Page 61 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Animal therapy?" Lennox reads over my shoulder. "What kind of date is this?"

"I have no idea." I type back a quick reply:Ready when you are. Animal therapy??

His response comes immediately:All shall be revealed. Prepare to be amazed.

"He's unpredictable," I say, but I can't help smiling.

"And you're into it," Lennox observes.

I don't bother denying it this time. Instead, I slip on a forest green sweater and apply a final touch of lip gloss.

"How do I look?" I ask, turning to Lennox.

"Like someone who's 'adequately interested' in her non-date," she teases. "You look beautiful, Han. He won't know what hit him."

My stomach flutters with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. What am I doing? A week ago, I was convinced that getting involved with Sanderson was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Now I'm primping for another freaking date like a lovesick teenager.

"It's just one date," I remind myself aloud.

"Extended social interaction," Lennox corrects, mimicking my voice.

"I regret ever telling you anything."

"No, you don't." She pulls me into a quick hug. "Have fun tonight. And text me if you need an emergency extraction."

"That won't be necessary," I say, though I appreciate the offer. She gives me knowing eyes.

My phone buzzes again:Outside whenever you're ready. No rush.

"He's here," I say, grabbing my purse. "How's my hair?"

"Perfect. Go." Lennox practically pushes me toward the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That leaves a disturbing amount of options open," I call over my shoulder.

I take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, my heartbeat quickening with each step. When I push open the door to the parking lot, I spot Sanderson leaning against his car, looking unfairly attractive in dark jeans and a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He straightens when he sees me, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Hey."

"Hi," I reply, suddenly shy. "So, animal therapy?"

"You'll see." He opens the passenger door for me. "Trust me?"

I hesitate for a dramatic second. "I suppose I have no choice."

"That's the spirit." He waits until I'm settled before closing the door and walking around to the driver's side.

As we pull out of the parking lot, I notice a small cooler in the back seat. "More ice cream?"

"Not this time," he says, eyes on the road. "Just some essentials for our destination."

"Which is?"

"A surprise."

I roll my eyes. "You and your surprises."

"You liked the last one," he points out.

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