“You see that bichon frise in the corner near the drinking fountains?” Caleb asked.

“Yes. That’s Mortimer. He won his breed last year, though he couldn’t eke it out over the Afghan for Best in Show.”

“Oh my God, Spencer. You’re pathetic.”

“What? You asked.”

Caleb nodded in the other direction, to where a Labrador was sitting stately and serene while his owner chatted at length with a breeder who was a friend of their parents. “And what about that Lab sitting with the Jacksons?”

Was this supposed to be some kind of test? To see how much time and mental energy Spencer dedicated to the West Coast Canine Classic? There was no need to play games—Spencer could tell him the answer.

A lot. It was a lot.

“You mean Nightmare? She’s didn’t place last year, but I feel like that might change. She’s really improved her performance in the show ring. They have their sights set on Westminster.”

Caleb nodded. “See? You have nothing to worry about. Ruby will be here.”

As much as Spencer wanted—needed—to hear that, he didn’t follow. “What does Nightmare have to do with it?”

“These dogs are the cream of the crop when it comes to Seattle. The most prestigious, the elites of the elite.” Caleb laughed—actually laughed, as though Spencer’s entire life’s happiness didn’t depend on the appearance of one woman. “Ruby will be here. That woman wouldn’t pass up a chance to compete with the best. I don’t think she can.”

Spencer’s whole heart yearned for that to be true—and, acknowledging his brother’s certainty, he allowed himself to hope. For the past five days, all he’d wanted was to call Ruby up, send her an official invitation to the dog show, park himself in front of her apartment door and beg her to give him another chance. But he’d put himself in Caleb’s hands for a reason.

“Okay.” Spencer fingered the neckline of his shirt, which wasn’t, for the first time in his life, buttoned up all the way to the top. It felt foreign, that open splay, the brush of air at his throat, but he liked it. “I believe you. She’ll be here.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a commotion near the front drew his attention. He knew, without turning his eyes in that direction, that it was her. It had to be. No one else could enter a room in such a way that there were literal gasps from the crowd—of awe and wonder, of unadulterated delight.

“Fuck me.” His brother released a low whistle. “I think maybe you should run and hide while you still have a chance. You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble, Spencer. More than I could handle, that’s for sure.”