I come back to reality and shut my mouth with a snap. I am not thinking about how pretty he is, I tell myself sternly. “That is not my name.” I sigh. “You’re not going away, are you?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re determined that I have a dog?”

His expression becomes serious. “Not really. Not if you don’t want one. It’s a big commitment, and you should only do it if you want one. Otherwise, we’ll do something else. I just thought it’d be good for you.”

I was set on refusing him, but somehow by him letting me off the hook, he’s made me want to do the opposite. “I had a dog once,” I say, startling myself. I fight the impulse to look around the room to find the man who is divulging childhood memories.

Laurie looks at me, his eyes intent.

“She was a fat Labrador called Grace,” I admit. “I loved her.”

He smiles. “That’s lovely.”

“Bah, far too sentimental. I had to leave her with my mother in Denmark because my father didn’t like dogs.”

His eyes turn sad. “What happened to her?”

I look blankly at him. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He gapes at me. “What?”

I shrug. “I’m not a particularly nice person, Laurie. I couldn’t keep her, so I forgot about her.”

“Did you?” he says slyly. “Doesn’t look like you did.” I eye him, and he smiles. “I think you try to forget people who aren’t going to stay, but sometimes one sneaks through.”

I’m nonplussed, both at the fond note in his voice and the sense that he’s telling the truth. He grins at me. “Shall we go, then?”

I wave my hand at the files. “Have you missed the work around you?”

“Not really, but you need to sort out these files, Mags. It’s dreadfully messy in here.” He reaches over the desk and pokes me. “Come on,” he wheedles. “It’s six o’clock at night. You’ve been here for hours with a hangover. Let’s get some dinner and then go to the dog shelter.”

I open my mouth to rebuff him, to tell him I make my own hours. And so it’s slightly astonishing to find myself standing and pulling my jacket on. “Okay,” I hear myself say. “Let’s go.”

* * *

An hour later, I stand in front of a line of cages filled with dogs of all shapes and sizes. The noise is incredible.

I glare at Laurie. “And this is your suggestion for a hangover? To endure it in this cacophony?”

I’m gratified to see him wince as a puppy yaps loudly nearby. “Christ, I feel terrible,” he mutters.

“Good.” I sigh heavily. “So, am I able to pick a dog or not?”

His lip twitches. “Did they not give you that information?”