Chapter Fifteen
I wake with a jolt shortly after sunrise, convinced it was all a dream, only to find Everett sound asleep on the far side of my bed, with his mouth ajar and his hands tucked under his cheek.
Far isn’t that far, since my mattress is only queen-size, but a certain ample-bodied, space hog of a golden retriever is stretched out between us.
Everett and I came back here after having fun at his place so she didn’t spend the night alone, and she decided that if he was allowed to sleep in my bed, she should be, too. I wasn’t exactly in a mood to argue.
My stirring wakes her, and the instant I start petting her head, her tail thwaps against the bed. I hold a finger to my lips to shush her, but she only wags harder as she wriggles toward me.
Predictably, Everett’s eyes blink open. My anxiety spikes without warning, a knee-jerk reaction to being in a new situation, and one in which wanting too much could shatter me; but before a barrage of annoying questions and reflexive what-ifs has a chance to assault my brain, a sleepy smile stretches across his face and he reaches out to tuck loose strands of hair behind my ear, letting his knuckles graze my cheek and his thumb brush my lower lip where one or both of us bit it last night.
I can tell because it’s unusually tender.
Actually, everything’s tender. My neck, my wrists, my breasts, my thighs, my. .. well. My everything.
“Good morning,” he says in a slow, gravelly drawl I find unbelievably sexy.
“Good morning.” I try not to look like a lovestruck idiot but I’m pretty sure I fail.
“So this is what you look like first thing in the morning.”
“I did try to warn you.”
“Consider me horrified.” He scoots closer and kisses me before I can apologize for my chaotic hair or my morning breath, neither of which seems to faze him, and he stays close when he breaks the kiss, keeping one hand tucked under his cheek while the other roams my face, tracing my cheekbone, my eyebrows, my jaw.
“Last night was so good, and the last thing I want to do is start today by breaking your trust, but I have to confess”—he pauses just long enough to make me worry—“I’m pretty sure I spent a significant portion of the night spooning your dog. ”
As I relax into a laugh, Aggie rolls onto her back while looking adoringly at Everett.
“Enjoy it while you can,” I tell her as I rub her belly. “This will not become a habit.”
She completely disregards me, drinking in attention from both of us.
We spend a lazy half hour lounging in bed together, doting on Aggie, stealing gentle caresses and not-so-gentle caresses, talking about the upcoming week and where we might fit in time together around our busy schedules, and lingering in the afterglow of a night that felt both right on time and long overdue.
But eventually we rally and reluctantly get dressed.
Everett fights a smile as he glances at my TV.
“I’m still laughing about Deadpool ,” he says.
I shrug as I zip up my jeans.
“What can I say?” I ask. “If my dog has a fan crush...”
He sidles up behind me and nuzzles my ear with his nose.
“You sure your dog’s the one with the fan crush?” he asks.
I reach for the remote. “I know you think I’m lying, but just watch.”
I turn on the TV and flip through a quick selection of movie previews while Everett embraces me from behind and Aggie watches from her bed while waiting to go out.
A shirtless Channing Tatum? Nothing.
A broody Timothée Chalamet? Not even a blink.
I click on Definitely, Maybe , a 2008 Ryan Reynolds film we haven’t watched yet. As soon as he appears on-screen, Aggie’s off her bed and sitting in front of the TV, totally rapt.
“Do I want to know how you figured this out?” Everett asks through another laugh.
“You want to be grateful we had two guilt-free hours to do our own thing,” I tell him.
“Fair enough,” he says.
We let her watch while we finish assembling ourselves.
Then Everett joins us for our morning walk and I marvel at the idyllic bubble I’ve woken up in, where I’m sex-sore, holding hands, and laughing about early Christmas decorations going up while wheeling my dog through the last of the dampened fall leaves on a misty mid-November morning.
I can’t stop smiling, every time I look at this beautiful man and this beautiful dog, and wonder how I got here.
Everett kisses me in the elevator as we ride upward, and I drop the makeshift handle of Aggie’s wagon extension so I can rake my hands through his hair while he finds his way under my sweater to play with my breasts.
We pause at each floor but don’t fully stop until we pass five, smoothing our hair and clothes just in time for the doors to open, revealing Tegan and Regina in the sixth-floor hall.
We exchange friendly greetings and I briefly introduce everyone as Everett and I wheel Aggie out of the elevator, and as Regina and Tegan step inside, both patting Aggie as they pass.
As the doors close, Regina says in a hushed voice, “Called it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tegan says. “You’ll get your twenty when we’re back.”
Then they’re gone, leaving Everett, Aggie, and me alone.
I blink at the closed elevator doors. “Did they just...”
“Yep.” Everett sets a hand on the small of my back, steering me toward my door so we can enjoy the pastries we brought home last night. “They sure did.”
“But we weren’t... we’re not... I mean, how did they know?”
Everett’s lips press together as he gives me a look that suggests I should be able to figure this one out on my own, which I do, with a pat of my mussed hair and a glance at our rumpled clothes.
Everett’s lips are also swollen, his curls are especially disarrayed, and I didn’t take the time this morning to cover the bruises he left on my neck.
In other circumstances I might be embarrassed.
Instead, all I can do is smile. I trust what I’m building with Everett.
I’m proud of it. And despite my continued wonder about how I got here, I intend to enjoy the hell out of it.
F OR THE NEXT ten days, I find myself suppressing unexpected smiles that threaten to take over my entire face during random moments at work, in classes, and on dog walks.
It sounds so cliché even in my mind, but I swear, colors seem brighter.
Smells seem sweeter. I’m weirdly inclined to laugh at things that are only mildly funny.
I even talk to strangers. On purpose. I’ve spent the last few years desperately, ineffectively trying to talk myself into wanting to engage with the world, and now, without any of the effort that used to exhaust and demoralize me, I not only want to engage with the world, I feel like the world wants to engage with me.
I sit up straight in classes, taking copious notes on biopsies and cytology with renewed interest in my chosen field.
I sell $600 sheet sets like I truly believe no one should settle for less than thousand-thread-count cotton.
I spend extra time outside with Aggie. I splurge on tea and baked goods so I can visit Diana and Johann.
I do all of my laundry and not just whatever load gets me by for another week.
I hum like a Disney Princess during my cleaning job, which is especially strange because I’m still listening to veterinary podcasts and not to music.
Perhaps the most significant evidence that I’m under a twinkly love spell arrives when my mom texts to ensure I follow her TikTok account, where she’s proudly posted her first video, which is twenty seconds of soft-hued stock sunrise footage with the phrase Positive vibes only!
superimposed in a scrolling white font. I’ve avoided directly engaging with her social media content for as long as I can remember, but I don’t even hesitate. I go ahead and follow her.
The day before Thanksgiving, I take Aggie to Ruff ’n’ Rescue for a weigh-in and to show Sam and Sariah how she’s getting up on her own now and shuffle-walking several steps without support, even though I keep her harness on and stay by her side to grab the handle as needed.
We record her weight at a hundred and seven pounds, down five from her last weigh-in, and eighteen pounds total over nine weeks.
While she still has a way to go, I’m wildly proud of her.
“Think we can aim for double digits by the end of the year?” Sam asks.
I crouch in front of Aggie and stroke her supersoft ears in the way I know she likes best.
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Do I tell them you’re a magical, special, celestial being who can do anything you set your mind to, or do you prefer to err on the side of modesty?”
She licks my face and lets out a single, happy bark.
“We’ll take that as a yes about the double digits,” Sariah says.
“And also about how special she is,” Sam adds.
Before I leave, we talk about the possibility of pursuing the hydrotherapy people keep encouraging in the comments on our TikTok account.
It would definitely be good for her, once she builds more stamina.
She’s walking more and more on her own as the weeks pass, but her joints are overstressed from the weight she’s been carrying and her steps are still quite wobbly.
I’d love to see her run one day, really run, the way Marmie used to, flying after the balls I threw no matter how badly I aimed them.
Unfortunately, I already researched hydrotherapy, and it costs about $130 for an initial assessment, and $80 for every thirty minutes after that.
It’s way outside my budget and also halfway across town, so I’m not even sure I could fit in the time.
“You could crowdsource it,” Sam suggests. “I bet her followers would chip in.”
“They totally would!” Sariah agrees. “You’d have that money in no time.”
I nod, still petting Aggie’s ears, though more for my comfort now than for hers.