She hands the dog to Ethan. He wraps his arms around her. Ruby’s still trembling, but she gazes up at him like she’s found her home.
She licks his face . . .
And a boy falls in love with a dog.
He laughs and nuzzles her, then whispers in her big, floppy ear, “I think you were happy before. I think you had steak and played with Frisbees, and you went for swims and you took long walks and you panted when it was hot out and you smiled when you were happy and you slept under the covers.”
Yes, the windows are open.
The doors too.
Because now I know what January was trying to tell me.
What I wanted to believe but didn’t quite know how.
You can write your own narrative. You can tell your own story.
I squeeze his shoulder, emotions flooding me, clogging my throat. “She sounds a lot like you before we met.”
“That’s why she’s our dog. Right?”
I haul him and Ruby in for a huge hug, boy and dog. “She’s our dog, and you’re my son.”
We go home with Ruby, and along the way, Ethan changes her name to Steve Trout.
It’s the worst possible name for so many reasons, but I don’t care. Once we’re home, we go through the garage so he can hunt for a Frisbee.
“I’m going to teach her how to catch it,” he says.
“I can’t wait to see her new skills.”
But when I pop onto the front porch to check the mail, I’m a bit distracted. I find a Pyrex dish by the door.
It’s full of pink cupcakes. There’s a note on top. With eager fingers and a wildly beating heart, I reach for the note then unfold it.
I am a forensic scientist. I am a crime scene investigator. And this handwriting is the only one I want to see.
It’s the handwriting of the woman I want to be my person.
* * *
I made these for you, and I have something to tell you.
I. Love. You.
I want to talk to you, and I have things to say to you, and I want to say them before I lose you, because I don’t want to lose you. And I will do just about anything to keep you.
* * *
I pop into the backyard and tell Ethan to keep an eye on Steve Trout, but he doesn’t even need me to tell him, since he has yet to take his eyes off her.
With long, determined strides, I make my way across the yard, and I knock on January’s door.
29
Liam
She looks gorgeous.
No surprise.
She looks hopeful too, but nervous.
She looks like I feel.
“Hi,” she says, sounding wobbly.
“I want to talk to you,” I blurt out.
Words tumble from her. “Did you get the cupcakes? My note?”
“Yes, and I loved it. All of it,” I say, and her lips relax into a gorgeous smile. “And I have so much to say too, starting with . . . I got a dog.”
She clasps her hand to her mouth, excitement lighting up those gorgeous blue eyes. “Tell me all about the dog.”
“That’s the thing. I want to tell you about the dog. I want to tell you a million things, but I want to tell you something first. And it’s this—I did it all wrong when I told you I was falling in love with you.” I smack my forehead. “Who the hell says, ‘I’m falling in love with you,’ and then breaks it off?”
She laughs lightly.
“I’m a daft idiot,” I say.
“No, you’re not.”
I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it. “I am in love with you. I love you. I want to be with you.”
Her eyes go wide, and then tears start to fall from them. “I love you too, and I want that too, but, Liam, I have to tell you something.”
“Tell me.” But I know that whatever it is, it’ll be fine.
Because I know what I want.
And it’s her.
I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s offering.
Still, a gentleman should listen.
She takes a deep breath. “I know you want more kids, and I’ve thought about that a lot, and whether I want them. I want to tell you that if it’s important to you, we can talk more about it, but I’m not sure my feelings about more children will change. But that’s the only thing I’m not sure about. I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’ve never been in love, and then you came into my life, and I am wildly in love. I love you,” she says.
And my heart does that thing again. It fills. It floods. It expands.
“I love you so much,” I tell her. It feels so good to say that.
January isn’t done though. “I’m so afraid that the way I feel won’t be enough for you. But I’m going to tell you anyway. You’re the one.” She grabs my shirt like she needs to be close to me. And I want her close. “I don’t want to be just a woman against the world. I want it to be you and me against the world—you, me, and Wednesday and Ethan. I don’t know if that’s what you want, and it’s scary and crazy to put myself out there, but as I look back on the last month, I think I’ve given you the impression that I don’t want any of that.”
