Epilogue Double Dog Dare （Lena） #2
At this point, I don’t know if the toy on the floor I’m stepping over belongs to the dogs or Noah.
Probably both.
“With you in charge of his recovery, he’ll probably grow his ear back in no time.” Brady grins, bringing our food to the table.
I stop and take a second to appreciate his perfect face.
It isn’t fair. This man wears age like a designer fashion statement.
Just the slightest hint of early grey silvering his hair.
If I’m lucky, he’ll have that distinguished silver fox look his father has, minus the thorny attitude.
The lines around his eyes when he smiles will absolutely slay me no matter how long we’re together. He always smiles like he means it too.
Sappy or not, I think I fall a little more in love with him every day.
Before we met, I couldn’t imagine crushing on an older guy, but here we are.
“I’ll take him downstairs,” Freya announces. She has to use both hands to hoist up the cat carrier. No matter how underfed and scrawny he is, she’s still just a seven-year-old.
“Easy! You know the rules,” I say. “Set him in there and make sure the door stays shut. Do not let him out. We’ll do that later, after dinner.”
“Fiiine.”
She’s been scratched enough times to count over the years. I’m going to trust she won’t “accidentally” let that door pop open, if only to save her own skin.
I don’t put that sort of faith in this cat.
But then again, he’s stopped hissing like a cornered snake.
Most animals handle children pretty well.
Freya certainly has good instincts, I guess. Brady insists she gets it from me, but while I’ve always been there to help, I haven’t ever had the same knack for making animals trust me.
There’s a difference between understanding the creatures you’re treating and having them immediately love you.
My heart unexpectedly brims at the thought of this starved, lonely cat experiencing real love for the first time.
It’s a big cruel city out there with a ton of strays around. I certainly wish it wasn’t.
Buttercup doesn’t know it yet, but he’s a very lucky boy.
Just as long as he learns to share his heart with a bright-eyed seven-year-old girl who thinks it’s her life’s mission to save as many forgotten animals as possible.
I don’t think it’s possible to be this proud.
“I love you,” I call to Freya, who’s already bounded partway downstairs.
She turns and looks at me with a frown, her blue eyes puzzled and patient and too old for her years.
“Well, yeah,” she says seriously, lugging the carrier.
“Do you think she’ll be okay with our new friend?” Brady asks.
I wince.
He still remembers the time I brought home our last foster kitten. The little beast scratched his arm and barfed formula all over him the second he took away the bottle.
I kiss his cheek. “She’ll be fine. Freya has her father’s knack for new arrivals, and we’ve drilled it into her a thousand times, right?”
“Are we really keeping Buttercup?”
“The ship has sailed,” I say with a sigh. “You know we’ll have a pint-sized mutiny on our hands if we don’t.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “If this keeps up, the cats will outnumber the doggos soon. Can’t say I like that math.”
“Cats are better when you’re old, even if we’ve still got a little way to go before that happens.” I grin at him and walk over to start plating up dinner. “Besides, you think we’re going to stop now?”
“I’m not joking about moving if this petting zoo expands.” He pulls a mock-horrified face.
“I mean . . . little Noah hasn’t even had a chance to weigh in yet.” We both know what’s going to happen when he’s older—more animals. Grinning, I hold a hand to my head dramatically and say, “I’m having a vision. I see a hedgehog, an iguana . . . maybe even a house pig in our future.”
“House pig? Like hell,” Brady grumbles, but he’s smiling as I scoop Noah off the ground and take him to the sink to wash his hands.
Freya comes clattering back up to us a minute later, sucking on her hand. I immediately side-eye her.
“What did you do?”
“I just wanted to touch his nose, Mama. But Buttercup doesn’t like to be petted,” she announces.
“Freya!” Brady’s at her side in an instant, kneeling and taking her hand, his sympathy smothering our need to discipline her. Sure enough, two small scratch marks are beading with dark blood. “What did we tell you about touching new animals too soon? Now you had to learn the hard way.”
“Dad, he liked it—at first. He let me touch his face until he didn’t. It doesn’t even hurt!” The tears brimming in her eyes say differently.
“Let’s get you cleaned up before dinner. And you’re not touching Mr. Buttercup for the rest of the evening,” he says.
“Daaaad! No fair.”
“I’ll get dinner on the table,” I say, already wrestling Noah into his high chair.
“Kitty! Kitty!” The little boy claps his hands and bounces.
I ruffle his hair with a tired laugh. It’s going to be a rough few days when Freya isn’t the only one enamored with our new arrival.
Like I said, sweet chaos.
But as I hear Brady talking to Freya about the need to respect animals’ personal space, and Queenie nudges my side, already looking for dinner scraps with her big buttery eyes, I remember how much I love this unruly life we’ve made together.
Brady, the brilliant self-made giant of revolutionary organic pet food.
Me, the crazy cat lady with the best vet clinic in Seattle.
Our wonderful, adorable family.
Who knows where it ends, but there’s no doubt about one thing.
This man will keep blessing me with everything in the long, happy years ahead, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.