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“Oh, isn’t it fantastic?” said Oliver. “Beautiful story, beautiful Italian setting.”

“Yup! Now I’m desperate to visit Portofino.” Georgie spied a cardboard cutout of Big Ben towering over multiple pairs of Chelsea boots in the window of David’s Shoes. “So what’s London like? Where’d you live?”

Gulping his coffee, Oliver lowered his cup. “A titchy terraced house in Waterloo, south of the Thames.”

“What’s titchy?”

“Means small. Ideally, I would’ve lived close to the museum, but I couldn’t find anything within my budget. Waterloo is generally out of my price range, too, but a friend of a friend inherited a house and wanted someone reliable and responsible to share with.”

“Responsible? You?” Georgie lifted her chin, a teasing lilt to her voice. “The spider plant killer?” Her poker face surrendered to a grin, one Oliver matched.

“Yeah, he definitely lost the housemate lottery with me, Mr. forgets-to-water-the-houseplants Jönsson. He also thinks I own too many books and VHS tapes⁠—”

“Bite your tongue!” Georgie joked. “There’s no such thing!”

“I know! That’s what I said, but Xander thinks all collections are clutter.”

“God, I hope he never sees my apartment. If those are your worst crimes, he’s luckier than most,” said Georgie. “I’ve had roommates who used my toiletries without asking and left their crusty dishes in their room. One even had sex in my bed—while wearing one of my hockey jerseys.”

Oliver flinched. “Oh shit, that’s⁠—”

“Why I live alone now. Also why I work two jobs. To keep my life roommate-free.”

“Don’t blame you.” Oliver’s attention strayed to the bespoke-suit-wearing mannequins in a shop window then boomeranged back. “Xander got burnt in the past. He owns a restaurant and works all hours. People took advantage of that. Wrecked the place, bunked on the rent.”

Georgie gasped. “What is wrong with people?”

“Makes you wonder.” Oliver stole another sip. “Xander and I get on fairly well—when I remember to water his prized philodendrons. Most of the time he’s out, and it’s just me and Waffles.”

“Uh-oh!” said Georgie. “Don’t tell London waffles you’re cheating with Toronto pancakes.”

Oliver laughed. “Waffles is Xander’s basset hound, his pride and joy.”

Her eyes bulged. “A basset hound! We had two when I was little. Aww, I bet Waffles is adorable!”

“Oh, he’s adorable all right—and bossy as hell,” said Oliver. “Actually, Waffles was the main reason I moved in.”

He loves dogs! Georgie swooned.

“When the weather’s nice, we sit in the small back garden. I read. Waffles watches for squirrels. It’s bliss.”

If Georgie wasn’t mistaken, his tone sounded somewhat melancholy, like he was missing Waffles more than he was letting on.

Oliver swerved an oncoming stroller. “Do you have pets?”

“Yep. I’m a proud frog mum.”

He blinked. “Did you say frog?”

“Uh-huh. I rescued them from school,” said Georgie. “My biology colleague abandoned them two summers ago.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know, right? When the asshole found out I took ’em, he told me to mind my own business.” As a taxi thudded through a deep pothole, Georgie raised her voice. “But looking out for animals IS my business. I’d do it again in heartbeat. I’ve always loved frogs. I dropped biology in high school because of them.”

Oliver grimaced. “Dissections?”

“Yup. Thankfully, science wasn’t a prerequisite for my university application.”