“C’mon. Time to get back to the pack,” he said gently, gesturing once more to the dog’s companions.

“Psst,” Casey whispered, tapping his shoulder. “I think he might not understand English yet.”

Nate laughed, set down his nearly empty plate on the lacquered brown table, then scooped up the dog and carried him to the rear of the plane where a row of cushy seats had become the temporary quarters for the hounds on the flight. “Go back to sleep with your friends,” he said, gesturing to the other four-legged creatures who’d been conked out most of the ride. He stroked the dog between the ears and scratched his chin ’til he settled, curling up in a tight ball. The canine quartet of traveling companions was hitching a ride on his flight on their way to New York. The local shelter in New Orleans didn’t have room for all the dogs, and had made plans with a no-kill rescue in Brooklyn that had already matched these four pets with homes in the metro area, since New Yorkers often preferred smaller breeds. Nate was an animal lover and had grown up with dogs, so he regularly arranged to be an “escort” for animals in need, ferrying them from various locales around the country back to the Brooklyn shelter that served as the matchmaker.

One of the dogs—the Dachshund—was en route to his sister, Kat. She lived on the Upper East Side with her husband, his buddy Bryan, and the small dog was a gift for their twin daughters. Nate would have liked to have a dog himself, some kind of scrappy breed like a Border Collie that could catch Frisbees in the park and go for long runs along the West Side bike path with him. But he traveled far too often to be able to give a dog a good home. He did this instead; chauffeured pets in style to their new homes. His small contribution to the world.

He returned to his seat, the flight attendant having cleared their plates. Casey was wearing a short jean skirt and high-heeled sandals. He didn’t try as hard today to refrain from staring, but he did give himself a three-count for a quick perusal before returning his focus to her eyes.

“Some day, I’ll have a mutt of my own.” He nearly dropped his hand on top of hers, and clasped it, like they were on a date. He resisted, and, not for the first time on this flight, he wondered if she was refraining too. Not from holding hands, but from talking about the night before and the mind-blowing physical connection they’d shared. Neither one had mentioned it this morning. She’d rushed out of his room to shower and pack. He’d had early meetings on the property. While his trip to New Orleans had started a few days before hers had, he was done with business by mid-morning, so he’d simply made a few final calls and then they’d taken off for the airport.