Page 37 of Dante

As we enter the park, letters engraved into the stone spell out Merchants’ Gate. And true to the sign, several merchants line the first part of the pathway leading into the park.

Dante approaches a table offering red-and-white striped knit caps and matching mittens. He hands the merchant some cash and passes them to me.

“Take these. They’ll keep you warm.”

I put them on, grateful for protection against the chill. Though we promenade like those old-fashioned couples you see in vintage photographs, I don’t imagine we look much like a couple.

I look like a bag lady in Dante’s oversized coat and my red-and-white knitted cap.

“That’s Tavern on the Green,” Dante says, pointing to a restaurant.

“I think I’ve heard it mentioned in a song,” I tell him with a nod. “Have you eaten there?”

“I have. Tourist trap.” He shakes his head, leading me forward.

We’re only a few feet down the path when an adorable puppy waddles over to me, rubbing his face against the legs of my jeans. He’s wearing an expensive pink collar, and his fur looks like it’s recently been brushed.

“Hey, boy,” I say, leaning down to pick him up.

He’s sleek and black and warm against my body. As I hug him, he puts his tiny paws on my shoulders.

“Don’t touch him like that. He’s dirty,” says Dante.

“Not true. He looks like he just got back from the groomer. Look at this soft, gleaming fur,” I say, bouncing him like an infant.

“Put him down, Gina,” Dante says in a low, calm voice, barely above a whisper.

“He’s lost,” I insist. “I’m going to find his owner. He’s probably nearby.”

I look around for a human calling for their dog. But it’s a cold day and few people are in the park aside from joggers and bicyclists. Then I look back at the restaurant Dante mentioned across the street.

“I bet his owners are in that restaurant, having lunch. I’ll just be a minute,” I say, walking toward Tavern on the Green.

Dante calls my name, but I don’t turn back. I don’t want to defy him, but I can’t let this puppy wander alone. Just a moment later, a middle-aged couple rushes toward me.

“Buster!” they say, taking the dog from my arms.

I watch the happy reunion for a moment before I turn back.

“Wait, young lady,” says the man, reaching into his pocket. “Can I give you a reward?”

I wave him off. “Thanks. Just keep a closer eye on that puppy. He’s adorable.”

I smile at Dante in triumph as I return to him in the park.

“Well, satisfied?” he asks.

“Yes. I’m glad the couple got their puppy back. He was a cutie, wasn’t he?”

Dante has no response.

“Dante, I can already tell I’m going to be lonely at home all day without you. I was never allowed to have a dog as a kid. Can we get one from the pound? I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Dante remains silent.

“It’d be a small one. We could walk in the park together. It wouldn’t bother you. I’ll keep it in my room.”

“Absolutely not,” he finally says. “I have no patience for dogs.” Then he turns and chucks me under the chin. “I barely have patience for you.”