His tired-but-no-less-handsome face perked. “You sure?”
“Of course. I’ll even lecture them about destruction of property and everything.”
He grinned. “The dog food is—”
“In the bin in the pantry. Sugar gets one little scoop. Clyde gets two big ones. They both get the joint supplement in the cabinet beside the fridge. One squirt for Sugs. Three for the big man. Then, because you feel awful about leaving them for so long even though they trashed your house, I’ll give them each a little piece of cheese on top.”
His smile stretched impossibly wide. “God, I love you.”
“Don’t forget the so fucking much part. It’s my favorite.”
He dipped low, smiling against my mouth as he mumbled, “So fucking much.”
After an all-too-brief kiss, I patted him on the chest. “Good. Now go. Get in bed. I got this.”
He gave Sugar’s head a scratch and then wasted no time shuffling down the hall.
I patted my leg and Clyde hefted his large body off the bed. “You guys are lucky he’s all drugged up tonight. What were you thinking? I wouldn’t be surprised if he bans ham from the house permanently after this stunt.”
Sugar licked me again, but Clyde remained as stoic as his father had once been.
I made quick work of feeding them and then spent some time outside throwing a ball, hoping to tire Sugar out for fear the sofa cushions would be next on his demolition list.
With sleep nowhere on the horizon for me, I grabbed a trash bag and started cleaning up the mess. My initial assessment had been wrong. Only two throw pillows had been gutted, but the trail of destruction led down the hall and into the bedroom.
Bowen was passed out and quietly snoring, so I left the garbage bag in the hall and tiptoed into the room, collecting the strewn batting as I went.
“Shit!” I whispered when I saw one of Bowen’s dress shoes on the floor. The back of it had been gnawed off, and while he loved his dogs, I didn’t think he was going to be happy about owning his first pair of men’s slip-ons. This was all kinda-sorta-definitely my fault. The whole day had been my fault to be honest. I felt bad about Sugar taking the fall.
Snagging it off the floor, I walked into the closet, shut the door, and then turned the light on to search for the ruined shoe’s match. They were nice, but surely I could find a replacement somewhere online. Maybe I’d hide this pair for a few days until the new ones came in.
Bowen’s closet was a large, neatly organized walk-in. I swept my hand across the row of his hanging suits, thinking how appalled he’d be if he saw the state of my messy closet. Then I giggled at the idea of us sharing one someday.
Ya know. Hypothetically. If things worked out.
Shit, after the day we’d had—and the way I’d felt when I’d thought I might lose him—maybe I should have started thinking about when things worked out, rather than if.
That not only made my smile stretch, but my chest warmed.
I dropped into a squat in the back of the closet and quickly found the chewed-up loafer’s mate on the bottom shelf of the shoe rack. With at least twelve other pairs that looked almost identical, he’d never even notice they were missing. Turning in a circle, I glanced around for somewhere to stash them.
Damn. Why was his closet so clean?
Sweeping back a row of his pants, I tasted victory when I found a cardboard box with the top flaps folded in on themselves to keep it shut. Assuming it was winter clothes put away for the season or something that would be equally as ignored for a few days, I popped open the top and…
Froze. Heart, body, and soul.
Staring back at me was a framed photo of me and Bowen. And not any photo I remembered taking. I was sitting on his lap, all wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, my mouth split with something that couldn’t be described as anything other than pure joy.
But it was the image of Bowen that made my heart stop.
I’d never—not once—seen him without a layer of scruff covering his jaw. But in the picture, his face was shaved smooth.
It didn’t make sense.
Was it a joke? Some kind of photoshopped rendering? But why the hell did he have it tucked away in his closet?
Lifting the picture from the box, I brought it closer to my face. My lungs burned as I inspected it. My hair was shorter, barely brushing my shoulders. I remembered when my hairstylist had gotten a little carried away after I’d asked for a few inches taken off. That had been almost two years earlier and way, way before I’d met Bowen. Just outside of the window of time I’d lost after the plane crash. I still had those earrings in my jewelry box at home. The dress was in my closet, and based on the bar in the background, we were at McMurphy’s.
