Chapter 30 #2
I do want that. I really do. And he seems to have forgotten about the whole manual labour outside thing, which I don't mind at all.
"Won't people ask questions?"
"We'll be evasive. Mysterious." He kisses my nose. "Live a little, Sunshine. Be a dog park criminal with me."
"Fine. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you."
"Deal."
The dog park is chaos.
Big dog area, small dog area, chain-link fence between them. Reid holds the gate open for me, and we step into the big dog section like we belong here. Like we do this every weekend.
We do not do this every weekend. We have never done this.
"Act natural," Reid mutters.
"You act natural. You're the one who looks guilty."
"I don't look guilty."
"You're walking weird."
"I'm not—" He catches himself in the middle of a weird hoppy stride. "Okay, maybe a little."
A black lab barrels toward us, tail wagging so hard its whole body wiggles. Reid drops into a crouch, arms wide open like he's been waiting for this moment his entire life.
"Hello, beautiful. Yes, you're perfect. You're absolutely perfect."
The lab knocks him backward onto his ass. He doesn't care. He's laughing, face getting licked, arms full of seventy pounds of dog.
This man. This ridiculous man.
"Shadow! Sorry!" A woman in yoga pants jogs over, leash trailing behind her. "She's obsessed with new people."
Reid's already back on his feet, brushing grass off his jeans like nothing happened. "No worries. She's amazing. Two? Three?"
"Almost four." The woman glances between us. "Which one's yours?"
And there it is.
Reid doesn't miss a beat. "We're researching, actually."
"Researching?"
"Breeds. Energy levels." He gestures vaguely, the way people do when they're talking out of their butt. "Trying to figure out what fits our lifestyle."
Our lifestyle. Like we have one of those.
The woman nods like this makes perfect sense. Does it make sense? I can't tell if we're actually pulling this off or if she's just too polite to call us on it.
"Smart. What are you leaning toward?"
Reid looks at me. Panic behind his eyes.
"Golden retriever," I say. "Maybe a lab."
"Can't go wrong with either." She whistles for Shadow. "Good luck!"
We watch her walk away. Reid exhales dramatically.
"That was close."
"'Researching'?"
"I panicked!" He's grinning though, proud of himself. "Come on. Let's do a lap."
We start walking the perimeter. A German shepherd trots alongside us for a few yards, and my hand itches to pet it, but it veers off to investigate a tennis ball before I can. Two beagles are digging a hole near the water fountain while their owner stares at her phone, pretending not to notice.
I like it here. The chaos of it. Everyone just letting their dogs be dogs.
"This is the dream," Reid says, reading my mind. "Saturday morning. Dog park. Coffee after."
"We don't have coffee."
"Coffee after. Keep up, Sunshine."
A golden retriever puppy tumbles into our path, all ears and paws and absolutely no coordination. It trips over its own feet and lands in a heap.
Oh no. Oh no, it's so cute.
Reid crouches down, making sounds I've never heard come out of a grown man.
"Oh my God. Oh my God, look at you."
"Reid."
"Laine, look at this face."
I'm looking. I shouldn't look. If I look too long I'm going to want one.
The puppy licks his chin. He looks up at me like this is the greatest moment of his life. Maybe it is.
"We should get one," he says.
"A golden retriever puppy."
"Any puppy. All puppies."
The puppy's owner—a guy with a coffee cup and dark circles under his eyes—catches up. Reid stands reluctantly, giving the puppy one final pat.
"Beautiful dog, man."
"She's a terror." But the guy's smiling. That tired, affectionate smile of someone who wouldn't trade it for anything. "Yours around here somewhere?"
"Researching," I say.
Reid shoots me a look. I shrug. If it works, it works.
We keep walking. The path curves around a cluster of trees, past a woman throwing a frisbee for a border collie that catches it mid-air every single time. The dog doesn't even look like it's trying. Just leaps, snaps, lands, trots back. Repeat.
"Show-off," Reid mutters.
"You're jealous of a border collie."
"I'm not jealous. I'm impressed. There's a difference." He bumps his shoulder against mine. "What kind would we actually get? Hypothetically."
Hypothetically. Right. We're just talking hypothetically.
"Something medium-sized," I say. "Not too high energy, because of our schedules."
"But still fun."
"And good with people."
"Obviously." He catches my hand as we walk. His palm warm and dry against mine. "We'd need a yard."
"You have a yard."
"It needs work. Blake and I always talked about fixing it up."
Blake.
"Would he be okay with a dog?"
"Blake loves dogs." Reid steps aside to let a man with three dachshunds pass. Three. All on separate leashes, tangling around his ankles. The man looks like he's regretting every decision that led him here. "He'd probably train it better than we could."
That's not what I was really asking. But okay.
A corgi waddles toward us from across the park. Determined. Short legs pumping. It's like watching a loaf of bread with legs.
Reid spots it and stops walking entirely.
"Oh no."
"What?"
"Look at its little legs."
"Reid—"
"Laine. Look at them."
I'm looking. God help me, I'm looking.
The corgi reaches us, flops at our feet, belly up. Complete surrender. Reid's on the ground immediately, rubbing its belly, making cooing noises.
"This is my son now."
"You can't keep saying that about other people's dogs."
"Watch me."
The owner catches up—sixties, fishing hat, deeply amused expression. He's seen this before. Probably sees it every day.
"Chester likes you."
"Chester," Reid repeats reverently. "Perfect name. Perfect dog. Perfect everything."
"You got one?"
"Researching," we say together.
We're getting good at this.
The man laughs. "Corgis are great if you've got the energy." He tips his hat. "Come on, Chester."
Reid watches Chester waddle away. The longing on his face is genuine.
"We should get a corgi."
"You just said golden retriever."
"Yep. One of those too."
I pull him up. His hand finds mine again immediately, like it belongs there. We keep walking, past a pit bull playing tug-of-war with a rope toy, past a pair of huskies who look like they're planning world domination.
The sun's warm. Dogs barking everywhere. Kids laughing somewhere near the water fountain.
"I used to check flight schedules constantly," I say. Don't know why it comes out now. Just does. "Even when I was happy somewhere."
Reid studies me, seeing too much, or maybe not enough. His thumb moves against my palm.
"And now?"
"I can't remember the last time I looked."
He stops walking. Turns to face me.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His face goes all soft and his hand finds my face. Tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. A woman walks past us with a poodle. I barely notice.
"When you move in—" He stops. Catches himself. "If. If you move in. Eventually."
My heart's beating faster. "When," I say.
"When?"
"When."
He's smiling now. That ridiculous, hopeful, full-body smile.
I want this. All of it. There's no going back for me. I love him, and that's all there is to it.
I've never been afraid of hard work. And for him? For us? I'll do whatever's needed to make us a success.
A dog barks somewhere behind us. Kids laughing. Someone's owner yelling "drop it, drop it!"
"We could have this," Reid says. "Someday. Saturday mornings. Dog park. The whole thing."
Heck yeah we can. "Someday we will."
Before I can attack him and stick my tongue down his throat, my stomach growls. Loud. Embarrassingly loud, totally ruining the moment.
Reid grins. "Lunch?"
"God, yes."