I tied it on him, and since he didn’t rip it off immediately, I considered it a win. “Come on, boy, let’s get you back inside before you mess up all my work.” I attached the leash to his collar again and led him to the front door. I rang the doorbell, and even though I knew what was going to happen, even though I’d been expecting it, I still felt bowled over when Noah answered it.

Especially since his hair was wet and slicked back from his strong face. Although I’d always had definite opinions regarding what I preferred in men’s haircuts (clean-cut), when it came to him, I didn’t care what he did or didn’t do. I was a fan of it all.

He’d changed into a different pair of jeans and a black hoodie. He smelled clean, like soap and shampoo, and I stopped myself from dragging in a deep breath.

“All done!” I said, too brightly.

“I can see that.” His burning gaze floated down over my soaked clothing. Self-conscious, I pulled the wet cloth away from my body. “Do you need to come in and dry off?”

Heart pounding loudly in my chest, I said, “No, I’m good. It’s all part of the job. Thanks.” Not to mention that if he kept looking at me like that, my wet shirt was going to catch on fire.

And despite my saying it was fine, he stepped back to let me into the living room. My feet moved of their own volition so that it surprised me a little when he closed the door. Stupid, traitorous feet. I gave him the leash, which he undid.

Then he asked in a disbelieving tone, “Why is my dog wearing a bow?”

“Magnus likes it.”

“He also likes to eat his own vomit, so he’s not really my go-to guy when it comes to judgment.”

“Well, I like it, too.”

And despite his tone, he left the bow. It surprised me. Magnus yawned, apparently bored by us, and padded out of the room.

“How much do I owe you?” Noah asked.

“For a dog Magnus’s size, I charge sixty dollars.”

He pulled out a black leather wallet from his back pocket. “Sorry, I only have this. I spent the last month in Europe.” He handed me a bill that looked like fake money. Like something from a board game. Was it real?

The only way I knew how to verify money was either by holding it up to the light or biting on it like they did with coins in old cartoons. Either way, I had no idea what I was looking for. “What is this?”

“Five hundred euros.”

I didn’t know what the current exchange rate was, but I figured that was much closer to five hundred dollars than fifty. “I don’t have any change on me.”

“Keep it. As a tip.”