anymore. Much to her humiliation, she now had the lovely task of standing in Times Square in her reindeer costume two hours a day to hand out flyers to tourists to encourage them to go to the annual Rockettes Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
For the past four years, she’d been living her dream. She’d high-kicked her way through the last four Christmases—three shows a day for five weeks straight. Twice, she’d even traveled overseas with the Rockettes to perform in their USO tour. And now she’d been relegated to Times Square. She might as well put on an Elmo costume and a Santa hat and call it a day.
The worst part about being demoted wasn’t the humiliation, nor was it the drastically reduced paycheck. Although she was going to have to do something about the latter really soon.
More troubling than either her dwindling bank account or her shame at the 50,000-plus YouTube views of her Thanksgiving Day toy soldier mishap was the prospect of telling her family she was no longer dancing. The Wildes weren’t a scary bunch. Quite the opposite, actually. They were loving and supportive, especially Chloe’s mother, Emily, who’d started the Wilde School of Dance over forty years ago and still taught nearly every day.
As much as Chloe hated to admit it, she’d taken advantage of all that family devotion. She’d used her busy rehearsal schedule as an excuse to miss nearly all the weekly dinners at the Wilde brownstone for the past few years. Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas, she’d been too busy performing at the parade or at Radio City to be a part of the family holiday celebrations. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d set foot in the dance school.
Her brother and sister liked to joke about it, calling her the ghost of Christmas past, but her mom never complained. No one had, even though Chloe knew she could have made more of an effort. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t her dad’s sudden death from a heart attack taught her not to take family for granted?
She was a horrible person. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell the Wildes the truth. No wonder fate had thrown a puppy thief into her path. She deserved this, didn’t she?
Her gaze slid toward the dog’s scruffy little face and her tiny button nose. So adorable. Somehow her cuteness seemed magnified in the arms of Chloe’s strapping rival.
She felt her chin start to wobble.
Stay strong.
The only thing that would make this episode more upsetting would be if she broke down and cried.
“Were you telling the truth just now? Have you actually visited this dog every day for the past twelve days?”
She peered up at the man and squared her shoulders. “Yes. Did you think I was lying?”
Chloe would never lie to the adoption counselor’s face like that. Lies of omission were apparently her thing, specifically lying by omission to her own flesh and blood.
He sighed and said nothing in response.
Chloe’s heart gave a little zing. Was he beginning to crack?
“I already bought her a dog bed,” Chloe said. “It’s red-and-white-striped, like a candy cane.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else from a woman dressed as Rudolph.” His frown stayed firmly in place, but Chloe thought she spotted a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
He was either about to give in and let her have the puppy, or he was flirting with her in order to get her to throw in the towel. For a second, Chloe wasn’t sure which scenario she preferred.
She blinked.
Had she lost her mind? She wasn’t going to let a few kind words and an eye twinkle crack her composure. Even if the eye twinkle was just shy of a full-on smolder.
That puppy was hers.
“Nice try,” she said tartly. “But I’m not here to play games.”
“No reindeer games.” He gave her a solemn nod. “Got it.”
The man was hardly playing fair, damn him.
“Good,” she said.
Then she looked away, lest he see the smile on her face.
An awkward silence fell between them, punctuated every so often by the bells on Chloe’s costume. She tried her best to keep her gaze focused on the countertop and the adoption papers she’d filled out in careful handwriting the night before. But the puppy started making cute little whimpering noises, and she couldn’t help it. She had to look.
The tiny dog was gnawing on the handsome man’s thumb, which would have been completely adorable if he’d been paying any attention whatsoever to the animal. He wasn’t, though. His brow was furrowed, and he was staring into space, distracted.
Chloe rolled her eyes. He was probably thinking about the stock market or suing someone or the recent demise of pinstripes. “Why do you want this dog, anyway? You don’t really seem like the Yorkie type.”
He glanced at the dog and then at her. “What type do I seem like?”
A golden retriever, maybe. Or an Irish setter. A classic sort of dog that would look good curled in front of a fireplace or with its head sticking out of a town car.
“I haven’t given it any thought,” she lied.
He peered at her for a long, loaded moment, as if he could see inside her head. Finally, he said, “The puppy is an early Christmas gift.”
“A Christmas gift?” Chloe blinked in indignation. “Do the people here at the shelter know that? Pets are living creatures. You can’t just give them away as presents. That’s the height of irresponsibility.”
He shifted the puppy to his other arm, farther away from her. “Rest assured, the shelter staff knows. I’m taking full responsibility for the dog.”
“So...what, then? She’s a gift for your wife?” Chloe’s gaze flitted to his left hand.
No ring.
“No wife,” he said. Then he frowned, as if his bachelorhood was a surprise. Or a problem that needed to be fixed.
Chloe’s face went hot for reasons she didn’t care to contemplate.
She took a deep breath. Action was required. If she didn’t stop thinking about this mysterious man’s relationship status and do something, she’d be going home to an empty apartment, complete with an empty candy cane–striped dog bed.
Her own bed would be empty, too, but that was fine. Preferable, actually. Although why she was suddenly thinking about the unoccupied half of her antique sleigh bed was a mystery.
Sure it is.
She took another glance at the puppy thief holding her Yorkie mix and melted a little bit. The two of them looked like they belonged on that Instagram account her dancer friends were always going on about—Hot Men and Mutts.
She swallowed. “Look, is
