Page 1 of An Engagement Pact

One

EVERY WEEKDAY MORNINGat six thirty, I take Oscar on a three-mile walk.

He’s a five-year-old silver lab, and he’s never outgrown his puppy enthusiasm for every single life experience. He loves me and loves his walk, and his wealthy owner tips generously.

But it rained last night, and Oscar’s adoration of mud puddles can’t be contained. It takes constant diligence to keep him on the paved path around the park as we do our five laps and then cross the street into Green Valley’s small downtown area to return to Oscar’s owner’s big fancy loft apartment.

I get briefly distracted by a near accident in the intersection a block away and fail to notice that Oscar has encountered a most cherished friend (a warm, breathing body within his view). He leaps into action to give the newcomer the only appropriate greeting in such circumstances—squirming ecstatically with lolling tongue as he does two spins and then jumps up to plant his muddy front paws as close to the man’s shoulders as he can reach so the two of them can hug it out.

It’s my fault. Oscar is semitrained and will respond to commands but only if I actually speak them.

“Oscar, no! Down!Down!”

The dog recognizes the urgency in my tone and immediately returns his front paws to the pavement and hunkers down with barely restrained wiggles, peering up at me hopefully to make sure he’s still beloved despite his brief misstep.

I give him a little nod to confirm we’re still on speaking terms and then turn with a cringe to see how much damage the dog did to the man in front of us.

I recognize him immediately. Lean, straight build. Thick brown hair. Genuinely striking eyes of an unusual silvery-gray color. Clean-cut, attractive features. Well-tailored trousers and a good quality blue button-down that now has mud streaked on the front from Oscar’s paws.

Dan Mills. We’ve spoken a few times, but I don’t know him very well.

The last time we talked, in December last year, he proposed.

“I’m so sorry, Dan.” I’m horrified by the state of his nice clothes. He’s carrying a leather laptop bag. He’s obviously on his way to work. “Oh my goodness, what a mess. I’m so sorry! It’s entirely my fault. I should have caught him before he jumped.”

Dan has an easygoing and leisurely smile that I’ve never seen waver, not even when I rejected his proposal of marriage. He chuckles, grinning down at Oscar, who is visibly torn between blissful joy at meeting a brand-new best friend and anxiety over having possibly been a tiny bit bad. “I’m not mad at you, buddy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Oscar spins three more times and then squirms over toward Dan, making sure all four feet and his rear end never leave the sidewalk.

Dan gives him an ear scratch that clearly makes the dog’s entire year. Then his silvery eyes lift slowly to my face. “Hey, Vicky.”

“Hey.” I’m flushed from the long walk in the cool morning air and from being flustered over my poor dog-walking performance. “This is Oscar. I’m so sorry he messed up your clothes.”

“Eh.” He gives a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

“But you can’t go to work like that. You’ll have to go home to change, and you’ll probably be late now.”

“No, I won’t. I don’t need to be in the office until eight thirty. I was just headed to the coffee shop before work. I’ve got plenty of time to run home and change.”

That’s a relief since causing him to be late would make the situation significantly worse. “Well, at least let me buy you a coffee to go to make up for it. You shouldn’t go without coffee because I was too distracted to control Oscar.”

An expression flickers briefly on his face, as if he’s debating whether to take me up on the offer. Then he nods and smiles again. “Okay, thanks. It’s not necessary, but I appreciate it.”

Relaxing now that I can at least make a gesture in recompense for the disaster, I say, “I can pay for getting your clothes laundered or dry-cleaned if you want.”

“Uh, no way. That’s entirely unnecessary.”

I don’t say it, but I’m relieved because who knows how much of my day’s pay that would have gobbled up. “Okay. Thanks for being so nice about it.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

I gesture toward his muddy clothes. “You’re sayingthat’snot a big deal?”

“They’re clothes. I can change them. And it’s partly my fault anyway. I was distracted too. I could have predicted what Oscar was about to do if I’d been watching him instead of something else.”

“Did you see that near accident too? I thought for sure that SUV was going to plow into the garbage truck.”

He makes a wordless humming sound I take for affirmation as we turn toward the coffee shop a few storefronts down the block. When we get to the door, I ask, “Would you mind standing out here with him for a minute so I can run in and get you your coffee?”

---