Page 3 of Trip Me Up

I couldn’t escape my name, not here in San Francisco. But someday—a year from now, if I could turn around my dissertation project—I’d be able to break out. I’d find a research professorship somewhere far away in the middle of the country where Mother wouldn’t go. South Dakota or Iowa or even Arkansas. It didn’t matter to me where, as long as it didn’t have any designer boutiques or donors. All I needed was a computer lab and an apartment big enough for me and—

“Bilbo Baggins,” I hissed again, low. With his giant ears, he should’ve been able to hear me even under the noisy luncheoneers.

“Look, we’ll divide up and search. You cover this half of the room, and I’ll check over by the buffet table.”

“What if he ran outside?” There were foxes and hawks, maybe even coyotes, in the surrounding park.

“That dog would never leave you, Samwise. He just went looking for a snack. We’ll find him.”

The inside of my nose burned a little as I reached out and squeezed Jackson’s arm. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is much more entertaining than talking to stuffy literary types. Hey, remember how we used to hunt for gnomes in that game we made together?”

“Gnome Dome? That was years ago.” Ancient history. “And Bilbo Baggins is a lot trickier than the gnomes we programmed.”

“He’s pretty predictable around snacks.” He winked before heading across to the buffet.

I turned back toward the hors d’oeuvres tables. He had to be over there, begging for a treat. I scanned the floor. No sign of his black fur.

A laugh, rich and deep, caught my attention. It wasn’t the polite chuckle people used to signal their usually-false amusement at these things. It was pure and unrestrained. And loud. I glanced over to see who’d violated the social contract.

He was big and…and glowing, like he was on fire on the inside. His hair was the same color the sky had been during the wildfires last summer, a deep russet. Golden freckles coated his skin. He had the physique of someone who played one of those sports where you carry a ball on a field, broad across the shoulders and tapered below. Someone who’d look more natural in a fur-lined cloak and gripping an ax than wearing a charcoal-gray suit and holding a—

“Bilbo Baggins!” I skidded to a stop in front of the Viking.

“Excuse me?” With one oversized, freckled hand, he cuddled Bilbo Baggins closer against his chest. He walloped me with a pair of blue eyes. No. They were green. Flecks of gold lit them like sparks. His lashes were red. Was there a Norse god of flame? Because this guy was a bonfire, toasty warm but also popping with danger.

I checked right and left before I edged closer. More softly, I said, “That’s my dog. Bilbo Baggins.”

“This guy, here?” He looked down into Bilbo Baggins’ bulging brown eyes. Bilbo Baggins flicked out his pink tongue to lick the man’s clean-shaven chin, then squirmed in his grip. “He looks more like Toto than a Hobbit.”

I couldn’t arch an eyebrow like Natalie could, but I raised both of mine. “And does that make you the Wicked Witch of the West, kidnapping my dog?” Movie references, I could do. This guy looked more like a linebacker than a librarian; if we stayed in the shallow water, I wouldn’t have to betray my literary ignorance.

A smile spread like honey across his face. “Kidnapping? More like safekeeping. It appears that Bilbo Baggins was ready for a quest. Bringing the excitement to his humdrum life.”

“Excitement is overrated.” My stomach hollowed. I couldn’t even meet Bilbo Baggins’ eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have brought him. It’s just that—” I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t tell this stranger I needed my tiny dog to fend off the emotions that threatened me here.

“Hey, hey.” He waited until I looked up again. “It’s okay. He’s safe now. See? I’ve got him.” Bilbo Baggins sighed and pressed into his chest.

I wished I could’ve snuggled up to him, too.

The man chuckled. “Sure, there’s plenty of room for you both.”

“Shit, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“‘No legacy is so rich as honesty.’” He glanced around the room. “Though you couldn’t tell that from this crowd.”

I tilted my head to the side. “That sounds like Benjamin Franklin.”

“Shakespeare, actually.”

“Oh.” Despite his appearance, despite his assessment of the fundraiser attendees, he was one of the literary types. “I’ll take Bilbo Baggins back now.”

His red eyebrows crunched together, but he extended Bilbo Baggins toward me, and my dog swam his tiny, fluffy feet right into my arms. I snuggled him close against my chest. Too close, I discovered when he let out a belch.

“You didn’t happen to feed him cheese, did you?”

The Viking uncurled his other hand and showed me a crumpled napkin holding a single orange cube. “Just one or two pieces.”

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