Chapter Three #2
The tenderness in his voice made something in my chest squeeze tight. I busied myself arranging her toys in a small pile, making sure she'd have options when she woke up.
TJ mixed formula in a bottle, testing the temperature against his wrist before offering it to her—moving with the ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times. She latched on immediately, making soft sounds while she ate, her tiny paws kneading against his forearm.
"You're good at that," I said, leaning against the doorframe, watching the way he cradled her like she was made of glass.
"Mom's been breeding dogs my whole life." He glanced up with a smile. "Never understood why she loved it so much until now. It's different when you're the one taking care of them."
When she finished, she curled into a ball and was out immediately.
"She's worn out," TJ said quietly. "It's been a long day."
Downstairs, I grabbed towels. "You should dry off."
"Thanks. I appreciate this."
"What else was I going to do? Let you freeze?"
"Some people might've." He hung his hat by the door, ran the towel through his damp hair. "Stranger showing up on Christmas Eve."
"Stranger with a puppy. That's different. The puppy's like your passport."
He smiled—a slow, genuine smile that created a dimple in his left cheek—and I forgot about the storm outside.
"So you said your family has a ranch?"
"About twenty minutes outside Livingston. Cattle operation. Been in my family for three generations." He draped the towel over a chair. "Taking over in the new year. Parents are retiring."
"That's a lot of responsibility."
"Yeah." He looked toward the windows. "But it's what I want. The land, the work... it's home."
He said it like stating a fundamental truth.
"I'm from Kalispell originally," I offered. "Moved to Bozeman for work. I'm a dental assistant. Was. I quit yesterday."
"That why you're spending Christmas alone?"
"No. Bad breakup. Caught my boyfriend—also my former employer—cheating yesterday." I turned to the windows. "Came here alone instead of canceling."
Silence. Then, quietly: "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He's an ass."
"Still. That's rough."
"Hence the solo holiday vacay with enough groceries to feed an army. Stress baking is my therapy."
"Stress baking?"
"Cookies, mostly. Though I might branch out into pies." I managed a smile. "My ex wasn't big on sweets—for him or me—so I haven't baked in forever. Figured I'd make up for lost time."
"Sounds like a good plan." His voice was warm. "Nothing wrong with cookies at Christmas."
"Exactly what I thought."
A cry broke the moment.
“Puppy,” we both said at once, looking toward the stairs.
Upstairs, we found her sitting on her blanket, looking confused and scared.
"Hey, girl." I knelt, and she immediately waddled over, tail wagging. "You're okay. We're right here."
"She probably needs to go out," TJ said, scooping her up. "Been a while since that accident downstairs."
"Right. Let me grab my coat."
We bundled up and stepped onto the deck.
The storm slammed into us like a freight train. Wind tore at my coat, and snow stung my face, sharp as needles. The temperature had dropped even further—my lungs burned with each breath.
"Damn," TJ muttered, turning to shelter her against his chest. "This is worse than I thought."
The deck had already accumulated six inches, maybe more. I could barely see the railing through the white wall of falling snow.
He set the little animal down in the protected corner. She did her business quickly, then started shivering.
"Inside," I said.
We stumbled back through the door, brushing off snow.
I watched him gently dry off the tiny creature with a towel. "Does she have a name yet?"
"Not that I know of. Her new owner will name her." He glanced up. "Why?"
"It feels weird just calling her 'Puppy' all night. Would it be okay if I gave her a temporary name? Just for while you're here?"
He smiled. "Sure. What are you thinking?"
"How about... Twinkle?"
"Twinkle?" His mouth quirked.
"It's Christmas. She's got sparkly energy." She wiggled in his arms, licking his chin. "See? She likes it."
"Twinkle it is, then." He scratched behind her ears, and our fingers collided as I reached to pet her too.
We both pulled back. He cleared his throat. I pretended the puppy was suddenly the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen, watching her wag so hard her whole body shimmied like she was doing a TikTok dance.
We spent the next hour playing with Twinkle. TJ tried to teach her to sit—she was more interested in attacking his bootlaces.
"Sit, Twinkle. Come on, girl."
She jumped for the treat he offered instead, nearly falling over her paws. When she landed, she pounced on his boot.
I couldn't stop laughing. "She's not getting it."
"She will. Needs practice. And maybe to be less of a maniac."
"Pretty sure that's her default setting."
She zoomed across the rug, sliding into a chair leg, bouncing back up.
"See? Pure chaos in a fur coat."
"Your dog."
"Your dog. You brought her."
"You named her. That's basically adoption."
When Twinkle finally collapsed, we brought her to the living room and settled on the couch. I grabbed the remote and switched from the movie to a soft holiday music playlist. She sprawled between us, out cold within seconds.
My stomach growled—loud enough we both heard it.
"Sorry," I said. "Haven't eaten since this morning."
"I had lunch before I left, but that was hours ago."
"I should make us something."
"Probably a good idea."
But neither of us moved.
The fire crackled. Outside, snow hammered the windows in white sheets. The Christmas tree lights blinked in the corner.
I watched TJ stroke Twinkle's soft fur, his hand moving in slow, gentle motions. When he glanced over, our eyes met.
Held.
The puppy snored softly between us, oblivious.
"Getting late," TJ said quietly.
"Yeah."
But we stayed right where we were—the storm raging outside, the fire warming the room, Christmas Eve stretching ahead into the unknown.
And I had no idea what came next.