they'll write a story of the lives we lived

Vic had discovered, somewhere around Finn’s 18th attempt to eat a pigeon whole, that owning a dog meant making peace with chaos. Not embracing it - she wasn’t one of those weirdos who insisted that every disaster was just “part of the adventure” - but accepting that part of her evening would be spent apologising to a stranger because her lanky goblin of a dog had decided that their toddler’s bubble wand was public property.

London’s parks were chock-full of dogs with issues. Separation anxiety, ball obsession, prey drive, Napoleon complexes packed into Yorkies that weighed about the same as Vic’s tattoo machine.

Finn, somehow, had all of them. And the tragic part? She only had herself to blame.

Counter surfing? Her fault.

Stealing socks? Also her fault.

The unfortunate belief that every ball in the greater London area existed solely for his own personal enjoyment? Definitely her fucking fault.

Passing through the gate to their local park, Vic glanced down at the lurcher prancing happily alongside her, all long legs and oversized ears with not a single thought between them.

“You’ve been suspiciously well behaved for…” she checked the time on her phone, “six minutes.”

Finn looked up at her, tail wagging vigorously.

“Don’t give me that face. You’re up to something.”

He gave her the face anyway.

Vic sighed.

She loved him, unfortunately.

As if Finn needed any encouragement, the recent heatwave hadn’t helped.

It had been clinging to London for the better part of a week now, the heat sitting over the city like a held breath that nobody could release. Not still, not quite moving either – just shimmering at the edges of everything.

Thirty-odd degrees didn’t seem bad in theory, but London didn’t really negotiate with warmth. It just tried its best to survive.

Overnight, buses turned into ovens. The Tube had somehow been rerouted into one of the circles of Hell, and every Nigel Farage devotee seemed to crawl out from whichever Wetherspoons they’d been fermenting in, red-faced thanks to sunburn, lukewarm lager, and whatever the Daily Mail had told them to be angry about before breakfast.

Finn had taken it as an invitation to become even more unhinged, much to the detriment of Vic’s blood pressure.

She hadn’t taken him for a proper long walk since the heatwave started. She wasn’t an idiot. You didn’t drag a dog across baking pavements unless you fancied carrying a panicked, overheated dog to the nearest emergency vet.

Instead, his days had settled into a routine that, frankly, most dogs would have killed for. For the past week, he’d been sprawled out across the original Victorian tile floor of Blank Canvas Tattoo, directly beneath the industrial fan Vic had commandeered on Monday and hadn’t moved since. Clients slipped him treats whenever they thought she wasn’t paying attention. Daryl and Zara – her best friends and the co-owners of the shop – fussed over him constantly between their appointments. Every couple of hours, Vic topped up his water bowl with fresh water before reminding him in no uncertain terms that he was a spoiled little bastard.

It didn’t take long before Finn had accepted his new lifestyle as his birthright.

The trouble was that sleeping through most of the day meant by 7pm, he had all the energy in the world. Vic, meanwhile, had none.   

Thankfully, the evening had begun to take the edge off the heat.

Not enough to make the city comfortable, but enough to coax people from their overheated flats and stuffy office with the promise of air that actually moved. The park had filled with its usual cast of characters: kids burning off the last scraps of energy before bedtime, cyclists weaving lazily along the paths, dog walkers swapping heatwave survival tips while their charges played at their feet, and couples stretched out on the grass, pretending not to notice how their picnic blankets were gradually accumulating sweat.

Vic preferred the park at this time of day. People weren’t trying to get anywhere, they were just content to exist for a little while before tomorrow arrived. It was the closest London ever came to relaxing.

And for now, at least, Finn seemed content to amble alongside her, nose glued to the grass as he conducted what Vic had come to know as The Evening Inspection. Every tree, bench leg and discarded crisp packet demanded the same painstaking investigation.

Maybe, Vic thought, they were actually going to get through one walk without incident. She loosened her grip on the lead.

“Ay, come on, Jana!”

The voice cut across the grass, bright and sharp, half-laughing around a groan.

Finn’s head snapped up so fast Vic felt the lead jerk in her hand, her fingers tightening around it just as quickly.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she warned pointlessly, following his line of sight to the source of the sound.

About fifteen yards away, three women were knocking a football between them.

Vic almost didn’t bother looking properly. London parks were full of people messing around, pretending they’d meant to exercise all along. She was already turning away when Finn let out a low whine.

“Nope, absolutely not,” she grumbed. Still, her eyes drifted back towards the group.

The first thing she noticed was the woman with tattooed arms, dark hair twisted into a messy bun, who looked as though causing minor inconveniences for her friends was a favourite hobby. Not maliciously, just enough to make everyone around her sigh but smile while shaking their head. Vic’s eyes caught on the script scrawled across her throat.

Looks can be deceiving.

Vic smirked as she mentally filed her away as ‘Trouble.’

Beside her, the youngest of the three – dark haired too, her ponytail bouncing as she ran – was paying the price, chasing down awkward passes with the kind of fond exasperation found in someone who’d been stitched up like this a hundred times before. There was a bit of a sharper edge to her too, though, the kind of confidence that suggested she could give as good as she got. As if to prove Vic’s theory correct, she picked up her nearby water bottle and sprayed the front of Trouble’s shirt.

‘Mischief’ then.

The third…

Vic almost overlooked her.

Light brown hair pulled back out of her face by a thin headband, her training top sleeves shoved up and tucked beneath the straps of her sports bra, she seemed to drift around the edge of their little triangle absent-mindedly.

The Quiet One.

Then Vic realised she wasn’t drifting at all. She was always exactly where the ball was about to be. Not after it, just a fraction before it. Every touch was quiet, effortless. The ball barely seemed to spend any time at her feet before it was gone again, rolling neatly into space.

“Huh.” The word slipped out before Vic realised she’d said it. Shaking her head, she turned back to the path, tugging lightly on Finn’s lead. “Come on, lit-“

“Fuck!”

Vic’s words died in her throat.

Mischief took a heavy touch, sending the ball skimming across the grass and directly towards a father and daughter on their bikes. She groaned as Trouble laughed, patting her on the head and messing up her neatly done hair. The Quiet One didn’t even look concerned. In fact, she grinned as she ran after it. Vic watched as she reached the ball before it made contact with the small girl’s bike then, without even lifting her head, sent it back with a slick back heel.

Vic blinked.

“Whoa!” the little girl exclaimed, twisting over her shoulder to follow the path of the football before immediately crashing into a bench.  

The corner of Vic’s mouth twitched. ‘You’re definitely going to hell,’ she thought, suppressing a laugh.

The woman’s grin vanished.

“Are you okay?” she called, already jogging over as the girl’s dad hurriedly swung off his bike a few yards back.

The girl looked more surprised than hurt, blinking up at her while rubbing at her grazed knee. “Yeah.”

“Good.” The woman crouched slightly, offering her a hand up and helping her back to her feet. “Maybe next time we don’t watch the ball and ride at the same time, sí?”

The girl ducked her head, cheeks pink, and nodded. Her dad finally caught up, slightly out of breath.

“Jesus suffering, Hayley! You have to watch where you’re going,” he said, giving his daughter – Hayley - a quick once-over before looking back at the good Samaritan, sighing in relief. “Thank you.”

“No pasa nada.” She waved him off. Catching an odd look in his eyes, she repeated herself in accented English. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

The man’s gaze lingered for a moment. “I’m sorry, this is going to sound really odd, but do I know you from somewhere?”

She stiffened slightly before smiling in a way that suggested she’d heard that question before. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Right.” He scratched the back of his neck, a little flushed. “Sorry, you just looked kind of familiar.”

“It happens.”

“Come on, love. Let’s let the nice lady get back to her game.” Hayley’s dad gave the stranger one last apologetic smile then helped his daughter back onto her bike, adjusting and readjusting her helmet before climbing onto his own, the pair of them soon disappearing into the evening crowd.

Vic watched them leave then followed as the woman headed back towards her friends who were already taking turns juggling the ball amongst themselves. As she walked, she hooked her fingers beneath the hem of her top and lifted it briefly, pressing the fabric against her neck to catch the sweat that had gathered there.

It lasted for barely more than a few seconds. It was a completely normal thing to do after running around in thirty-degree heat. Except Vic was a tattoo artist, and her brain was apparently incapable of seeing exposed skin without immediately cataloguing every piece of work on it.

A flash of black ink curving around her ribs, edges of outlines scattered across her back and disappearing beneath the edge of her sports bra. The shirt dropped back down before Vic could properly make out any details but, still, she caught the shapes, the flow, the way the lines followed the contours of her body.

Occupational hazard, she reasoned.

A tug on the lead brought Vic’s attention back to the menace at her feet. Finn was stood ramrod straight which, somehow, was the most concerning version of him. A still Finn was never a calm Finn. Calm Finn was like a unicorn – entirely mythical but some people (i.e. Vic) still clung on to the hope that it might exist somewhere. This Finn was laser focused on the scene in front of him. Or, more specifically, the ball that was now bouncing between the three women in what had turned into a very convoluted looking keepy-uppy contest.

“Don’t,” she warned, narrowing her eyes. His tail gave one solid thump against her thigh. With a sigh, she gave his side a pat and started walking, determined to not look back at the three women and the football that had apparently become the single most important thing in London according to her idiot dog.

They made it about ten yards which, honestly, was better than Vic expected.

Then disaster struck.

First came a chorus of laughter then some offended yelling that made her glance over her shoulder despite herself.

The three women had stopped whatever game they’d been playing, the ball nowhere to be seen. Trouble was standing with her hands on her hips, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Mischief was openly laughing at her. “What’s wrong, Mapi? Can’t keep up?”

Finally, a name. Mapi.

Mapi pointed accusingly at Mischief. “You cheated!”

“I didn’t,” Mischief insisted, utterly unrepentant.

“You absolutely did.”

“You weren’t paying attention, I just took advantage.”

“That is cheating.”

“That, my friend, is football.”

Mapi stared. “The rules still apply when you’re losing, Jana.”

Jana. Another name filed away.

Mapi turned to the third member of their little trio who had made precisely zero attempt to intervene and instead seemed perfectly content to watch the whole exchange unfold with a smirk.

“Ale, tell her.”

The woman in the headband – Ale, apparently - glanced between them, lips twitching as though she was fighting a smile.

“You should know better than to leave your legs open,” she said eventually.

Jana snorted.

Mapi gasped. “Et tu, Alexia?”  

Alexia.

Vic rolled the name around in her head for a second, quietly matching it to the stranger she’d just spent the better part of five minutes calling ‘The Quiet One.’

In hindsight, that one seemed like a spectacular misread. Sure, she might not have understood whatever Alexia had said, but she didn’t need to. The tone; the amused little smile; the way Jana immediately started laughing; the way Mapi looked betrayed while clearly enjoying every second of it. It told her all she needed to know.

Alexia held up both hands innocently. “What? I’m just saying what happened!”

“Where’s the support, capi?”

“I am supporting you. And you know you can stop calling me that, I’m not your captain anymore.”

“Yet,” Jana blurted out, pretending to cover it up with a cough.

“You’re laughing at me.” Mapi pointed an accusatory finger at Alexia which set off Jana’s giggles again. “See?! Look what you’ve done now!”

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” Alexia protested, slightly incredulous.

“You encouraged her.”

“Jana’s ridiculousness needs no encouragement.”

“I absolutely don’t.” Jana agreed cheerfully. “Now, you know the rule – whoever gets nutmegged, gets the ball.”

Mapi groaned, looking at the grinning faces of her friends before shaking her head with a smile and reluctantly heading over to where the ball lay in the grass.  

It was the word ‘ball’ that did it.

At least, that’s what Vic would say if later asked.

“Finn – no.”

Too late.

He didn’t even glance backwards as he exploded into a sprint.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

The lead hissed through her fingers before she could catch it.

Just as Mapi bent to scoop the ball up, a long grey blur shot between her legs.

“Hey!”

Finn plucked the ball cleanly from the grass, wheeled away without breaking stride and kept running. A faint hiss escaped through fresh puncture marks.

Vic stopped walking.

Closed her eyes.

Counted to three.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Finn finally skidded to a stop several yards in front of Jana and Alexia, dropping into an exaggerated play bow with the ball clamped securely in his mouth, tail wagging hard enough to shake his entire back end.

They stared at him for a beat.

Then, in the distance, Mapi started clapping.

“Brava!”

Vic stopped dead.

Experience had taught her that there were several reactions that one could expect in the aftermath of gremlin-committed theft.

Irritation, probably.

Confusion, definitely.

Applause, however, was entirely unexpected.  

“You’re actually applauding him?” Jana asked as Mapi approached.

“Of course!” Mapi gestured towards Finn, who was still standing proudly with the ball between his teeth. “He’s got a good eye for the ball – high work rate, aggressive press, elite movement. That’s a forward right there. Do you think Michele would offer him a contract?”

Alexia snorted before she could stop herself.

“Hmmm.” She tilted her head, watching as Finn tossed the ball into the air before jumping up and catching it again. “He’s decent in the air too.”

Finn, seemingly aware that he was being scouted, repeated the trick.

Alexia continued. “Hey, Jana, do you have a jersey in your bag? He looks about your size.”

“Very funny.” Jana flushed a little, giving Alexia a gentle shove while Mapi patted her on the head, messing up what had been a perfectly slicked back ponytail. “Oh, fuck off.”

Vic watched the exchange in slight disbelief.

Not because of the football, because that part was very believable.

The strange part was that they were laughing.

Most people’s reaction to Finn was usually a very specific combination of amusement and judgement. They’d laugh when he did something ridiculous then the look would come. The sigh. The raised eyebrow. The not-so-subtle glance in Vic’s direction that said are you going to do something about your dog?

As if she didn’t know. As if she hadn’t spent years trying to convince him that not every moving object was an invitation and not every stranger was his new best pal. People saw the chaos. They didn’t see the dog who curled up beside nervous clients at the tattoo shop, or the one who seemed to know exactly when she’d had a shitty day and needed a little extra affection.

But these three women didn’t know any of that. They’d known him all of thirty seconds and somehow they’d already decided he was brilliant instead of a walking liability.

A small warmth settled somewhere in Vic’s chest as she stepped forward to collect her idiot.

“Finn, leave it.”

Finn looked up from the ball but made no move to relinquish it.

Mapi turned with a wide grin. “Oh, you’re his owner?!” she asked excitedly.

“Guilty as charged,” Vic sighed.

“Does he do that –“ Jana nodded towards Finn, who was throwing the ball over his own head before excitedly pouncing on it, much to Mapi’s delight. “- a lot?”

Vic looked down at him.

Finn looked back.

For one glorious second, she thought maybe she was getting through to him.

Then he calmly, very deliberately, placed one paw on top of the ball.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Unfortunately.”

Vic ran one hand through her dark hair while the other dug around in the pockets of her trousers for a treat.

“Finn.” One ear twitched. Progress. She held out half of a gravy bone, shaking it in his direction. “C’mere, buddy, what’s this, eh?”

He considered the biscuit for all of a second before unceremoniously picking up the ball and darting right past her as she attempted to grab his lead.

“See, he’s good at avoiding tackles,” Mapi quietly pointed out to no one in particular.

“Maybe it was the fluff that put him off?” Jana suggested quietly, gesturing at the treat still clenched in Vic’s hand. On closer inspection, Vic had to concede that she may have a point; there was a strand of thread and some other unidentifiable pocket fluff clinging onto the biscuit’s rough surface.

Blushing a little, she brushed the debris off and tucked the treat back into her pocket. “Eh, yeah, fair point.”

Vic turned her attention to the three women who were watching as Finn paraded their now deflated ball around like the FA Cup. Mapi seemed utterly enthralled as she commentated his every move to an amused Jana. Off to one side stood Alexia, her face relaxed, her eyes unreadable in a way that made Vic’s stomach twist.

“Look,” began Vic, effectively snapping their attention away from the scene before them. “I’m really sorry about your ball and, well, him. I’ll obviously replace it although I actually don’t know any of you or how I’d get it to you. Oh, wait, I think I had a tenner in here somewhere…”

“It’s okay,” Alexia said softly, making Vic pause with her hand still halfway inside the pocket she’d unearthed the biscuit from. “It’s just a ball.”

Vic looked up.

And, unfortunately, that the was the exact moment her brain decided to recalibrate.

Up close, Alexia was different.

From a distance, Vic had been able to store her away into a neat little folder labelled ‘The Quiet One.’ Calm. Composed. The one responsible for keeping her two chaotic friends from setting each other on fire.

Except that wasn’t really it.

She’d been the first one there when the little girl had fallen off of her bike, speaking with a kind of effortless gentleness that couldn’t be faked. She’d barely said a dozen words all evening yet every single one had made the other two laugh. Even in a language Vic didn’t understand, she knew what it boiled down to.

It wasn’t quietness.

It was confidence.

That sort that didn’t need to prove itself.

Which, frankly, would’ve been entirely manageable if Alexia hadn’t turned out to be really fucking gorgeous.

Not in the obvious, overly polished way of someone who looked like they’d been born for a billboard campaign. Although, if someone had told Vic Alexia had been, she wouldn’t have questioned it. There was something softer about her up close. The kind of face that changed depending on whether she was concentrating or laughing. The kind of smile that seemed to appear before she’d even decide whether something was funny or not.

And her eyes –

Nope.

Absolutely not.

Vic mentally grabbed herself by the shoulders.

‘Get a grip,’ she told herself. ‘You’re a grown woman with a successful business. You pay taxes. You once made your bastard landlord cry over a window frame. You do not get distracted by pretty strangers.’

Except this wasn’t just a stranger.

This was a stranger who had just witnessed her dog commit football-based larceny and was somehow being nice about it instead of hurling abuse at her.

A stranger who just so happened to have the sort of face that made Vic understand why people walk into lampposts while looking at their phones.

The worst part was that Alexia didn’t seem to be trying.

There was no knowing smile; no indication that she had any idea Vic was currently having a minor internal meltdown over a woman she’d met approximately three minutes ago.

Honestly, that’d have been easier.

Vic knew how to deal with arrogance. She’d long since learned how to handle someone who assumed they were the most important, most attractive person in the room and come out the other side unscathed. Tattooing had given her years of practice. There was a very specific type of person who would swagger into Blank Canvas convinced they were God’s gift, demanding a lion sleeve because they were an “alpha” before spending the next six hours trying not to cry every time the needle approached their elbow.

More often than not, it was men.

Kind, funny, effortlessly talented women with a jawline carved from marble and piercing brown – or were they hazel? – eyes that seemed like they could look right through you?

Far less familiar territory.

Alexia’s brow creased slightly.

“Everything is okay?”

“What?” Vic blinked.

Alexia tilted her head, studying her. “You are thinking very hard.”

Shit.

Vic’s brain restarted with all the grace of an old lawnmower.

“Right, yeah, sorry!” she blurted. “Still, I owe you all a ball.”

“Why?”

Vic stared at her. “Because my dog just murdered yours?”

The two of them glanced over at Finn, who was now blissfully parading around in a circle with the ball and his head held high.  

“He did not mean to.” Alexia said with the a small shrug.

“That is an incredibly generous interpretation of events.”

A small laugh escaped from Alexia before she could catch it.  

Vic felt something in her chest do an extremely inconvenient and mildly concerning little flip.

Which was ridiculous.

She was not a teenager.

She could handle a laugh.

Probably.

“Erm, I’m Vic, by the way,” she said, mostly because she needed to do something before her brain started making more observations she absolutely did not need.

Alexia tilted her head. “Vic?”

“Well…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Victoria, technically. Everyone just calls me Vic, though.”

“Victoria,” Alexia repeated carefully, her accent wrapping around the name.

Something about hearing her say it made Vic’s brain briefly stop functioning.

“Vic,” she corrected a little too quickly. “Definitely Vic.”

Alexia smiled slightly, as though she’d noticed the reaction but was kind enough not to mention it.

“I’m Alexia,” she said instead, holding her hand out for a handshake.

“Oh, I know.”

Silence.

‘Brilliant,’ Vic mentally kicked herself. ‘Absolutely fucking nailed that introduction.’

“I mean, not in a weird way or anything. Your friend said your name earlier. The tattooed one. Not that I was listening to your conversation, I just happened to hear it. Because I have ears. Obviously.” She noticed that Alexia was watching her with just a hint of amusement and stopped with a groan. “That made it even worse, didn’t it?”

“No, it is okay.”

“Okay?”

“You are nervous and a bit embarrassed.”

Vic scoffed a little even as a flush crept up her neck. “Pfft, I’m not nervous.”

Alexia looked pointedly at her. “You explained having ears.”

“You…” Vic began then realised that, yeah, she absolutely did. “You make an excellent point.”

They shared a laugh as Vic reached out her hand to shake Alexia’s.

“What I meant to say was: it’s nice to mee- what the fuck?”

Vic abruptly cut herself off as she watched Finn meander his way over to Jana and Mapi, stopping directly in front of the tattooed woman. He looked up, tail wagging, then with all the ceremony and solemnity of a knight presenting a sacred relic, he laid the completely deflated football at her feet, shuffling backwards and sat.

Vic stared in disbelief.

Jana looked between Finn and the ruined football.

Alexia raised an eyebrow.

Mapi simply looked… touched.

Then, very slowly as if she didn’t want to scare him off, Mapi crouched down.

“Oh.” Finn tilted his head. “You chose me?”

His tail gave a hopeful thump against the grass.

“He doesn’t do that,” stated Vic, almost in a whisper.

Mapi looked up. “Do what?”

“Give things back.”

All of them turned to the remains of the football sitting between them.

“I think he is sorry.” Mapi theorised.

“Finn doesn’t really do ‘sorry.’”

As if to prove her wrong, Finn leaned forward and gently nudged the ball slightly closer to Mapi who immediately scratched behind his ears as a reward. Vic watched in open disbelief as Finn practically liquefied under the attention. Her dog, who just two nights ago had stared her down from across the kitchen with her treasured Freddie Mercury vinyl in his mouth like it was a frisbee, now had the capacity for remorse. For a football.

“Unbelievable,” Vic mumbled.

“He has a good heart.” Jana cooed from where she’d knelt on the grass next to Finn who was now sprawled on his back while she and Mapi eagerly gave him belly rubs.

“He tried to eat a squirrel last month.”

Three heads snapped around the same time.

“… successfully?” Alexia asked, justifiably concerned.  

“No, thank God. It ran up that tree-“ Vic nodded towards an oak tree near the park’s entrance then continued – “so he tried to chase it and ended up going head-first into the trunk.”

“Oh.” The three women said together.

Mapi rubbed her hands over Finn’s ribcage until one of his back legs started kicking involuntarily.

“Ah-ha! There it is, there’s the spot!” she laughed triumphantly. Finn sighed with the contentment of a creature who had finally found someone capable of worshipping him correctly.

“Traitor,” said Vic, only half joking.

Mapi’s head snapped up all of a sudden. “Wait, can I have your number?”

Vic blinked. “Sorry?”

“Your number,” Mapi repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “For Finn.”

She pointed at him, his head resting on top of her Adidas trainers. “He is my friend now.”

“You’ve known him ten minutes,” Jana pointed out with a laugh.

“Ten very important minutes.” Mapi replied so sincerely that Vic couldn’t even make a joke.

“You want my number because of my dog?”

“Sí. I need updates.”

“I thought you were a cat person?” Jana asked.

“I am.”

Vic blinked. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news but he’s not a cat.”

“Obviously.”

“Then I’m confused.”

“He has cat energy.” Mapi shrugged as if it was obvious.

Vic, Jana and Alexia all stared at her. “He absolutely does not.”

“He does – independent, dramatic, think he owns everything.”

Vic opened her mouth to argue then realised that she couldn’t. She shook her head, but was smiling as she pulled her phone from her pocket and handed it over.

“Fine. But I need it on record that this is the weirdest reason anyone has ever asked for my number.”

Mapi typed quickly. “Done.”

Vic took her phone back and looked at the contact.

Mapi.

No surname or funny emoji.

Just Mapi.

“That’s it?” Vic asked, waving her phone. “Just Mapi?”

“Sí.”

“I don’t even get a surname?”

Mapi shrugged. “Like Beyoncé.”

“You cannot just decide you are Beyoncé,” Jana stated immediately.

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t Beyoncé. You’re Mapi.”

“Exactly.”

Vic looked at Alexia while Jana and Mapi bickered over whether Mapi had earned Beyoncé status.

“Does this happen often?”

“Every day.” Alexia didn’t even hesitate. It was clear from the resigned look in her eyes that she was very, very used to this.

Vic nodded, understanding. “Good to know I’ve met a completely normal group of people.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Alexia’s mouth.

“You have Finn.”

Vic glanced down to where Finn remained blissfully sprawled out on the grass, his eyelids fluttering closed despite the rapid Spanish being exchanged between Jana and Mapi.

She sighed.

“Yeah, I do.”

Vic gave the lead a gentle tug.

“Come on, you menace. Time to go home before you decide you’re moving in with her too.” Finn lifted his head, clearly considering whether this was a reasonable request. “Please don’t make me carry you. We both know I can’t.”

With a huff, he eventually stretched out his long legs before giving Mapi one final look

Mapi waved at him. “See you soon, my friend. I can’t wait to tell Ingrid about you.”

Vic shook her head, unable to stop herself from laughing as they started towards the path. “Yeah, yeah. See you soon.”

They’d barely made it a few steps when Vic felt eyes on her and glanced back.

Alexia was watching her.

For a second, Vic wondered if maybe she’d imagined it. The park was still relatively busy around them; kids shouting, dogs barking, cyclists passing by. There was no reason for Alexia to be looking specifically at her.

Except she was.

When their eyes met, neither of them moved.

Then Alexia smiled.

Not the amused smile she’d worn while Mapi declared herself Beyoncé. Not the polite smile she’d given other strangers in the park. Something altogether softer. Vic felt that ridiculous flip in her chest again and immediately decided her own body was becoming a problem.

Still, she smiled back, just for a second.

Then Finn, apparently deciding he had allowed enough emotional vulnerability for one evening, tugged impatiently on the lead.

“Ooft, fucking hell, pal.”

By the time she’d turned back around, Alexia was gone.

Vic turned back towards the path, firmly deciding that she was not going to think too hard about whatever that had been.

Which, naturally, meant she was going to think about it at least seventeen times before she got home.

A quiet evening walk.

That had been the plan.

Instead, her dog had stolen a football, made three new friends, and somehow gotten her someone’s phone number.