Then she took a curling iron to her hair, hated how it looked—trying way too hard—and scooped it back into a ponytail. Disliking herself for it, she added just a touch of makeup, a bit of mascara, a dusting of blush and hint of lip gloss.
She regarded herself in the mirror and thought she had hit just the right note: spontaneous, sporty, fun, someone not at all concerned about the complications of a fake match.
“What are you doing to me?” she told the urn of her aunt’s ashes as she passed the mantel in her small living room.
Jonas arrived promptly, and she peeked out her front window as he came down the walk. The spring sunlight glinted off the wheat gold of his hair. He carried himself with the supreme confidence of a person who would never give a second thought to outfit choice.
And of course, he had that just right, casual in a short-sleeved navy blue button-down shirt, chinos and canvas loafers. The sunglasses gave him a bit of a film star aura.
She was aware, as she opened the door, she felt extremely nervous.
However, all the effort she had put into making a great first impression on their second meeting was for naught, because the dog bounded out the door.
“Louie,” she cried, as the dog leaped up and placed its paws on Jonas’s substantial shoulders, “stop it.”
Neither the dog nor Jonas even glanced at her.
“Off,” he said sternly. “Now.”
The dog, shocked and confused by this rejection of his enthusiasm, lowered himself to all fours and then gazed at Jonas with some consternation.
“Sit,” Jonas commanded.
The dog sat in three stages: his huge hind end swayed, then inched down, hovering, and then, finally, plopped all the way onto the ground.
“Is Louie what you’ve decided on?”
She frowned. All that work on the perfect look and not even a Hello, Krissy, how are you? Looking lovely today, I must say.
“Not really. I’m just trying it.”
“Hmm. It sounds like a name for a dog that would trip over his ears, like a basset hound.”
“Well, it won’t do for him, then.” They both looked at the dog’s ears, the one in tatters.
The dog looked like it was considering getting up, and Jonas snapped a finger at him. He nestled back down.
Jonas cast her a glance, finally. “What did they tell you about him at the rescue center?”
He was being so all business. She longed for the laughter they had shared the other night. Should she remind him of his ripped pants?
No! She should keep it all business, too. Even the fiancée part, when they got to that? Especially the fiancée part, when they got to that! But how could you pretend to be someone’s fiancée with this businesslike attitude?
She thought of her parents. Civil, but distant, would be an improvement in some relationships!
“I didn’t exactly get him directly from the rescue center,” she admitted. “One of the other teachers at school had taken him, and it wasn’t working out.”
He looked exasperated by that. Where was the man who had made her laugh so hard? For both their safety, wasn’t this coolness so much better?
“He wasn’t working out for someone else, and so you took him?”
“Artie Calhoun, the fifth-grade teacher, brought him to the staff room one Monday morning. His wife had told him not to come home after work if the dog was still with him.”
“The dog was being bad enough it was breaking up a marriage. That would compel you to step in, why?”
A question she had asked herself several hundred times!
“Look at that face.”
They both looked at the dog. Hans-Louie, the pansy crusher, lolled out his tongue in a silly grin and did that thing with his eyes where he looked up at them with a certain forlorn hope.
“How could you not fall in love with it?” Krissy asked.
Jonas made a low sound partway between a sigh and a groan. She looked at him. True enough, Jonas did not look like he was a falling-in-love kind of guy. In fact, he did not look like a man who would give his heart easily. To anyone. Or anything.
Not that that was any of her business. Not that she wanted to even think about Jonas falling in love!
That would make their arrangement impossibly complex.
“Anyway,” Krissy said, “I couldn’t resist him, and he’s here and I’m committed now.”
Jonas winced at the very word and looked at her warily, as if he had discovered she was the superhero of lost causes.
The dog tried again to get his legs under himself.
“No,” Jonas said with the authority of a drill sergeant. Crusher plopped back down, ducked his head and looked contrite as he sneaked looks at Jonas’s face.
Jonas sighed again. “I didn’t think a rescue center would match him with you. Don’t look insulted! It’s not personal. The dog may have been a fighting dog, which means he has aggression built into him. It’s not a good thing for an inexperienced owner.”
“He’s not aggressive,” she said firmly. “If he was a fighting dog, I think he probably washed out of fight class. He just hasn’t had enough love.”
Jonas actually groaned. “He doesn’t need love. He needs discipline. Do you see how I’m greeting him? I’m not feeding his excitement. When you come home, don’t even greet him. Don’t even look at him.”
“Really?” she asked, appalled.
“When you get home, get a leash and take him for a walk. Don’t even go in the door until you’ve done that. Every single time. Because he’s got way too much energy and it’s a bad idea to reward that by letting him jump all over you. The affection should always be initiated by you, after he’s earned it. And it should never involve him jumping on you.”
Krissy could feel her back going up. He hadn’t even noticed her outfit! Was Jonas always so bossy? Of course he was! He had that look of a man quite accustomed to being in authority.
Still, she bit back her
