Hollywood Hills Collection. Lynne Marshall

did your first day go?’ Irma asked as Abi stepped onto the back porch. ‘Not quite what I expected,’ she replied. ‘But I’m sure it will be okay.’ She still needed time to process the day’s events. The Hills was different from what she was used to, very different, and even if she wasn’t sure that she would be suited to working there she suspected it would be interesting, albeit slightly more routine than the army. But perhaps that was just what she needed—ordinary and routine, excluding the odd cardiac arrest, of course.

      ‘I’ve made an extra-large pot of chilli beef. Would you like to eat with us tonight? You must be tired.’

      Abi was more than happy to be looked after by Irma. She knew her fridge was bare and dinner at her place was likely to be toast and maybe a packet soup. But more than the dinners it was the feeling that someone was interested in her and cared enough to make sure she was fed. She’d never experienced that on a regular basis. Growing up, her family life had been erratic, to say the least. Swings and roundabouts. Her mother had done her best at times but she really hadn’t coped with the real world and Abi didn’t remember her father. And army life, while she’d been looked after, she suspected was also very different to normal family life. George and Irma missed the company of their children and Abi enjoyed filling that void. It was nice to feel normal.

      ‘That sounds delicious. Have I got time to take Jonty for a quick walk first?’

      ‘Of course.’

      Above the garage George had added a bedroom, small bathroom and a kitchen/living area that opened out onto a deck that overlooked a small park. Jonty loved exploring the park but Abi avoided it once the sun had set. She needed milk for her morning coffee so she changed quickly into a pair of black exercise leggings, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a bright pink, puffy, padded, insulated vest. She wrapped an orange scarf around her neck, shoved her phone and some coins into her pocket and clipped Jonty’s lead to his collar. They’d make a quick dash to the mini-mart two blocks away. She let Jonty go to the toilet before they left as once he had his coat on he would know not to stop unless she directed him to. She fastened his coat around his body and headed out to the street.

      Jonty had been assigned to Abi on her return from Afghanistan, on her psychologist’s recommendation. According to Caroline, many of her patients who had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder found that an assistance dog brought enormous benefits, and Abi had to admit that she was grateful for Jonty’s companionship. She’d never had a dog, she’d never had any pets before, but she had very quickly grown attached to Jonty. She was a dog person, she’d decided.

      Jonty had been assigned to help calm her and to increase her confidence in her ability to cope with the outside world, but nervousness still made her heart rate increase as they approached the supermarket. Ever since the incident in Afghanistan she had been exceedingly nervous in new or crowded environments until she’d had a chance to check out the lie of the land.

      She quickly scanned the interior of the shop and only when she could see that it was relatively quiet, with few customers, did she step inside, taking Jonty with her. He was allowed to accompany her so long as he was wearing the coat that identified him as an assistance dog. They headed to the milk fridge at the back of the store, Abi wishing, not for the first time, that the shopkeeper would keep the milk near the front. Having to go to the far corner of the store always bothered her, even though she knew where the emergency exit was.

      A dark-haired man stood in front of the open fridge door. He was reaching for the same milk that Abi wanted. She thought about asking him to grab one for her too but that would mean initiating a conversation with a stranger. Even with Jonty beside her she wasn’t comfortable doing that. She waited as the man closed the fridge door and turned around.

      ‘Dr Thompson!’

      Abi’s heart skipped a beat as a voice that had become almost familiar in just one day uttered her name. She lifted her eyes.

      He was tall and lean. His thick black hair was expertly styled to look effortlessly casual and a day’s worth of stubble darkened his square jaw and contrasted with the smooth olive skin of his forehead and cheeks. He was watching her with eyes so dark they were almost black. He was gorgeous.

      Damien.

      His serious expression vanished, to be replaced by his wide smile, showcasing perfect white teeth. Did this man have any physical flaws?

      ‘You need milk?’ he asked.

      ‘For my coffee,’ she replied, as if he’d care why she needed it.

      He took a second carton from the fridge and passed it to her, not checking which one she wanted. ‘Do you live near here?’

      ‘A couple of blocks that way,’ she said, pointing east.

      ‘We’re two blocks south.’

      She wondered who ‘we’ meant. Was he married? He didn’t wear a wedding ring.

      She glanced at his left hand, double-checking, but she knew she was right. What she didn’t know was when she’d noticed and why. Not that it mattered. Lots of surgeons didn’t wear rings and his marital status was of no concern to her.

      ‘Is this your dog?’

      She nodded. ‘This is Jonty.’

      ‘An assistance dog?’

      ‘It’s a project I’m involved with,’ she said. She didn’t see any need to mention that the project was personal and involved trying to fix her fragile psyche. There was no need to mention that her psychologist had recommended the programme. She didn’t intend to share tales about her private life with her new boss.

      Finding out he was practically her neighbour was enough to deal with. He didn’t need to know anything more about her. She was used to mixing her work and her social life, there wasn’t another option in the military really, but things had changed recently. She had changed. She had become more reserved, more introverted, and that was part of the reason that Caroline had suggested Jonty. She’d hoped it would help to restore Abi’s confidence and alleviate some of her fears about the world. Bad things weren’t always going to happen. Abi needed to experience the world and remember the good things.

      Damien insisted on paying for her milk, along with his own, and they left the shop together. As they stepped onto the pavement he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and pressed a button. Abi heard the sound of doors unlocking and saw the lights flash on a black, luxury SUV that was parked out the front of the shop. ‘Can I give you a lift?’ he offered.

      It seemed he had the charming personality to match his very appealing features. But Abi knew how dangerous a weapon charm could be in a good-looking man. She looked at his car. There was not a speck of dirt or a scratch or dent on it. Its paintwork was immaculate and it suited him. It was shiny, sleek perfection and so different from her old soft-top. She couldn’t imagine hopping into something so tidy, let alone putting her hairy, thirty-kilogram companion in there too. Had he forgotten about Jonty?

      ‘No, thank you. We need the exercise.’ And she needed more time to think.

      He was good-looking and charming, there was no denying that, but that was no reason to let him drive her home. She’d had good-looking, charming bosses before and things hadn’t turned out so well for her the last time. In fact, things had gone terribly pear-shaped and she was still recovering. She needed time to herself, time to heal. There was no room in her life or in her head for anything other than surviving. Her goal was to achieve emotional stability and financial security. She didn’t need any complications and she knew all too well how complicated men could make things. Besides, he was part of a ‘we’ and that was all she needed to know about him to ensure she kept her distance. Single men were one thing but men with other commitments were definitely off her list. That was one path she knew she would avoid at all costs. Being pleasant at work was one thing, mixing socially was another, but men with baggage were a definite no.

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