Thane stopped, Matty at his heels. She sat and looked up at him, adoration evident in every quiver of her sturdy body. From the top of the bridge over the Alhambra Creek, he scanned the entire waterfront. Plenty of people, strollers, joggers, bikers, dog walkers, but not one purple-coated pixie with a tricolored basset. So, did you come just to see her or to walk your dog, giving you both some needed exercise? Interior monologues could be so disgusting, so brutally honest. He struck off across the marsh at a good clip until Matty whined and pulled back on the leash. “Sorry, girl.” He waited while she did her business, not needing the plastic bag he kept in his pocket for cleanup, and headed back toward home. He didn’t bother to stop for a latte—somehow without her there to enjoy it with him, the coffeepot at home sounded just fine, or at least adequate. Halfway home, he dialed her number on his cell. “Blythe’s Graphics. Sorry I cannot…” Argh. How he hated answering machines.
