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“What the fuck, Liza?”
“What, I can’t help what my subconscious produces.”
“I know it’s hard, but you really need to try to stop thinking about him.”
“Look at this guy.” I shove the phone toward Julian. "His name's Thor. He's at a rescue in Bridgeton."
Julian squints at the screen, his casted hand resting on his chest. "Liza—"
I swipe to another photo. "Or maybe this girl. Freya. She's two years old, already trained."
"You're acting a little crazy."
I lower the phone, meeting his eyes. The nightmare still clings to me, sticky and suffocating.
"I had a German Shepherd when I was a kid. Milo." The memory surfaces, warm and bittersweet. "He was the best. Used to sleep at the foot of my bed every single night. Made me feel safe when Dad got sick, when everything felt like it was falling apart."
Julian's expression softens.
"I want that again," I press on. "Not just for companionship. But for protection. A guard dog. Someone who'll bark if Daniel shows up, who'll—"
"Daniel's not getting past the front door.”
Silence stretches between us. Julian shifts against the pillows, wincing slightly.
"I just think you're overreacting," he says carefully. "Getting a dog's a huge commitment. You work long shifts. I can't exactly walk one right now." He lifts his cast as evidence.
"I'll walk it. I'll do everything. I just—" My voice cracks. "I can't keep living like this. Jumping at every sound. Having nightmares where you die, and I can't do anything to stop it."
His good hand finds mine, threading our fingers together.
"The dream really shook you up."
“It wasn’t a dream,” I point out. “It was a nightmare. And it was also a sign."
"Or just your brain processing trauma."
I pull up another photo—a magnificent shepherd with intelligent eyes and a strong, alert stance. Everything about him screams protector.
"Just come look at them with me. Please?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The restaurant glows with soft amber light, candles flickering between us. I drag my fork through the last smear of lemon sauce on my plate, savoring the quiet intimacy of it all.
"In my dream life," Julian says, leaning back with that half-smile that makes my stomach flip, "I've got three kids."
"Three?" I laugh. "That's ambitious."
"What's wrong with three?"
"Two." I hold up two fingers. "Two is manageable. Three is chaos."
"Two, then." He pretends to consider it seriously. "But I'm getting the white picket fence. And a country house big enough for my grand piano."
"Of course you are." I grin. "And I'm getting my German Shepherd."
"Still on that?"
