It Started with a Dog, page 1
PRAISE FOR YOU LUCKY DOG
“Full of laugh-out-loud charm.”
—Woman’s World
“Julia London’s hilarious and sweet romance You Lucky Dog begins with an accidental dog-swapping, which quickly leads to puppy love between two very different dog owners. Trust us, even if you’re a cat person, you won’t be able to resist this story’s charms.”
—PopSugar
“I laughed, I teared up, and I rooted for these characters every misstep of the way. . . . A perfect choice this summer.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Comedic and fast-paced. It is filled with an offbeat cast, zany coincidences and romantic moments, and mishaps that will leave readers giggling in amusement.”
—Shelf Awareness
“A canine mix-up leads to unexpected love in this bright, bubbly rom-com. . . . There’s heady chemistry between the optimistic Carly and the slightly nerdy Max as they stumble into co-parenting the pooches, with the fabulous four-legged supporting characters providing both laugh-out-loud hilarity and some touching moments. Readers will be in doggie heaven.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Once again, London proves she is a master of deliciously snarky dialogue and delectable sexual chemistry, both of which are expertly infused in a delightful love story that not only joyfully celebrates the special bond between humans and dogs but also doesn’t shy away from exploring some of life’s more serious challenges.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“[An] affecting and ebullient romantic comedy. . . . London’s loose and limber comedic writing amplifies Max and Carly’s appeal, filling each voice with a unique perspective and personality.”
—BookPage
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF JULIA LONDON
“A passionate, arresting story that you wish would never end.”
—New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr
“Julia London writes vibrant, emotional stories and sexy, richly drawn characters.”
—New York Times bestselling author Madeline Hunter
“Julia London strikes gold again.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens
“London’s characters come alive on every page and will steal your heart.”
—The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
“Entertaining. . . . The reader is pleasantly carried along by the author’s instinctive narrative gifts.”
—The New York Times
“Few authors can write a book that pulls you into the love story the way Julia London can.”
—The Oakland Press
Titles by Julia London
You Lucky Dog
It Started with a Dog
The Princes of Texas Novels
The Charmer in Chaps
The Devil in the Saddle
The Billionaire in Boots
A JOVE BOOK
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Copyright © 2021 by Dinah Dinwiddie
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: London, Julia, author.
Title: It started with a dog / Julia London.
Description: First edition. | New York: Jove, 2021. | Series: Lucky dog
Identifiers: LCCN 2021012827 (print) | LCCN 2021012828 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593100400 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593100417 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3562.O48745 I85 2021 (print) | LCC PS3562.O48745 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021012827
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021012828
First Edition: September 2021
Cover design and illustration by Colleen Reinhart
Book design by Laura K. Corless, adapted for ebook by Shayan Saalabi
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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I dedicated my last book to all the dogs that have shaped my life. I was horrified to realize I had forgotten Sun, an Irish setter with a fun-loving spirit who went on every adventure that my brother and I ever set out on as country kids.
This book is dedicated to Sun.
Since my last book, we had to say a tearful goodbye to Sonny. But then we welcomed a new puppy, Lily.
This book is also dedicated to all the dogs who will come to our family in the years ahead. We will never be without dogs.
Contents
Cover
Praise for You Lucky Dog
Praise for the Novels of Julia London
Titles by Julia London
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
A Mardi Gras Festival in Austin
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
A Mardi Gras Festival in Austin
Winter rains that have pummeled Austin finally clear to reveal azure blue skies. It is Mardi Gras, and a cool breeze wafts down Congress Avenue. It’s been a long day of parades and parties, but the diehard revelers aren’t leaving before the crowning event.
The star of the show appears at the entrance to the cordoned-off street between two men assigned to escort her. She doesn’t walk, she glides. She’s had a blowout, and her flaxen hair lifts on the breeze, a streamer of silk. She is calm. She’s in no rush. Why should she be? Look at all these people who have come here to see her, from all corners of town, from as far away as San Antonio and Dallas and Houston. They have come to celebrate her rapid rise to the top.
She doesn’t look right or left, but straight ahead. She seems almost bored, as if she’s seen so many crowds in her life that she can’t be bothered to be awed by another one.
She is one cool cucumber.
She is simply the best.
She has stolen all their hearts.
The onlookers part like the Red Sea as she moves down the avenue on her way to the stage. Some of them have kids on their shoulders who point and shout with delight. Some have dogs on leashes who search the ground for dropped food or strain at their tethers, eager to meet and greet. Some of the onlookers have drinks in hand, or giant globs of cotton candy. Some of them have even set up camping chairs as if they think this might take a while.
The men escort the star onto a stage where a young woman waits, almost levitating with excitement. She has a colorful tattoo sleeve on one arm and has arranged her hair into a curious array of four haphazard buns around her head. She is wearing shorts sheared so short that the crowd can see all of London and all of France.
The star steps gracefully over the wires and cables left behind by the band that will return to the stage to close things out. She elegantly takes her place atop the dais.
Four Bun girl bounces to the front of the stage. She turns a grin to the star one last time before facing the crowd. She leans into the mic. “Can you hear me?”
The crowd roars in the affirmative.
“I am so excited to be here today! It is my very great pleasure to introduce you to Sheeba!”
Sheeba, Sheeba! The crowd chants. Someone throws a tennis ball on the stage.
Sheeba gives it a disdainful look but does not move from the dais. She stares straight ahead, her nose tilted upward, as if she is sniffing her own rarified air.
“On behalf of the Austin Canine Coalition and our participating sponsors, H-E-B, the Austin American-Statesman, an
The crowd goes wild. Sheeba’s ears flatten. Four Buns whips around, clapping enthusiastically in the dog’s direction. Sheeba stares at Four Buns blankly.
Good girl, good girl, the crowd begins to chant. Sheeba lifts her back leg and scratches her ear.
“Thank you, Austin!” Four Buns shouts into the mic. “Sixteen dogs entered our annual King Mutt and raised a collective sixty-two thousand dollars for local animal rescue organizations!”
Sheeba yawns, then slides ever so gracefully down onto her belly, one paw crossed beguilingly over the other.
“Thank you for participating! And now, the crown!” Four Buns picks up a plastic gold crown with purple bobbles on the points. She tries to settle the crown on Sheeba’s head, but the Afghan hound’s head is too narrow and long. “That’s weird,” Four Buns says to one of the handlers. “It’s supposed to fit.”
“Yeah, I think they had to get a new one after the Lab chewed it up last year.”
Four Buns vaguely remembers it. She has to use some of Sheeba’s mane to anchor it, but she manages to perch the crown on the dog’s head.
Sheeba, Sheeba, Sheeba! the crowd thunders.
Sheeba thumps her tail once or twice on the dais in acknowledgment of their adoration. Four Buns returns to the mic. “Planning is already underway for next year,” she announces. “We hope to expand beyond the Mardi Gras business crawl so that we can add more dogs to compete for the coveted crown of the Most Popular Rescue Dog in Austin!”
Sheeba lowers her head, pillowing it on her paws, and with a long sigh, closes her eyes.
The crowd applauds enthusiastically.
“One hundred percent of the proceeds will go to support the Austin Canine Coalition, so please remember to vote with your dollars next year.”
Sheeba rolls onto her side. The crown falls off her head and rolls off the stage. Somewhere, the Steve Martin song “King Tut” begins to play, and dogs up and down the street begin to bark.
One
Ten months later
This shared ride had the distinct vibe of a horror movie, and Harper should know, because she had seen practically every horror movie ever made. Girl enters dark interior of nondescript van. Girl is smashed up against a guy with an uncompromising manspread, only slightly preferable to the other guy with the guitar case wedged between his legs. Girl is barked at by dog in pet carrier in front seat, held by a woman with a shower cap on her head. Girl is confused by driver, who is chatting like rain isn’t coming down in torrents, like he can see just fine out the front windshield when they all know he can’t, like it’s a good idea to keep looking in the rearview mirror to gauge the effect of his speech on the passengers in back when road conditions are treacherous. Eyes on the road!
The only thing missing from this scene was the alien creature that should be splatting on the windshield any minute now.
This was a Rain Event to be sure, coming very inconveniently on the eve of Christmas Eve, which, Harper’s driver informed them, was the busiest travel day of the year. She wished she’d known that before she’d purchased her ticket home for the holidays. She’d meant to leave a day or two earlier, but as usual, her boss, Soren Wilder (yes, his real name), threw some stuff at her last minute. And as usual, she didn’t say no. Harper Thompson didn’t turn away from a challenge, no matter how small or inconsiderate.
Plus, she’d wanted to pay a visit to Bob. Bob was old and crotchety and didn’t have many friends, and she couldn’t bear to think of him alone for the holidays. So she’d gone round to see him one last time, like she did every Saturday, and he’d sighed and looked away, and then she’d snagged what was possibly the last ticket out of town. On the Megabus, no less, a monstrosity of steel and rubber and cushy seats and decent Wi-Fi that would whisk her the three and some-odd hours to Houston.
Predictably, because it was raining, it stood to follow that she’d had to wait on a street corner for the Lyft van to inch toward her in the crazy traffic. Her cheap umbrella had turned inside out on the first strong gust of wind. When the van pulled up, she’d stepped off the curb and into a river of gutter water that filled her bootie. She’d had to stuff her suitcase into the back hatch with the other bags. And now she was squeezed between the van door and a large man, and rain was still trickling down her back and she was pretty sure she was not going to make her bus.
At least her seatmate smelled good. Spicy and a hint of evergreen. But his knee kept bumping her.
“First stop, Megabus!” Amal, the driver, announced cheerfully over the blast of his music.
The dog growled.
“Megabus?” the man next to Harper repeated under his breath in a tone that suggested he couldn’t quite grasp the concept of a giant double-decker bus. What, was he taking a private jet or something? It happened to be a very quick way to get to Houston, thank you.
“Hush, Beanie,” the woman in the shower cap said. Presumably to the dog. She reached into her pocket, then shoved something through the wires of the carrier. “Excuse me, can you turn that down?”
“We’re going to be late, man!” the guy with the guitar shouted over the music. “Seriously, can you turn it down?”
“Your wish is my command,” Amal said, and turned down the music. “I don’t have a five-star rating by accident. I’m very good at my job,” he said, jabbing a finger upward. “Everyone will get to their destinations on time, trust me.” And then he turned left when he should have turned right. “You will not find another driver with ratings as high as mine. Five stars, every time. Trust.”
No one said a word as they sat at a light, watching cars move at a snail’s pace through the intersection.
Harper was increasingly aware of the press of her body against the long-limbed, hard-bodied man, mainly because he kept shifting, like he couldn’t quite fit between her and Guitar Guy. His knee bumped against her leg again.
God, her feet were prunes. If she did make her bus, which she would bet one hundred bucks she would not, it would be a miserable ride to Houston.
“You sure you want to go this way?” Guitar Guy asked. “The Megabus station is over by the capitol, isn’t it? If you go up Lamar, you can flip around to Gaudalupe.”
“The app is telling me to go this way,” Amal insisted, and pointed at the screen of his phone, perched like a lighthouse beacon squarely in the middle of the dash.
Harper managed to dislodge her arm from underneath the giant next to her and look at her watch. Amal’s five-star rating for on-time deliveries notwithstanding, she was going to be late.
She tried to put her arm back where it went, but that was impossible. So she sat forward, curved like a banana over her overstuffed tote bag.
“Come on, man,” Guitar Guy whined. “This is seriously the wrong way. I can’t miss my flight.”
“Well, I can’t miss mine, either,” the grandma in front said, as if Guitar Guy had somehow implied he was the only one who couldn’t miss a flight.
“Problem is,” Amal said, “the rain. Climate change is doing this. Never saw rain like this in Austin before global warming.”
“That’s a bunch of bullcrap,” the woman in the front seat said. “There’s no such thing as global warming.”
The man next to Harper sighed softly under his breath. Harper felt his pain and would have sighed, too, had breathing not been so difficult in her current position.
“This traffic is worse than it is during South by Southwest,” Amal said, referring to the annual arts festival. “I drove the Killers to their gig last year. Nice guys. Really nice guys. They had a guitar, too. It’s kind of weird when you think about it, like, maybe, people should leave earlier.”
What?
Harper glanced around the interior of the vehicle in the dark. Guitar Guy was staring out the window. Grandma was keeping a steady stream of treats going into the pet carrier. The guy in the middle kept shifting around, trying to get comfortable. She wished she could get a look at him, to see what face went with those thighs, but it was dark, and it would be very obvious if she did turn to look at him, because it would require the use of her entire body.
