Wes and I meet in front of the Plaza. It’s a little after seven and the sun is just beginning its descent, turning the sky hazy and pale. The air is warm, and my skin is damp, despite the sundress I changed into. When I see Wes stroll up, though, I break into goosebumps. He looks even more handsome than usual, wearing a pair of well-cut jeans and a dark blue polo shirt. His eyes are hidden by a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses, but the way his face erupts into a grin tells me he’s spotted me.

“Hey,” he says, as soon as he’s close enough.

“Hi.” I sway a little, feeling my skirt float around my bare thighs. I feel like a school girl, chasing her crush through the playground. I try to fight the feelings, but the closer Wes gets, the more my heart races. The word date is still tumbling around in my mind, burning hotter with every passing second.

“You look great,” he says, and leans in to kiss my cheek. The feel of his lips on my skin give my goosebumps goosebumps. He slides his sunglasses up on top of his head and then lets his eyes run over the length of my body. He takes his sweet time too.

“Nice dress.”

“Just trying to keep cool.”

“Well, you look hot.” He grins and I roll my eyes.

“That was lame.” Oh yeah? So why do my legs feel like jelly right now?

“Nah, just honest.” He’s unbothered by my comment, and I can’t help but notice the way his gaze lingers over my chest. Oh boy. Breathe, Rori. Where is my damn buttoned-up pantsuit when I need it?

I force myself to laugh. “Come on. It’s a bit of a walk to the picnic area.”

“It’s not a far walk to my apartment.”

I turn back, hands on my hips. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“That I could think of something that might be even better than puppies.”

“Are these the kinds of moves you use on a date, Wes? Really?” I can’t help but tease him. The sun and this dress and the way Wes is looking at me have me in too good of a mood to worry about his flirting.

“Actually, no. Usually I’m much smoother. These are the moves I use when the girl I’m with is driving me completely wild. And that only happens with you, Rori.”

I pretend to roll my eyes again. “Bad dog,” I tease. Is my voice shaking? “If I had a newspaper, I’d swat you. Let’s go.”

He grins again but follows me across the street and into the park. As we walk, he slips his hand in mine. It gives me a jolt, and my entire body tingles, like I’ve just gotten an electrical shock. And yet, within seconds, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. My hand, snug in Wes’s.

To anyone in the park, we look like a normal couple, out enjoying a stroll. Only we know all the history and baggage that’s wrapped up in this surprisingly simple gesture.

Maybe Celia was right. Call it gravitational force, magnetics, I don’t know. All I know is that something seems to keep drawing me to Wes, and whatever it is, it’s a force more powerful than me. Despite everything, after all this time and distance, he’s still in my orbit. Maybe he always will be.

We don’t talk much as we walk. We take in the scenery, all the other people out enjoying the warm evening. When we hear laughter and barking, I squeeze Wes’s hand.

“I think we’re in the right place.”

We come around the corner and I squeal. There are so many bulldogs that the cuteness factor is on overload. There’s a big barbecue where an older man is grilling hotdogs, and picnic tables set up with information on bulldog rescue, all manned by enthusiastic volunteers. And of course, there are the dogs. Some are rescues, with big posters advertising their adoptability and details. Others seem to be pets, walked on leashes by their owners who’ve come out to support the fundraiser. There’s music playing and kids running around and the whole thing is so wholesome and sweet that my teeth actually ache a little.

I glance at Wes, who’s scanning the crowd.

“Oh God, you hate this, don’t you?” I cover my face laughing. “Probably not exactly the kind of evening you had in mind.”

“Are you kidding? This is great. Let’s go pet some dogs.”

He takes my hand again and we stroll past the picnic tables, petting and fussing over all the dogs that are up for adoption. Mabel, the old queen with a rhinestone collar and a serious underbite. Arnie, the all-black bulldog with one white ear and a bright red bandana, whose poster says he might be part Boston Terrier. Rocco, the nine-month-old puppy found abandoned in Soho last month. Wes and I squish them all. He doesn’t even flinch when Mabel covers him with sloppy kisses. She practically climbs into his lap as he crouches down to pet her.

Gah. What is it about handsome men and dogs? It should seriously be outlawed. My lady parts are singing the hallelujah chorus watching him fuss over them. Dear God, please never let him hold a baby in my presence.

I try to get my body to calm down, but after a few minutes, I realize that ship has sailed. I decide to just go with it and focus on having fun.

After we’ve cooed over every dog available, Wes stands, brushing off his jeans. Something over his shoulder catches my attention and I bite back a grin. Maybe I can have a little fun with this.

“Wes.” I press my hands against his chest and smile seductively. “I really want to give you a kiss.”

He looks surprised for a second, but then his face spreads into a grin. “You do, do you?” he growls.

I nod. I bite down gently on my bottom lip, trying to look as sexy as possible. I even bat my eyelashes. “Would that be okay?”

His hands are sliding around my waist now, drawing me to him. The hard plains of his body are making me sweat even more than the sun is.

“Hell yeah, that would be okay. It would be more than okay.” His voice is gruff. Sexy. Suddenly all I want to do is kiss him for real. Maybe this plan was a bad idea. I smile sweetly, while my heart races, and then tap my finger lightly against his chest.

“Good. It’ll only cost me five dollars and a MilkBone.”

His face wrinkles in confusion. “What?”

I bite my lip harder and nod over his shoulder. He spins his head to look and then bursts out laughing.

“The Pooch Smooch Booth?”

The bright red booth is behind us, on the far edge of the picnic area. It’s about waist-high, with a big window cut out of the center. A dog-sized kissing booth.

Inside the box sits the ugliest bulldog I think I’ve ever seen in my life. I mean, he’s so ugly he’s cute again. Most of his face is black, except for a white strip that runs down the bridge of his nose, like a skunk’s stripe. He’s got a sprig of wild hair coming off the top of his head, and one huge snaggle-tooth curling over his upper lip. He’s got an underbite and a long tongue that hangs down. His sign says his name is Brad.

There are two jars on top of the box — one to collect cash donations, and one to collect MilkBones, which a volunteer is handing out. The rescue keeps the donations, and apparently Brad gets to keep his MilkBones.

Wes chuckles as I drag him over.

“My friend here would like a pooch smooch,” I tell the volunteer, a young guy in his early twenties, wearing hipster-tight burgundy pants and a t-shirt with the rescue’s logo on it.

“Go for it,” the guy says. He hands me a MilkBone and I drop it in Brad’s jar, then shove a five dollar bill in the other one.

Wes grimaces but he leans in. Brad’s long tongue reaches out and sweeps across his chin. I double over laughing at the horrified expression on his face as the slobbery pink tongue touches his lips. He stands up quickly.

“I think it’s your turn,” he says. The volunteer hands him a sanitary wipe and Wes scrubs at his face. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a hundred dollar bill, adding it to the jar. “I think that’s going to buy quite a few smooches, don’t you?”

I giggle but lean in, like he did. Brad makes a snorfling sound and then his tongue shoots out, coating my cheek in dog drool.

“Oh, but I paid for so many more smooches,” Wes says, nudging me when I stand up. “Get back down there.”

“I think I’m smooched out,” I laugh. I scrub my face with the wipe. The scent of alcohol and lemon clings to my skin, but it’s better than dog biscuit breath. “If a guy wants that many smooches, he’s going to have to at least buy me dinner first.”

“Noted,” Wes says with a grin. “In that case, can I buy you a hotdog?” He gestures towards the barbecue that’s set up on the side.

“Big spender,” I tease. “But yes, I could go for a hot dog.”

“You have no idea how much I like to hear you say that.”

I punch him lightly in the arm. “A hot dog of the edible variety.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Go on ...”

“You know, in a bun. With ketchup.”

“Interesting. I’ve never tried it that way, but hey, if it works for you ...”

“You’re incorrigible. I see your sense of humor hasn’t evolved since high school.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Suit yourself.”

We stroll over to the barbecue and Wes orders two hot dogs and two cans of Coke, then pays the woman holding the metal cash box. He drops an extra twenty into the donation jar beside her, and I bite back a smile. We take our dinner over to an empty picnic table and sit down.

“This is fun,” Wes says, cracking open his soda.

“Thanks for coming with me. I always feel awkward hanging around these things by myself.”

“I’m having a great time. So you said they’re one of your clients?”

I nod, taking a bite of my hotdog and trying desperately not to glob ketchup down the front of my dress. “Yeah. We’ve done a few things for them — website design, a social media campaign. They can’t afford much, but who can say no to all those smushy little faces?”

Wes shakes his head. “Not me, that’s for sure.” His eyes crinkle up when he grins. “It’s great that you do so much for these clients. They must love you.”

I shake my head. “Well, I have to thank you again for the job. This one project for GoldLake is going to give us the freedom to take on a lot more charity clients. Honestly, if we had our way, we’d just work with non-profits all day, all pro-bono.”

“And smushy dog faces, of course.”

“Of course.” I grin.

“Rori, hi!” A voice calls from over my shoulder. I turn around to see Mary Ellen, the Bulldog Rescue coordinator I’ve been working with.

“Mary Ellen! Hi!” I stand up and give her a hug. “Great turnout!”

She looks around proudly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her denim overalls. “Yeah, not too bad. Thanks again for your help with the flyers.”

I wave off her comment. “No problem at all. Happy to do it.”

She peeks over my shoulder at Wes, and I smack my forehead.

“Sorry, Mary Ellen — this is Wes. Wes Lake. He’s actually another one of my clients.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, reaching out to shake Wes’s hand. “You a dog lover?”

He smiles warmly. “I am. Though if I wasn’t already, Mabel would have convinced me.”

Mary Ellen laughs, her face lighting up in pleasure. “Yes, she’s a doll, isn’t she? Can you believe we just found her roaming the streets last month? A gorgeous old girl like her? Such a shame. Unfortunately, it’s pretty hard to find homes for senior dogs, but she’s had a lot of attention tonight, so you never know. Fingers crossed.”

She holds up two crossed fingers and Wes and I do the same.

“Anyway, I won’t keep you,” she says. “I just wanted to come and say hello. Make sure you check out the auction before you head out.”

We promise we will, and then watch as she disappears back into the crowd.

“She seems nice,” Wes observes after she’s gone.

I nod, finishing off my hotdog and brushing my hands off on a napkin. “She’s really sweet. We’re really lucky — all our clients are amazing.”

He grins. “Present company included, I presume?”

“Of course,” I stammer. My cheeks redden.

“Good.” He catches my eye and smiles warmly, and my stomach does a fluttering thing that rivals the feeling I had watching Wes loving on Mabel.

“Should we check out the auction?” I say, to change the subject.

“Sure.”

We stroll over to the other side of picnic area, where a few more tables are set up. There are items on each table, with sealed bid boxes. It’s all very informal — you just write your name and your bid, and stuff it in the appropriate box.

We browse the items up for auction, from the little I Heart Bulldogs keychain, to a certificate for ten free pet spa days, to a pet photography session.

“Ooh, I’m going to bid on that,” I say, pointing to a yoga mat with paw prints on it.

Wes raises his eyebrows. “You know I’m picturing you in downward dog right now, right?”

I groan. “Stop!”

“I can’t help it.”

I push past him playfully and scribble my name and a bid on a slip of paper, then shove it in the box in front of the yoga mat, while Wes goes to the table with the bulldog keychain.

“Fingers crossed,” he says, holding up his two crossed digits again, after he’s shoved his bid into the box.

“I’m feeling good about our chances,” I assure him. “I think this is our lucky night.”

He starts to say something, but I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand, both of us laughing.

“Don’t even say it.”

“Say what?” he says, his voice muffled behind my palm.

“Whatever dirty thing you were about to say.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” he says, still muffled.

I laugh as I lean against his chest, but then he pries my hand away from his face. Gently, he turns my arm, kisses the inside of my wrist.

I gasp. The touch is so intimate, so unexpected. The rest of the park melts away. Everything in my body is laser focused on Wes. My entire being hums in his presence.

“I’m not ready to say goodnight yet. Maybe we could go for a drink?” His voice is hoarse. Gruff.

I nod. I don’t trust my own voice right now.

He kisses my wrist again, and even though I see him doing it and am prepared for the feel of his lips on my skin, I still squeak.

“Maybe we could go for a drink … at my apartment?” His blue eyes have gone dark.

I nod again. I know it’s wrong, but the magnetic force between us is pulling me again, straight into Wes’s orbit.

He grins, then turns my arm down, so that he’s holding my hand again, and leads me out of the park.