Epilogue
EPILOGUE
S ix months later
"Clover, no!" I lunge for the half-chewed throw pillow, but our newest family member, a three-month-old golden retriever puppy with more energy than sense, has already darted away, trailing stuffing behind her.
Lucky, now a dignified eighteen-month-old, watches from his bed with what I swear is judgmental disdain.
Puppies , his expression seems to say. So uncivilized .
"A little help here?" I call to Sean, who's in the kitchen preparing our lunch for today's outing.
He appears in the doorway, dish towel in hand, and immediately assesses the situation. "Clover, come," he commands, voice firm but not harsh.
To my eternal frustration, the puppy immediately drops the pillow and trots over to Sean, tail wagging like she hasn't just committed textile murder.
"Traitor," I mutter as Sean scoops her up.
"She's not a traitor," he corrects, hiding a smile. "She's just recognizing the alpha in the household… she, like another girl, loves her Daddy."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Careful, Ferguson. Remember who trained the alpha."
His laugh is warm and low, the sound still sending little thrills through me even after months of living together. "How could I forget?" He deposits Clover in my arms. "Here, you take the delinquent. I'll finish packing lunch."
I nuzzle the puppy's soft fur, unable to stay annoyed at her puppy antics. "You're lucky you're cute," I inform her. She responds by licking my chin enthusiastically. She might be my hardest case to date.
We hadn't planned on getting a second dog so soon. But one of my clients had a litter of golden retriever puppies, and the moment I saw them, I knew one was coming home with us. It took surprisingly little convincing to get Sean on board, just one look at those tiny balls of fluff, and Mr. Structure and Order was putty in my hands.
"She's like Lucky's little sister," I'd argued, though we both knew I was already sold. "Think how happy they'll make each other."
And they do, mostly. Lucky has taken his role as big brother seriously, teaching Clover the house rules with gentle nudges and occasional warning growls when she gets too rambunctious. Sean jokes that Lucky is the "good cop" to Clover's "chaos agent"—a dynamic that mirrors our own relationship in ways we both find amusing.
"We should leave in ten minutes if we want to be on time," Sean calls from the kitchen.
I check my watch—11:20 AM. Our appointment at Charlotte Children's Hospital is at noon. "We'll be ready," I call back, setting Clover down to gather her training supplies.
Today is a big day for all of us. After months of specialized training, Lucky has completed his therapy dog certification, and this is his first official visit to the pediatric oncology ward. The fact that we're working with cancer patients isn't a coincidence, Sean specifically requested it in honor of Diane.
"Alright, team," Sean announces, emerging from the kitchen with a small cooler bag and Lucky's therapy vest. "Ready to go make some kids smile?"
Lucky, recognizing the vest, sits up straight, suddenly all business. Clover, catching his mood, settles down too, watching with curious eyes.
A few minutes later, we head to the hospital. In the parking lot, Sean helps Lucky into his official therapy dog vest, a smart blue garment with patches indicating his certification.
"Look at you," I say, straightening the vest. "Such a professional."
Lucky's tail wags gently, his demeanor calm but alert. He knows when he's working, another trait that reminds me so much of his owner.
At the reception desk, we check in and receive our visitor badges. The volunteer coordinator, a cheerful woman named Liz who oversaw part of Lucky's certification, meets us in the lobby.
"There's our newest therapy team!" she exclaims, bending to greet Lucky. "Ready for your first day?"
"As ready as we'll ever be," Sean replies, his hand finding the small of my back in a reassuring gesture.
Liz leads us through security and up to the pediatric oncology floor, explaining protocols as we go. Lucky walks perfectly beside Sean, ignoring the usual hospital distractions, food smells, other visitors, the occasional rolling equipment.
"So professional," Liz compliments. "Some dogs take months to get this comfortable in a hospital environment."
"He's a special one," I agree, feeling a ridiculous swell of pride.
The pediatric oncology ward is decorated in bright colors, with cheerful murals of forests and oceans covering the walls. Despite the cheery decor, there's no disguising the reality of what happens here, children fighting for their lives against a relentless disease.
Sean's hand tightens on Lucky's leash, and I know he's thinking of Diane. I slip my arm through his, offering silent support.
"We have six patients who've signed up for dog therapy today," Liz explains, checking her clipboard. "We'll start with Zoe, she's seven and has been here for three weeks. She's having a rough time with her latest round of chemo."
She knocks softly on a door decorated with glittery stickers and rainbow drawings. "Zoe? There's someone special here to see you."
"Is it the dog? Is the dog here?" a small, excited voice calls from within.
Liz pushes the door open, revealing a tiny girl sitting up in a hospital bed, her head wrapped in a colorful scarf. Despite the evident fatigue in her face, her eyes light up at the sight of Lucky.
"Oh my gosh, he's so pretty!" she gasps, hands clasped beneath her chin in delight.
“This is Lucky," Sean says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "And he's very happy to meet you, Zoe."
"Can he come up on the bed? Please?" Zoe looks to her mother, who's sitting in a chair beside the bed, then to Liz.
"If it's okay with your mom and the handler," Liz says.
Zoe's mother nods. "Of course. Anything that puts that smile on her face."
Sean guides Lucky to the side of the bed. "Lucky, up," he commands softly. With careful precision, Lucky places his front paws on the edge of the bed, keeping his body steady.
"You can pet him," I tell Zoe. "He loves gentle scratches behind his ears."
Zoe reaches out a small hand, her arm thin and bruised from IVs, and tentatively touches Lucky's golden fur. "He's so soft," she whispers, as if afraid speaking too loudly might scare him away.
"He is," Sean agrees, moving closer to help steady Lucky. "And he has a special talent. Lucky, head down."
Lucky immediately rests his chin on the edge of the bed, looking up at Zoe with soulful brown eyes. The little girl giggles, delighted.
"Can I hug him?" she asks.
Sean glances at me, and I nod, we've practiced this extensively. "Lucky, visit," he says.
With careful movements, Lucky eases himself partly onto the bed, positioning himself so Zoe can wrap her arms around his neck without having to strain. She buries her face in his fur, and for a moment, the room is silent except for the quiet beeping of medical equipment.
When Zoe finally pulls back, there are tears in her mother's eyes, and I'm not far from them myself.
"He's the best dog ever," Zoe declares. "When I get out of the hospital, I'm going to ask for a dog just like him."
"That sounds like an excellent plan," Sean tells her seriously. "Dogs make the best friends."
We spend about fifteen minutes with Zoe, letting her pet Lucky and showing her a few simple tricks he can do. By the time we leave, she's laughing and seems to have forgotten, at least temporarily, about the IV stand she's tethered to.
The other visits follow a similar pattern, children lighting up at the sight of Lucky, parents grateful for the distraction, the simple joy a dog can bring cutting through the sterile hospital environment like a beam of sunshine.
Our last visit of the day is with a twelve-year-old boy named Ethan, who's been in treatment for almost a year. When we enter his room, he's sitting in a chair by the window, looking out at the hospital garden below. Unlike the other children, he doesn't immediately react to Lucky's presence.
"Ethan?" Liz says gently. "The therapy dog is here to visit you."
The boy turns slowly, his expression carefully neutral. "Hey," he says, his voice flat.
Sean exchanges a glance with me before approaching slowly. "This is Lucky," he says. "Would you like to meet him?"
Ethan shrugs one thin shoulder. "Sure, I guess."
Instead of bringing Lucky directly to the boy, Sean sits in the empty chair across from him, signaling Lucky to lie down at his feet. "You know," he says conversationally, "Lucky wasn't always a therapy dog. When I first got him, he was actually a bit of a troublemaker."
This seems to catch Ethan's interest. "Really?"
"Oh yes," Sean continues. "He chewed my favorite shoes, knocked over lamps, once he even stole an entire roast chicken off the counter."
A ghost of a smile touches Ethan's lips. "What happened?"
"I met Jessica here," Sean gestures to me. "She's a dog trainer. She helped us figure things out, taught us both what we needed to know."
Ethan's eyes flick to me, then back to Lucky. "He looks pretty well-behaved now."
"He is," Sean agrees. "But it took time and patience. And a lot of treats."
The boy leans forward slightly, his interest clearly piqued. "What kind of tricks can he do?"
Sean demonstrates a few of Lucky's more impressive commands, playing dead, fetching specific items by name, even a simple counting trick where he barks a certain number of times. With each trick, Ethan's reserve melts a little more, until he's finally reaching out to pet Lucky tentatively.
"I had a dog," he says suddenly. "Before I got sick. He had to go live with my aunt because my mom couldn't take care of both of us."
"That must have been hard," Sean says quietly.
Ethan nods, his hand still resting on Lucky's head. "His name was Rex. He was a mutt, but he was smart too."
"I bet he misses you," I say, joining the conversation. "Dogs never forget the people they love."
"Yeah?" Ethan looks up, a vulnerable hope in his eyes.
"Absolutely," Sean confirms. "Dogs are better at love than most people. They don't care if you're sick or having a bad day. They're just happy to be with you."
Something in Ethan seems to crumble then, and he leans forward, wrapping his arms around Lucky's neck much as Zoe had done. Lucky, sensing the boy's need, stays perfectly still, allowing the embrace.
"My doctor says I might get to go home next month," Ethan says, his face still buried in Lucky's fur. "If my counts stay good. Maybe I can see Rex then."
"That sounds like something to look forward to," Sean says, his voice gentle. "And in the meantime, Lucky can visit you again, if you'd like."
Ethan pulls back, wiping quickly at his eyes. "Yeah, that would be cool."
By the time we leave Ethan's room, all three of us, Sean, Lucky, and I, seem emotionally drained but fulfilled in a way that's hard to articulate. Lucky walks a little slower, as if sensing the importance of what he's just done.
"You two were amazing," Liz tells us as she walks us back to the elevator. "Some of our veteran therapy teams don't connect that well with the kids. You have a natural touch."
"It's all Lucky," Sean demurs, but his hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
"We'd love to put you on the regular rotation," Liz continues. "Twice a month, if that works with your schedule."
"Absolutely," I answer for both of us. "We'd be honored."
In the car, Lucky curls up in the backseat. Sean is quieter than usual as he drives, his expression thoughtful.
"You okay?" I ask, reaching across to touch his arm.
He nods, covering my hand with his. "Just thinking about Diane. About how much she would have loved seeing Lucky today."
"She would have been so proud," I say softly. "Of both of you."
Sean pulls into a small park near our neighborhood, putting the car in park but leaving the engine running. He turns to face me, his expression open and vulnerable in a way that still surprises me sometimes.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," he begins, "about how we got here. About all the little choices and chances that led to this moment."
"Like what?" I prompt, recognizing the reflective mood that sometimes takes him.
"Like Diane adopting Lucky. Like her getting sick so quickly. Like me inheriting a dog I had no idea how to handle." His eyes meet mine, warm and full of emotion. "Like finding your name when I was desperately searching for a dog trainer."
My heart swells at the memory of our first meeting, me with my pink hair and professional skepticism, him with his structured life being systematically destroyed by a golden retriever puppy.
"It's like she orchestrated the whole thing," Sean continues, his voice soft with wonder. "Diane. She always said I needed more chaos in my life, more color. She worried about me being alone, too focused on work."
"She sounds very wise," I say, reaching up to touch his face gently.
"She was." He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm. "And I think... I think she'd be happy about this. About us. About seeing Lucky bringing joy to those kids today."
"I think so too."
Sean takes a deep breath. "I've never believed in fate or destiny or any of that. I'm a man of logic, of plans."
"You don't say," I tease gently.
He smiles, acknowledging the jab. "But sometimes, Jessica, I look at you and Lucky and now Clover, at this life we're building, and I can't help thinking that some things are meant to be. That Diane knew exactly what she was doing when she gave me Lucky."
The naked emotion in his voice brings tears to my eyes. "Sean..."
"I am, without question, the luckiest man in the world," he says, taking both my hands in his. "And I have been since the day you walked into my house with your pink hair and attitude, turned everything upside down, and somehow made it better than it was before."
"You're going to make me cry," I warn, blinking rapidly.
"Good," he says, not at all apologetic. "Because what I'm about to say next will probably make it worse."
My heart skips a beat as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. "Sean..."
"I had a whole plan," he admits, turning the box over in his hands. "Dinner at that fancy restaurant downtown next week. Champagne. The perfect speech, rehearsed and timed to the second."
"Of course you did," I laugh through my gathering tears.
"But today, watching you with those kids, with Lucky... it just felt right to do it now. Here. With no script or plan." He opens the box, revealing a stunning ring, a flawless pink sapphire surrounded by diamonds, elegant and unique. "Jessica Wright, will you marry me?"
The tears spill over as I look from the ring to his face, seeing all the love and hope and vulnerability there. "Yes," I whisper, then louder: "Yes, absolutely yes."
His smile is radiant as he slips the ring onto my finger. "I love you," he says simply. "More than I ever thought possible."
"I love you too," I reply, leaning across the console to kiss him. "Even your spreadsheets and schedules."
He laughs against my lips. "And I love your chaos and pink hair and complete disregard for punctuality."
From the backseat, Lucky lets out a soft woof, as if adding his approval to the proceedings.
I am the luckiest woman in the world.
Are you ready to read the next story? Click here to read Daddy’s Naughty Realtor.
I sell luxury homes for a living, but no amount of million-dollar deals could’ve prepared me for the moment he walked back into my life.
Jeremy Ford. My first love. My first heartbreak. And now, my newest client.
He’s older, bolder, and just as maddeningly arrogant as ever. The moment he calls me kitten in that deep, gravelly voice, I know I’m in trouble. He claims he’s only here to buy property, but the way he watches me—the way he pushes me—makes it clear: he wants something else, too. Me.
I tell myself I’m immune to his charm. I even joke about it with my Naughty Girls Book Club, where we swoon over Daddy Dom romances and fantasize about finding our own dominant, alpha men. But when Jeremy teases me about my attitude, warns me about consequences, and gives me that knowing smirk?
I start to wonder if I’ve been looking for my perfect Daddy Dom in fiction when he’s been right in front of me all along.
One problem—I’ve spent years building walls around my heart, and Jeremy? He’s the only man who’s ever broken it.
Now he’s promising he won’t make the same mistake again. He says I belong to him. That he’ll take care of me, whether I like it or not.
And when I make one reckless mistake and he proves just how serious he is?
Let’s just say, my book club girls are going to love this story.