl. Let the guys come to you. Besides, what are you in such a rush for? You can’t be more than twenty-four.”
“I’m twenty-eight. And thank you.” She liked how sincere he sounded, curbing some of her annoyance with him. “But if I’ve learned anything from running my own business, it’s that you can’t wait around for things to happen. You have to make them happen. Take chances. Put yourself out there.”
“Well, just don’t put yourself so out there.” He gestured with his hands, like “out there” was an actual place to avoid. But where that place was, Addison couldn’t be sure.
“What do you mean?”
He leaned in until they were close enough that she could smell his cologne. The kind of cologne you’d follow a man around a store just to inhale. Princess must have smelled it too, because she placed her front paws on the counter to get closer. Felix gave her a soft rub under her chin.
“You have to be logical about it. Choosy,” he said. “You’ve got to hedge your bets. Make a wise investment of your time versus the effort you’re putting in. Think of it like a numbers game.”
“Love isn’t logical.” Addison laughed, wondering what cave this guy crawled out of. “Love is a dream come true. It’s destiny. You can’t explain it with numbers and odds. It’s a feeling.” She sighed. “Like when Meg Ryan hears her computer tell her ‘You’ve got mail’ and it’s from Tom Hanks. Love is Julie Andrews spinning on a grassy knoll singing ‘the hills are alive.’ It’s the wind beneath Rose’s arms as Jack holds her at the front of the Titanic, and the orchestra builds to a climax and—”
“And don’t forget lollipops, rainbows, and unicorns.” There was a condescending smile on his lips.
Offended, she cocked a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “That is why I’m looking for a man with class and refinement. Clearly someone like you wouldn’t understand.”
His own eyebrows shot up, but he shrugged it off. “Fair enough.” He moved to the other side of the bar and began stacking clean glasses onto the delicate pyramid of glassware. After a minute, a pretty waitress sauntered up to place a few orders.
Princess watched her chin-scratcher leave with a whine. Having made her point, Addison turned her back on the bar and continued the search for her Prince Charming. Princess followed her cue and turned around on her stool to face the dance floor. She jutted her chest out, acting all I’m too good for you, anyway.
When Addison noticed that she was anxiously tapping her manicured nails on the glass bar top, she froze. She snatched her hand back and leaned against the counter instead, the epitome of casualness. So totally not desperate. Nope, not at all. What did Felix know anyway?
Her eyes scanned the room, totally not like lasers, checking for wedding bands on fingers. But there were hundreds of people there that night. With all those expensive suits, finding Prince Charming was like trying to find a dachshund in a hot dog factory.
After a few moments, she picked Princess back up and began to inch her way around to the other side of the bar where Felix was talking with the waitress—shamelessly flirting, more like it. Not that she blamed him. She was pretty, if a little obvious, wearing a bright red bra under a thin white button-up shirt. Addison thought it was a cheap tactic for attention. Who was desperate now?
Setting Princess down on another stool, Addison took out a stack of business cards from her clutch and arranged them neatly on Felix’s countertop while she waited. Finally, Red Bra left to do her rounds.
Addison leaned closer to the bar. “If I were to hedge my bets,” she began hesitantly, “you know, filter some of the rainbows and unicorns out, where exactly would I start?”
Felix’s brown eyes slid over to her, and he seemed to think twice about helping her before finally relenting. Throwing the white cloth over his shoulder, he leaned in and dropped his voice low. “Okay, you have to watch for subtle clues. Don’t be too hasty. Just sit back and watch.”
“What am I watching for?”
“General behavior. For example, if they’re eyeing up every skirt that walks by, then you’ll just be a number to him. Another skirt.”
“Like Rex.”
“Like Rex,” he agreed.
While she was watching for clues, a customer strolled up to the bar with his English bulldog in tow. He was a bit older than Addison, maybe ten years older, salt and pepper starting to fleck his chocolate hair. His smile showed all his brilliant white teeth, and when he turned it on her, she found herself glancing at his ring finger. Finding it conveniently naked, she smiled back. Not bad, she thought.
Addison waited to the side while he ordered a whiskey on the rocks and left. Once he was out of earshot, she leaned across the counter. “How about that guy?”
“Married,” Felix said.
She frowned. “But he wasn’t wearing a ring.”
Felix shrugged as he tucked a bottle of whiskey away with the others. “He took it off.”
“How could you tell?”
“There was a faint white line around his ring finger where the sun couldn’t tan it.”
“Maybe he’s recently divorced,” she said.
He nodded. “Or separated. And if it’s that fresh, do you want to risk being a rebound?”
“Okay, well let’s try someone a bit younger. How about that guy over there?” She pointed across the room to the man tapping his foot to the jazz music.
Felix’s eyes flitted around until he spotted the guy. He shook his head. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. He’s gay.”
Her mouth popped open. “No way. I usually have pretty decent gaydar.”
“Oh. He hides it well.”
“Then how can you tell?” she asked, appraising the man in question.
Felix smirked. “Because he gave me his number.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Are you…?” She eyed him, searching for the clues he seemed to see in others, reading between his lines.
But Felix shook his head. “Considering what the sight of you in that dress does to me, I’d say I’m pretty straight.”
Addison’s mouth fell open again, but before she could respond to the comment, another man came up to the bar. She watched Felix mix a Bloody Mary for him, regarding him for a moment instead of the customer.
Felix held himself like he was the biggest, baddest dog in the neighborhood and he knew it. And big he certainly was. Broad-shouldered and muscular, he stood a good foot and a half above her—which wasn’t tough since she was barely over five feet tall. But he wasn’t the hard, ripped kind of muscular that meant his favorite topic of conversation would be how many grams of protein he’d eaten that day or how many reps he’d done at the gym. It was a comfortable kind of muscular. The kind that was made for working rather than looks and was perfect for snuggling. Not that Addison was imagining what it would be like to snuggle with him. Okay, who was she kidding? She totally was.
While Felix cleaned up his station, she nodded toward the customer leaving with his Bloody Mary. “How about him?”
“No.”
Addison blew out a breath, her blonde bangs fanning out. “Okay.”
She then went on to point out several more men circulating the ballroom. Felix wasn’t wrong; the bar seemed the prime place for people-watching. If they weren’t wandering up to it to order, they were congregating around it. But each time she found a potential Prince Charming, Felix shot them down for one reason or another: too rich, too flirty, too awkward, too good-looking.
“Too good-looking?” she asked. “Is there such a thing?”
“Do you want the man on your arm drawing attention away from your good looks?” he asked with a grin.
She flashed one right back. “No one could draw attention away from me.”
“Touché.”
“And besides that, what’s wrong with being too rich?”
He shrugged. “I suppose if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“I’m not out for someone rich. Not exactly. But it certainly doesn’t hurt to never have to worry about money.”
He relented with a tilt of his head. “I’ll second that.”
It was something she knew about all too well.
“There has to be someone you approve of,” she said. “Do you always see the worst in everyone?”
“Occupational hazard,” he said. “But your faith in people makes you an easy target for men. You need to be more discerning.”
“At least I’m open to the possibility of love.”
“Or an unrealistic ideal of some Mr. Perfect fantasy. It’s delusional,” he said, but not unkindly.
“I like to think of it as optimism,” she said, her chin rising. “Well, are there any that you do like? You’ve rejected practically everyone at the party.”
“Well”—his eyes dropped to the counter and he shrugged—“not everyone.”
She just stared at him, suddenly realizing he meant himself.
The bartender was right up her alley, both physically and when it came to his sharp wit and certain brash charm. The kind of guy she’d snatch up like a cashmere sweater from a Boxing Day bargain bin. But that was just the problem.
Addison was famous for making bad choices when it came to men, which was why she was still single. But not anymore. She was done with men like him. Everything was going to fall into place, her career, her love life, her happily-ever-after. And that wasn’t going to involve Mr. Bartender. She’d dated enough bartenders / struggling musicians / I-swear-I’ll-call-you-later one-night-stand disappointments.
Felix was exactly the type of guy she’d normally go for. Which meant he’d be just another mistake like all the rest of them. She’d been there, done that. She’d been used enough times by the wrong kind of guy, and he was probably just another one of them. It was time for her to make a better choice, a smarter one.
It wasn’t Felix’s occupation that bothered her. Looking for a man at a swanky event like this wasn’t about nailing down a guy with money. It was about the manners, the courtesy, the civility—or maybe that was just too many rom-coms about wealthy love interests speaking.
Addison knew money wasn’t everything, but it could sure make life rough if you didn’t have it. In fact, she’d grown up watching a marriage fall apart because of it. The struggling, the bills, the bickering over money. It had finally all ended with a nasty divorce that left her father raising her alone when she was only seven years old.
Even to this day, her father still struggled to keep his corner store in business—something Addison fully planned to help him remedy once her business took off. It would certainly help him and his new wife, Dora, out. It was the least she could do after everything he’d sacrificed for her. He’d even put her through dog grooming school, and it was time she paid him back. And then some.
Ignoring Felix’s hint, she turned her attention back to the rest of the room. That’s when she spotted Thor. Okay, well, he probably wasn’t the Norse god, but he sure looked like him—very Chris Hemsworth except with shorter hair. To add to his noble, dignified stature, he stood next to his English mastiff. The perfect picture of godliness. The kind of guy who should pose for canvas paintings.
Thor was tall and broad, his A-frame filling out his designer suit like it was an extension of his body. It was as though the chandelier’s light had been created just to shine down on his close-cropped golden hair, to highlight his strong features. It was heaven’s light sending her a sign.
“What about him?” Addison’s voice was hushed, matching the reverence of that fated moment.
Felix followed her gaze and snorted. “Well, if you like that obviously rich and handsome act.”
“You can’t act handsome or rich,” she said.
“I mean, what is he trying to prove with that chiseled jaw and those perfectly straight teeth?”
“So what you’re saying is you can’t find anything wrong with him.” Addison stood there, breathing in the moment, committing it to memory so she could reflect on it for years to come. Could recall everything about it when she retold the story of how they met on their wedding day.
She sighed, maybe a little too loud.
Felix clicked his tongue at her. “Obvious much?”
“Threatened much?” she spat back.
“Threatened? Me?” He waved the accusation away. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“I’m not entirely certain it’s my best interest you have in mind.” She glanced pointedly down at his crotch.
Addison turned to Princess. The doxie seemed to give her a nod, like this is it. She set Princess down on the hardwood floor and turned away, not bothering to glance back at Felix.
“Wish me luck,” she said over her shoulder.
“I thought it was destiny,” he called out after her, “not luck.”
But Addison’s focus was now on the owner of the English mastiff.
She felt as though she was walking in slow motion across the room, that this really was it. Her whole life, her search for the perfect man, had been building up to this one moment in time. She made her way across the room, and the crowd moved like they were parting for her, for them. Making way for destiny.
The red bra’d waitress passed by, the movement raising a breeze that blew Addison’s golden hair like a wind machine. As though he sensed her, Thor looked her way. His eyes were drawn to hers like it was scripted. Or better yet, predestined.
The jazz band in the corner seemed to drown out the clink of glasses, the occasional bark, the murmur of voices. It all faded away. It was just the two of them, hurtling through time and space, overcoming all odds to meet in this exact time, this exact place. Like it was meant to be.
She began to move faster and faster. At the same time, he lurched toward her. It was as if some unseen force was pulling them together. Then she realized it was in fact their dogs tugging on their leashes, closing the distance between them.
Addison’s high heels skidded and clicked on the polished flooring as Princess urged her closer and closer to the English mastiff and his owner, out of curiosity to meet her new competition. Or maybe because she too understood how important it was for them to meet.
The heels made it difficult to hold Princess back, and since her soul mate’s dog probably weighed two hundred pounds, Addison imagined he had a harder time. But it didn’t look like he was putting up much of a fight. Not with that dazed grin on his face as they drew closer to each other—probably the same one she had on her face.
Addison’s focus had been so fixed on him that she’d forgotten there were still other people in the ballroom. So it came as a complete surprise to her, and the waiter, when Addison bumped into a passing server handing out champagne glasses.
The silver tray went flying. Glasses smashed around their feet. The server tried to catch Addison as she stumbled forward, but Princess had stopped to lap up the champagne, and they both got caught in her leash.
Addison pitched forward. Unable to move her legs, she automatically threw out her hands.
The hardwood floor flew up to meet her. But she never reached it. Instead, she landed in cashmere-clad arms, staring up into eyes as blue as the heavens in which he fell from: Thor.