Chapter 13 Noah
NOAH
When I woke up, Maya was already gone. Not that I expected a drawn-out goodbye or anything, but still, I kind of did. Bridesmaids probably had a dozen things to do on wedding morning. Like fixing floral emergencies or staging last-minute eyeliner rescues.
A buzz lit up my phone.
Maya: You’re in, partner. Noon. Main tent. Same one as the rehearsal. Wear your best suit. P.S.: Don’t go into the wrong tent. Unless you want to get handed a tray of mini quiches and traumatized by Aunt Lorna’s unsolicited life advice.
I barked out a laugh.
Noon. That worked. It gave me just enough time to deal with the furniture delivery and maybe, finally, buy something for the stray that kept hanging around.
At the store, I grabbed a water bowl, some snacks, and a leash. I almost picked out a collar, but I didn’t even have a name for him yet. I went through a few possibilities in my head as I paid.
Ghost? Too dramatic.
Christmas? Absolutely not.
Tank? He was built like one, but way too peaceful.
Kevin? …what? No.
Yeah, I wasn’t great at this.
I drove out to The Sundown, hoping he’d be there. But the place was quiet. The porch sat empty, and the gate was ajar, the breeze catching it just enough to make it creak.
No sign of him.
I stood there for a minute, one foot still inside the truck, and looked at the house again. It wasn’t much yet, just walls and a roof and a promise, but I saw it.
A future.
Maybe with a dog curled at the steps, a second coffee mug left out. Maybe someone walking barefoot across the hardwood floors, saying something that made me want to stay forever.
Maybe Maya.
I shook my head. I was getting ahead of myself again.
But damn, it was a good vision.
The delivery showed up right on time—miracle of miracles—and I spent the next hour directing two guys who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else on Earth. The Sundown didn’t have much yet, but piece by piece, it was coming together.
My style? Simple. Country, classic kind of country, not the kitschy antlers-and-flannel kind. Clean lines, aged wood, and a leather couch that creaked. The kind of style that didn’t clash with the Victorian bones of the place but leaned into them and made them feel lived in.
And then came the punchline.
“Sir,” one of the guys said, “about the bed…we couldn’t get it in the truck with the rest of the load. Ran out of space. We’ll bring it on the next run, two days tops.”
“You left the bed?”
“Yeah, we figured we’d do the smaller stuff first. Prioritize the easy unload, you know?”
Right. Prioritize everything except the thing a man actually sleeps on.
So much for a king-sized dream.
He gave me a thumbs-up, then climbed back in the cab while I stood there, one mattress short of a furnished house.
They left, and I stood there, thinking about how the bed was supposed to be the centerpiece.
“Never mind!” I shook it off.
I had bigger things to worry about, like a certain four-legged mystery who might or might not show up.
Lazily, I grabbed the bowls I’d picked up from town, filled one with clean water, the other with some dry food, and set them on the porch.
It didn’t take long.
From the trees came the faintest sound, the leaves rustling just enough, and out trotted the shaggy mutt.
“Hello there, big fella,” I said, crouching. “Look at you, showing up like you’ve got a standing invitation.”
He didn’t make a sound. He just settled in and studied me, tail still, ears alert.
Before long, he padded over and started eating.
I leaned back against the railing and watched him. “What should I name you? Bear? You’ve got the coat for it.” His ears didn’t twitch.
“Tawny?” I tried. “You’re part coyote, admit it.”
Nothing. He kept chewing.
Then it came to me. “Reko,” I said.
The dog paused mid-chew, lifted his head, and tilted it, one ear twitching like he was processing.
“Yeah, I know,” I muttered. “Weird name. But I knew a Finnish guy back in my hockey days. Defenseman. Quiet as stone, but he was always exactly where I needed him.”
The dog squinted.
“He was smart. Reliable. Didn’t bark unless it mattered.” I gave a dry chuckle. “Kind of like you, come to think of it.”
The dog looked me straight in the eye, then let out a huff, flopped down with a grunt, and wagged his tail twice.
“Reko it is. Suits you. Shows up when I need someone. And you look like you wandered straight out of Lapland.”
It’d make a decent story if Maya ever came around. Something light to bring up if the air got weird between us…because it would, eventually.
Reko stretched out, rolled onto his side, and gave a single thump of his tail on the porch.
“Great,” I muttered, settling beside him. “Roommate who doesn’t argue and still thinks I’m worth sticking around for. I’ll take it.”
He grinned in that way only dogs can—mouth open, tongue loose, eyes half-lidded.
I reached out, patting the top of his head. “Remember that, okay? You’re Reko now. I’ll get you a collar the next time I’m in town.”
I thought about giving him a bath—God knows he could use one—but I didn’t have the towel, the shampoo, or the nerve. Besides, he didn’t smell terrible. Just…rustic. And I was going to a wedding. Best not to offend anyone by showing up with the remnants of a wet coyote mix.
“See you tomorrow, Reko,” I said, grabbing my keys. “Wish me luck today.”
He lifted his head, then turned and trotted back toward the trees.