Continuation 1

I look at the girl in the photo, remembering loving Rhett even then. In my eyes, he was the ultimate guy, the measure to which every other guy had to live up to—hot, smart, funny, and sweet. Of course, he was clueless, insisting on calling me A. Rose, just to drive me nuts. Things were so much simpler then. When he didn't know how I felt. Before "just fun" led to the most consuming love of my life.

If only I could've separated sex and love, then none of this would've happened. We'd all still be friends. Rhett would still be in my life. He'd still be . . .

I slam the lid back on the box, my head shaking, not wanting to remember anymore how it all went so very wrong.

* * *

The vet clinicis one of the sponsors for the Charleston shelter. Today's event at a local park brings out the most devoted animal lovers. There's a walk, a bakery with dog friendly treats, even a photographer so you can have a photo session with your pet. Brody's busy doing his part to raise awareness and funds, and Skye's been scoping out men for me. She has this whole theory that you can pick a man based on his pet. She thinks men who own cats aren't ready to commit. Men with reptiles should be avoided at all costs. Horse loving men are grade A, but steer clear of guys who are into birds. I've tried to point out that, while Brody loves animals, he might be the only veterinarian on the planet who doesn't have a pet. She simply said that's because she's enough of an animal for him. I could've lived my whole life without that knowledge.

Of course, dog lovers make the best boyfriends, according to her theory, but the type of dog is important. Labs, retrievers, spaniels are all acceptable. Men who have "fussy" breeds, like those with long hair, can handle high maintenance women. Owners of German Shepherds, pit bulls and the like are alpha males to the extreme. The cream of the crop guys own mixed breeds.

"How about him?" Skye asks, nodding in the direction of a rather buff guy walking a standard poodle.

"My tears are barely dry from my last date," I say.

She rolls her eyes, pointing out another fella. "Him?"

"Two things," I say. "I don't date guys who have longer hair than me, or who weigh less than me."

"Picky, picky," she says, laughing.