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I tried to focus on the romantic comedy playing on screen, but every small sound from outside—a car door, footsteps on the sidewalk, the neighbor's dog barking—made my pulse quicken.

At ten-thirty, I double-checked the locks on both my front door and the sliding glass door to my tiny balcony. For good measure, I wedged a chair under the front door handle, something I'd seen in movies but never thought I'd do.

I turn the lights off and make my way through the darkness to my bathroom and brush my teeth with thoughts of Royal in my head.

“He was very attractive,” I mutter to myself as I spit toothpaste into the sink. “And unavailable,” I reminded myself as I turned the light off.

I turn down the blankets and slip between the sheets. Sleep came fitfully, interrupted by dreams of leather jackets and too-knowing smiles.

Chapter 2

Ryker O’Toole

Disguises are my specialty, but obsession is a new affliction. I adjusted the fake glasses on my nose and watched Lily Andrews sort through a stack of children’s books at the corner table of Vancouver Public Library.

“You’re getting sloppy,” Royal muttered at my side, pretending to browse a photography book. “This is the third time this week.”

I ignored him, keeping my gaze fixed on the young woman with blonde hair twisted into a messy bun. We’d been assigned to keep an eye on her, nothing more, but ever since that chance encounter at Marie’s coffee shop six days ago, I’d volunteered for every surveillance shift.

“She’s to be watched, not a crush,” Royal continued in a low voice. “Declan wouldn’t approve of your extracurricular observations.”

“Declan didn’t specify what detail he wanted. So, I’m improvising,” I replied, tugging at the tweed jacket that completed today’s professor ensemble. Yesterday I’d been a bearded hipster, and the day before a businessman with slicked-back hair.

I remembered our first meeting—how she’d turned from the counter with her vanilla latte, a ring of glitter glue shimmering around her lips like some bizarre cosmetic experiment. She’d caught me staring and laughed.

I had her blushing with my heated gaze running over her form, and I wonder if I could do it again as a professor. I watched as she gathered her books and headed for the exit. “Gotta go.” I closed my unread biography and pushed myself to my feet.

“Don’t,” Royal warned, but I was already standing.

“I’ll meet you back at the hotel,” I said over my shoulder. I started trailing her at a careful distance as she pushed through the library’s heavy doors into the drizzling afternoon.

She walked eight blocks to Happy Tails Animal Shelter, never noticing the man in sunglasses, that’s me, following her. Inside, I hung back, pretending to inquire about adoptions while Lily greeted the staff like old friends. They led her to a room in the back where kennels lined the walls.

One by one, she opened the cages and sat cross-legged on the floor as dogs of various sizes settled around her. Then she opened a book and began to read aloud, her voice animated and warm. The dogs watched her, some with heads tilted, others curled beside her, all attentive to the story of a lost puppy finding his way home.

I stood transfixed in the doorway, forgetting for a moment why I was in Vancouver at all, forgetting that Lily Andrews was merely a surveillance assignment. At that moment, watching her surrounded by strays, reading with the same enthusiasm she must show her students, I realized I was in dangerous territory, the kind no disguise could protect me from.

Something warm expanded in my chest as I watched her. Nothing was said that she volunteered at an animal shelter, reading stories to abandoned dogs with voices for each character.

"Are you interested in our reading program?" A cheerful voice startled me from my trance. A shelter worker with a name tag reading "Mei" smiled up at me.

"Actually, yes," I heard myself say before my brain caught up. "It looks... therapeutic."

Mei beamed. "It absolutely is! The dogs love the human connection, and studies show it helps them become more adoptable. Lily's our star volunteer—the kids from her kindergarten class made those bandanas the dogs are wearing."

I glanced back at the room. Sure enough, each dog sported a brightly painted bandana with childish handprints and wobbly letters.

"We're always looking for more volunteers," Mei continued. "Especially male readers—the dogs respond well to deeper voices."

An opportunity was presenting itself—one Royal and Declan would definitely disapprove of. But something about Lily Andrews' reading to rescue dogs made me want to know more about her beyond the surveillance photos and background checks.

"I'd like to sign up," I said, removing my fake glasses and pocketing them. "I'm only in town for a few weeks, but I'd love to help."

As Mei led me to the registration desk, I caught Lily's eye through the doorway. She paused mid-sentence, her storymomentarily forgotten as she smiled at me, not the wary smile of someone being watched, but the open, genuine smile of someone welcoming a fellow book lover into their world.

For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something beyond the job. Something real. Something hopeful.

And then I panicked.