Chapter 34
That soft flutter has turned into a full body buzz. It started just under my ribs, spreading through my chest and on to every inch of me as I watch Jake clip the leash on Bear to take him home.
To a real home. Where he’ll get more than nightly checks from my dad in his cinderblock and chain link kennel.
We grab his bed, his favorite purple squeaky ball, and a bag of food, and then head out the door.
Bear can sense something is happening, his routine disturbed for an excellent reason.
His tail wags furiously, abandoning the typical side to side movement for a more emphatic full circle—like a helicopter.
I beam down at him, feeling like my heart is going to explode.
And it nearly does once we turn onto the sidewalk, out of sight from the shelter, and Jake slips the leash around his wrist to hold my hand instead. Our fingers weave together, and his grasp is warm against the bite in the air.
If I’m still wishing for things, I wish this walk was longer.
Our steps crunch over fallen leaves, and every so often Bear lets out an eager whine. “I still can’t believe you’re taking him home, just like that,” I mumble with a sniff.
The tip of my nose is chilled, and probably red from the late autumn wind. It would be easy to write off that sniff as weather related. Same with the pressure behind my eyes. But it would be a lie.
“I’m sorry you can’t take him home,” Jake replies, squeezing my hand. “Hopefully I’m a decent consolation prize until you can figure something out.”
We cross Monroe, his apartment only steps away now. A light glows from the upstairs windows, looking terribly inviting in the fading daylight. I press in tighter against his side and say, “I can’t imagine anyone feeling like you’re simply a consolation prize.”
His thumb drags across my skin, and he glances over at me with an expression I can’t quite put my finger on. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask softly.
His throat bobs. “Careful, Luce. If you keep saying things like that, I might start to believe you.”
“Hmm.” I pretend to consider this; my smirk pressed in a fine line. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
We reach the door to his place, where Jake shifts his hold on the bag of dog food to slip the key from his pocket. As if realizing that he will get to go inside of this new place, Bear starts turning in a tight circle, his whine of excitement gaining momentum once more.
And then it all happens in a blur. Stepping into the stairwell, finding Charlie waiting at the top, where the next door has been left open, the golden recognizing his newest friend, and Bear bolting to meet him.
Jake and I are only halfway up the stairs when we hear the patter of racing paws followed by a song of squeaking toys.
There’s a dull thud as we reach the top and watch the dogs running back around the corner of a kitchen counter, knocking into a stool on the way.
They each have a toy in their mouth and seem to be cutting a path through the apartment as if following a racetrack.
No one else comes to greet us, making me assume Taylor is out. I enjoy her company, but can’t say I mind having this little slice of privacy tonight.
“I think they might be fine with this new arrangement,” Jake muses, setting the dog food on the counter and taking the bed from me.
A snort escapes me. “You might be right.” I chuckle. “What about you? Second guessing this?”
The boys come sliding over to us across the smooth kitchen linoleum—specifically over to Jake as they crash against his legs.
He absorbs the blows with ease, bending over to ruffle their fur and scratch under their chins and playfully tug at the toys they appear to be offering him, but have little intention of actually releasing.
“Not a chance, huh, guys?” he says, confirming with the canines that this was a great decision on his part.
I lean against the counter and smile at the whole, tender scene playing out before me. I think I could watch this indefinitely.
Eventually, the boys settle. They take their respective toys to lie down in the living room, and even though I offered to help Jake in the kitchen, he insists I join them on the other side of the apartment.
From my seat on the sofa, I take a second to glance around the space, cataloging the way Jake has settled in here.
The open crossword puzzle booklet with his glasses set atop it.
The flannel hanging off the corner of the armchair.
The dog bed by the television with Charlie’s name embroidered across the front and Bear’s bed, the new addition, right beside it.
Then I take a second to admire the man that has so readily folded me and my dog into his space.
He’s lost in a cloud of steam as he drains the spaghetti noodles, but then he turns away from the sink to face me.
His hair is a little mussed, probably from the wind on our walk over.
And his sweater sleeves are pushed up to reveal those strong forearms I so enjoy.
Setting the colander on the counter, he stops to look up. There’s a glint in his brown gaze as it traces over me. I feel it as if his hands were on my skin.
When the corner of his mouth twitches, I can’t help but ask, “Why do you look like you’re thinking something?”
That twitch hikes up to a smirk. Unabashedly, he says, “Just thinking that I’m glad to finally have you here.”
“All it took was the offer of Italian food.”
He lets out an amused snort, shaking his head at me as if he doesn’t quite believe that. “Speaking of, are you a lightly sauced or bury the pasta completely kind of person?”
“Somewhere in the middle?” I rise from the sofa and cross over to the kitchen. Flattening my palms on the counter, I lean in to look at his hard work.
Jake didn’t simply open a jar of sauce and boil noodles, as he suggested.
Besides the spaghetti he’s plating, there’s freshly baked garlic bread and a tossed salad with a pile of croutons atop the vegetables.
I slip around him to steal one of the crunchy squares, popping it in my mouth as a hand shoots out to snake around my waist.
“How’d you sneak back in here?” he breathes, his lips at my ear.
“Am I in trouble? Are you going to kick me out?” I press my back to his chest, rolling my head against his shoulder and blinking up at those cozy, warm eyes.
His fingers tighten on my side in response.
It doesn’t seem like he plans for me to go anywhere, and a different kind of appetite rears to life within me.
“I actually had another idea.” His mouth brushes light as a feather down my jaw before catching my lips. And he kisses me with a kind of unhurried steadiness that wasn’t present earlier today at the shelter.
It’s relaxed, savoring. I feel it everywhere.
“Mm,” I moan as we part for air. “I have definitely learned my lesson.”
His responding laugh is a burst of warmth against my neck as his face presses into the soft curve between my ear and shoulder. “Good,” he says in mock reprimand, lifting his face to meet my gaze once more.
The air is thick between us, and in this moment, I’ve all but forgotten dinner and the dogs too—until a bark from Charlie permeates the silence. He jumps up, running towards the sound of someone coming in the door downstairs.
“Taylor’s home,” Jake announces with a simmering undertone of disappointment.
A soft oh slips from me, equally forlorn, but is nearly drowned out by her steps as she ascends to the apartment. Then the door flings open and Taylor bursts inside.
“It is getting so damn cold—” she starts to announce, swallowing the rest of her words as her eyes track Jake’s hands on me. “But I am interrupting, hi, Lucy, by the way. So, I’ll just go to my room and put my headphones on and turn the volume way up.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say, shimming out of his embrace and motioning to the food. “Have dinner with us.”
“You’re sure?” She stretches her neck forward to better see the spread.
“Of course.”
A relieved grin fills her face. “Thank goodness because this smells great.” It’s then that she glances down to where her fingers are tangled in Bear’s fur. “Also, do we have a second dog now?”
Jake rolls his eyes and mumbles, “It took her way too long to notice.”
I slap his arm and turn my attention back to his little sister. “You do for now. Jake agreed to foster Bear.”
Taylor bends forward and says in a mock whisper to the dogs, “Aren’t we lucky that my brother’s got it so bad?”
He doesn’t object or shrink away from the accusation. Instead, he winks at me—slow and sure. A responding thrill coasts down my spine.
My hand drapes over his forearm, and I say directly to him, “We certainly are.”