Chapter 19
By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m sweating through my t-shirt, my arms sore from carrying my emotionally complicated choices, and my brain looping the same thought over and over like a bad pop song:
What the hell did I just do.
Because yeah. I walked into that shelter with the intention of getting one puppy. Just one. Cute. Fluffy. Bite-sized chaos to maybe patch the gaping hole in my chest.
And now I have two.
Because I saw her; the mom, Roxy. And I didn’t even think I’d ever get a dog, let alone two, but the moment my puppy started wailing and Roxy started clawing at her cage to get to her baby, something in me cracked open. Split wide. And I couldn’t just walk away.
So, I didn’t .
And now I’m home. With both of them. And oh, great. Hannah’s sitting on my porch like she lives here. “I came to check on you,” she says, standing like she’s been waiting to deliver some big sister sermon.
“No,” I sigh, fumbling with the leash and trying not to let the puppy escape again. “You came to see the puppy.”
I open the door and boom, they’re off. Tiny, one launches herself at Hannah with the grace of a cannonball. Roxy follows at a measured pace like she’s thinking, I’ve birthed that hell beast. You’re welcome.
“I thought you were only getting one,” Hannah says, blinking at me like I’ve grown an extra head. Or maybe just lost mine entirely.
“I was,” I say, rubbing my temples. “And then I saw her cry. And the puppy cried. And then I cried. So now I have two.”
Hannah stares. Then her lip wobbles and she just melts.
“You didn’t separate them,” she says, voice thick.
“You’re so- God, that’s so kind. You’re like… Snow White. But, like, sexy and sad.” She barely two- weeks along, but now she can cry at the drop of a hat.
“Sexy and sad,” I repeat, deadpan. “Exactly the vibe I’m going for. ”
For the next hour, chaos reigns. The puppy sniffs everything, and pees on the rug. Twice. Roxy scratches at the back door, politely requesting asylum. She’s calm. Dignified. Clearly house-trained. Which just makes it more impossible to wrap my head around how anyone could leave her behind.
Like, you house-trained her. You fed her. And you still dumped her like she was garbage.
I hate people.
I give her a bowl of rice and chicken broth because I only bought food for the baby. She eats like a queen. Her kid eats like she’s in a race. Then my phone buzzes.
Caden.
And okay, no, even after weeks of talking on the phone, I’m not ready for this. My hair’s frizzy. I smell like anxiety and dog treats. But I pick up anyway.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual.
“Hey yourself,” he says, voice smooth and just this side of smug. “Did you see the press release?”
“Oh, you mean the one where Leonard and Chris got axed and now you have a woman president? The one who should’ve had the job six months ago?”
“That’s the one. ”
“Well. I approve, especially the ‘toxic work environment’ bit.” I can’t help but tease.
“Right! Me too. Someone very smart suggested that.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You are doing good, you know?” He is
“I’m just trying to make it right,” he says.
“You’re succeeding. I mean, corporate justice? Super-hot.”
He chuckles. Low. Warm. Dangerous.
“So, when are you coming back?” he asks.
I glance at the rug where the puppy is sniffing around with the confidence of someone who knows they’re about to do something illegal.
“Soon,” I say. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
I sigh. “I have two mouths to feed now.”
There’s a pause. “Wait. What?”
“I got two dogs.”
“You what? I thought the plan was to get one.”
“I didn’t mean to. It’s complicated. It involved tears. Mine. Theirs. Some kind of cosmic guilt trip. I don’t know. ”
Another pause.
Then, “You got two dogs?”
“Don’t make it sound like I adopted a zoo. I’m still very single and barely functioning.”
He lets out a laugh, making my stomach do this slow, stupid flip. “I thought you were getting a puppy, not a pack.”
“I should go,” I say, because the puppy’s making that squatty face again and the rug’s already suffered enough. “I only bought stuff for the baby. I need to figure out what Roxy needs. Probably a wine subscription and a nap.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he says.
I squint. “Pomeranians can fit in puppy beds, right? Oh God. No. No no no.”
“She peed again?” he asks, already laughing.
“She peed again.”
I hang up before I say something inappropriate. Like I love talking to you.
Which I do and have been for a week now. But neither of mentions my word vomit or his… words. We haven’t met face-to-face since that one time, but the way we’ve been talking, feels like he gets me better than anyone else right now .
I’m crouched on the rug again, one hand gripping a wad of paper towels, the other still holding my phone like I might accidentally call Caden back just to hear him say “two dogs?” again and laugh like I’m the most chaotic, fascinating thing in his orbit.
The puppy is curled in my lap now, belly up, completely trusting, while Roxy lies nearby, watching her with this calm, exhausted pride that hits me right in the throat. My little accidental pack.
I don’t even realize I’m smiling until Hannah appears in the hallway, drying her hands on a towel. She squints at me, tilts her head, and raises one of those judgmental eyebrows she thinks is subtle.
“What?” I say, still petting Puppy McNameless.
“You’re smiling,” she says, voice weirdly soft.
“I’m admiring the puppy,” I lie. Hannah just stares. Doesn’t say a damn thing. Just… stares.
“Fine,” I groan. “I was talking to Caden.”
Her face does that smug light-up thing. “And?”
“And nothing. I’m still technically married, and he’s… he’s going to be my boss.” I gesture vaguely with my phone, like that explains the entire situation.
Hannah shrugs. “So? He likes you.”
I snort. “We don’t know that he likes me. ”
She blinks. “Yeah, he does. The man called you ten times yesterday.”
“That was about the press release,” I say quickly, too quickly. “He needed my advice.”
“Oh sure,” she says, sitting on the arm of the couch.
“Because the new president of the company has no team. No PR. No common sense. Just… Caden, the CEO, desperate for your insight.”
I glare at her, because it’s true and I hate that it’s true. “The divorce isn’t final,” I say, quieter.
She leans forward a little, palm pressed unconsciously to her invisible baby bump, the gesture so automatic it almost breaks me. “I know you’re a little gun shy,” she says, gently. “But don’t let someone great pass you by just because you’re scared. You deserve to be happy.”
And just like that, I’m gutted.
Because once, this, sitting on a couch with my best friend and a puppy on my lap, was supposed to be the life Mike and I built. I thought by thirty we’d be trying for a baby. I thought we were waiting for stability, for the perfect moment, for that one final promotion.
But somewhere in my bones, I must’ve known. Because every time he brought it up, I’d say “just one more year.” Like I was buying time I didn’t know I needed. “I am still married,” I repeat, a little hollow now.
Hannah doesn’t flinch. “Do you have any intention of taking Mike back?”
“God, no.”
“Then it’s just paperwork.”
And it hits me. She’s right. It’s not a marriage anymore, it’s a file sitting on a lawyer’s desk. A ghost with my name on it.
And Caden? Caden is real. Present. Complicated in a whole different way.
The puppy lets out a tiny yawn and then pees on the rug again.
I sigh, reach for the paper towels, and mutter, “Love is such a mess.”
Hannah leaves with one last squeeze of my shoulder and a promise to text me the name of that rug cleaner she swears by. Roxy watches her go with a soft little tail wag. The puppy is already asleep inside one of my sneakers, which I will now never wear again.
I’m halfway through googling how to train a Pomeranian mix who pees every fifteen minutes, when there’s a knock at the door.
I freeze. Because no one knocks anymore. People text. They call. They loiter in the driveway like Michael, that human root canal. A knock is... intentional.
I tiptoe to the door like it might explode and peek through the window.
It’s Caden, with bags.
I open the door slowly.
“Hi,” he says. Voice low. Unbothered. Like this is totally normal. Like we aren’t standing on the threshold of my heartbreak home, flanked by dog pee and unresolved flirtation.
“Um,” I manage, glancing at the bags. “Did you… get evicted?”
He smirks, shifting his weight. “You said you had two mouths to feed. I figured I’d bring my own fork.”
I blink. “What?”
“Joking,” he says, quickly. “Mostly. I brought these,” he lifts the bags, “because I thought maybe I could help. Dog supplies. Food. Pads. Beds. I didn’t know what size she was, so I asked the salesman for a Pomeranian one.”
My heart does a stupid, traitorous little flip.
“And,” he adds, his voice quieter now, eyes meeting mine in that too-intense way that always makes me feel like my ribcage forgot to close, “I kind of just wanted to see you. ”
Oh. Oh, we’re doing this.
“I probably should’ve asked,” he continues, finally looking a little sheepish. His voice is softer now, like he's suddenly aware of the line he’s toeing.
“You probably should’ve,” I agree, folding my arms across my chest because I have no idea what else to do with them, and if I don't do something, I might reach for him.
We stand there in silence. Not awkward, just still. Behind me, one dog is snoring, the other is probably peeing somewhere she shouldn't, and I'm standing in my doorway with a man who makes my stomach feel like it’s full of warm soda and regret.
“I can leave,” he says. Quiet. Honest. No pressure. And maybe he means it. Maybe he’d walk away if I asked him to.
But instead of answering, I do something that has the potential of either being a colossal mistake or the best damn leap I’ll ever take.
I close the gap between us and kiss him. Hard. Quick. Almost like a dare.
His mouth is warm and surprised against mine, and for a second, neither of us breathes.
My hands are in his shirt before I even know I’ve moved.
His bags hit the porch with a dull thud I barely register because his hands are suddenly on my waist, and my body is lighting up like I just stuck a fork in an outlet labelled Caden .
I’m kissing him like I’ve been holding my breath since the day I caught Michael in bed with my sister.
Like this man is air.
I pull back before I do something even more impulsive, like hump him in the doorway where Mrs Kowalski could see.
He stares at me, breathless and wide-eyed. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. “I’ll take that as a maybe-I-can-stay?”
I nod. My voice is still somewhere between his lips and my spine, so I just gesture toward the inside of the house.
He picks up the bags and takes a step inside.
And maybe I’ll panic later. Maybe I’ll hate myself in the morning. Maybe this is completely reckless and unprofessional and way too soon.
But right now?
Right now, it’s the first time I’ve felt anything like alive in months.
And I’m not sorry .