Most important, she was kind. To him and to animals, to his father and to everyone who crossed her path. Maybe that was a commonplace thing where she came from, but to him, it was like reaching an oasis after twenty years of dry, desert living.

“I hate to disillusion you when we’re making such good headway, but this isn’t my normal way of progressing through life,” Sophie said. She tugged her lower lip between her teeth and fixed her gaze out the storefront window. “With you, I don’t seem to have a problem asserting myself. With them, however… I don’t know. It’s like I’m powerless. Poor little Sophie Vasquez, always last choice, always third place.”

Of all the harsh things Sophie had said to him in the course of this puppy training, none of them caused his insides to roil quite like that one. He’d willingly withstood everything she had to throw at him in the name of progress—Pomeranians and candles and bare fucking ankles—but this was where he drew the line.

“Sophie, I—” he began, but the words were difficult to get out. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, all moisture sucked dry.

By the time he managed to figure out what came next—Sophie, I want you; Sophie, I need you—she’d dropped his hand and gasped at the sight of a flash moving across the street.

“Is that your dad?” she asked.

“What? Where?” His thoughts successfully diverted, Harrison craned his neck to get a better look. “That guy crossing the street? But he’s…”

“Yeah, I know. Wearing normal human clothes.”

The figure, who wore a checked shirt that looked freshly ironed, paused and turned. Only a fraction of a second passed before he turned again and trotted the rest of the way across the street, but it was enough for Harrison to confirm that it was, in fact, his father. Not only was his shirt ironed, but he had a clean pair of Dickies on and his hair had been combed back with what looked like a whole can of styling product.

“I think he looks nice,” Sophie said. “Maybe he has a date.”

Harrison stared at her. Sophie was, without question, one of the most starry-eyed and optimistic souls he’d ever met, but even she couldn’t take things that far. “Are you kidding? My father hasn’t had a date since the eighties. He’s a confirmed misogynist.”

“No, he’s not. He’s just a little crusty. You both are. But believe me when I say it doesn’t make either one of you unattractive.” A shy gaze flicked up and down his body. “If anything, it only adds to your appeal.”

His heart gave a stutter. “You think my dad is attractive?”

“Well, no. But that’s only because I have my sights set on someone else.”

He didn’t ask. He couldn’t. To hear those words out loud would only mean he’d have to face the reality of them and admit the truth.