Who needs a psychotherapist when you have a dog? One that doesn’t need to ask questions to know how you’re feeling, and only needs to lick your face to make you feel better. As if sensing the dark memories that are beginning to encroach at the corners of my thoughts, Duke whimpers at me, drags his leash around the house, leaps into my lap whenever I sit down.

It’s hard to do the whole ‘moodily twisting yourself up over the past’ thing when you’ve got a mongrel pawing at the back door. So here I am, sweating my way up Runyon Canyon while Duke overtakes me, gets distracted sniffing around in the greenery, then realizes he’s been left behind, and repeats.

I sprint up the dirt trail, fast enough that even Duke gives me confused looks. I push myself, forcing my muscles to hurt, my lungs to reach bursting point, so that I can’t think, can’t remember…

Ash. A face I thought I’d never see again. A face I’d consigned to dreams and unfinished thoughts. Seven years to tell myself it didn’t matter. Seven years to convince myself it was the right thing. Seven years to bury those memories and move on. Seven years to forget. Less than seven seconds to bring it all back, as fresh and as raw as the day it happened.

Did she even remember? She’d always been hard to read. A locked box of slow-burning emotions. As cool, collected and casual as someone who always knows something you don’t.

She looked good. Those dark eyes as fierce as ever, that long blonde hair now short and layered, framing the perfect sweep of her face in vivid angles. A beauty so powerful it reminded me of all the good times as much as the bad…

I stop finally, panting hard, hands on hips. The L.A. sprawl stretching out in front of me.

“Duke!” I call out. I whistle with the little breath I can muster. “Duke, buddy. Where are you?”

I shield my eyes and look back down the path, taking a few steps until I see him. He’s rolling around in the dirt, panting as much as I am while a girl squats beside him to playfully rub at his thick fur.

I smile and start moving toward them. The girl’s got her back to me, hair pulled back in a short ponytail, but I can still tell she’s hot, all nutcracker thighs in her three-quarter length yoga pants, grabbable hips and biteable ass.

Maybe that’s what I need to clear the demons swirling in my mind, a little physical therapy administered by an athletic blonde who likes dogs. Shit, maybe the reason seeing Ash has me this fucked up is that I’ve been working so hard that I haven’t been laid in a while. Maybe even Duke knows that and this is his way of helping.

I draw close, the sun still in my eyes, the two of them still playing in the dirt.

“You made a friend there, Duke?” I say.

The girl ruffles him one more time and says, “Beautiful dog.”

She stands up slow, and I get ready to give her the eyes, the smile. She turns to face me, and both of our smiles drop like they’re illegal.

It’s her.

For a few seconds we hold each other’s gaze like animals on each other’s territory. Then the tension breaks the only way it can—with both of us laughing incredulously.

“Holy shit,” she says, shaking her head.

“Two times in two days. You’re either really good or really bad at stalking me.”

She laughs and it sounds just like it used to, maybe a little stronger, a little more confident. Fluttery, like a bird springing into the air. I take a second to appreciate the way the sun glistens on the sweat of her shoulder, how her skin glows with the redness of pumped muscles. Suddenly I’m back in that humid summer, when we rode out to a lake, went skinny-dipping in the midday sun. We fucked right there on the rocks, bodies wet with sweat and water, hot and flustered, thirsty for each other. I swallow down my dry mouth and suddenly wish I could take her back there, no questions asked, no complicated history behind us.

“I’ve never seen you up here before,” I say. “And I come run here pretty often.”

She shrugs. “I just moved to this part of town last week.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I got promoted at work, so I could finally afford a place that doesn’t feel like a converted closet.”

I laugh a little, enjoying the way she relaxes in front of me, the sound of her voice bringing back all kinds of thoughts.

“What do you do now?” I ask.

“I’m a producer,” she says, nodding. “You ever heard of Hollywood Night?” I shake my head. “Figures,” she grins, “you’re not exactly the demographic. It’s a kind of celebrity gossip show. You know, ‘this pop star got a nipple piercing,’ ‘this actor is dating this model’… It’s not exactly the most artistically stimulating work, but ratings are good and so is the money. I can’t complain.”

“That’s good,” I say.

Ash looks askew at me.

“You still do that?” she says through a dimpled smile.

“Do what?”

“Say ‘that’s good’ when you’re trying to be polite but don’t know how.”

I laugh and look at Duke, who’s sitting watching us with his tongue out like he’s got front row seats to a play about old friends.

“Hey listen,” I say. “About yesterday, at the shop—”

Ash waves it away.

“Sorry for bailing.”

“I get it,” I say, hoping she doesn’t read too much into it. “First tattoos can be intimidating. I meant it, though, about if you decide to come back. We’ll squeeze you in.”

“Thanks.” Ash smiles, and there’s a slightly guilty silence between us, as if we’ve just brushed something under the carpet and agreed to keep it there. The silence goes on a little too long, and I search my mind for something to say. Something other than the things neither of us wants to address. Something other than goodbye—I’m not done drinking her in yet.

“Oh,” I say suddenly, remembering. “You remember a girl named Isabel that we used to hang out with? From art class?” I say.

Ash wrinkles her nose up in thought.

“Isabel… Wait…braces? Coke-bottle glasses? Always wore that ripped pink cardigan? She was a band geek, but she was great. Really funny.”

Through a laugh, I say, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Of course I remember her! She went to Europe, right? Right after high school. I was so excited for her, but we lost touch pretty soon after that.”

“Well she’s back now.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ash says, punching my shoulder with a sudden burst of excitement. “And she didn’t even tell me? I would’ve loved to hear from her again.”

I hold up my hands in defense. “I only bumped into her by accident. She walked into the tattoo shop a month or two ago. Wanted a hand tattoo but we ended up talking about old times instead.”

“Wow,” Ash says, looking out over the city as she remembers. “Isabel… You know, I always thought she was kinda beautiful in this strange, subversive way.”

“You should see her now. It ain’t subversive anymore, she looks incredible. A trail of drooling guys wherever she goes. If the rock ‘n roll chick type is your thing.” I shrug, and Ash looks at me in open-mouthed awe. “Yeah. She’s in a band—they just signed a deal with a major label after doing the indie thing for a few years. They’re only in L.A. to record an album, I think.”

“Seriously?” Ash says, looking almost proud. “God…she always talked about wanting to do that. I remember going to a couple shows with her, those fake IDs she got us, how she messed around with her old ukulele whenever I went to her house. This is incredible. I’ve got to see her before she goes.”

“She wanted to see you too,” I say, stopping short of admitting how much we had talked about Ash. I remember something and frown. “Actually, I think she said she was playing somewhere local in a couple of days. Put a flyer up in the shop.”

“Wow,” she says. “Living the dream, huh?”

I take a long moment to think about what I’m about to say. Then decide to take the risk.

“You wanna go?”

It takes a second for Ash to stutter over her response, and I imagine she’s doing the same thing I am, trying to wrestle with a whole lot of complexity before she can give an answer so simple.

“Yeah…why not? Tell you what, call me when you figure out what night it’s on and I’ll see if I’m free. With the hours I work I don’t get out much, but I can make an exception for an old friend.”

“Let’s exchange numbers,” I say, pulling my phone out. “I could pick you up. Maybe we can get a drink afterward and catch up, or something.” I don’t clarify whether I’m talking about all three of us or just me and Ash, but she doesn’t ask and I let it remain open-ended. No need to push things now—it seems smarter to just see how the night plays out.

We swap numbers and as she’s putting her phone away Ash looks up at me through her side-swept bangs, with that mischievous look that always got me thinking unsayable things.

“You still ride a motorcycle?” she says.

I smile back.

“Nothing beats a bike for L.A. traffic. You still like riding in back?”

Ash lets out a furtive laugh, already turning away to leave.

“Give me a call. Let me know,” she says, starting to run.

“Absolutely,” I say, struggling to hide how good it feels knowing that I’ll get to see her again.