Chapter 46
Mike glanced at the flashing red light on the printer in his home office. It was out of paper. He pushed back his chair and stood.
Buddy sprang to his feet and trotted to the coat rack by the door. He sat beneath it, eyes flickering from the leash hanging on its hook to Mike, and back again, his tail sweeping hopeful arcs across the floor.
“Sorry, Buddy,” Mike said. “I’ve got to finish this proposal before we go for our run. The printer’s out of paper. I just need to grab more from the garage.”
Buddy didn’t move. He continued to stare at the leash, his tail thumping softly, optimism undimmed.
“It shouldn’t take too much longer,” Mike added.
“Maybe another hour, and then we’ll definitely go.
I’ve been at that desk the entire day. I need to get out and move.
” He paused at the door to the garage and looked back at his faithful companion.
“You might as well return to the sofa. Staring at your leash isn’t going to hurry me along. ”
Buddy finally tore his gaze away, glanced at Mike as if weighing the truth of that statement, then turned and padded to the sofa. He leapt up into his usual spot, circled and settled, though his ears remained perked, just in case.
Mike stepped into the garage. The space was as meticulously ordered as the rest of his home, maybe more so.
Everything had a place, and was in it. Floor-to-ceiling storage cabinets lined a wall.
One was dedicated to office supplies, arranged by size and type.
Another held household items he bought in bulk.
Paper towels, light bulbs, and cleaning supplies were all stacked efficiently.
A long workbench stretched along the opposite wall, its surface clear except for a precisely arranged set of tools.
Above it, pegboards held everything from wrenches to measuring tapes, each outlined and placed in its exact position.
Beneath the bench, rolling cabinets housed power tools and hardware in drawers labeled in his careful architect’s hand.
Mike’s golf clubs stood tucked into a recessed alcove near the water heater, clean and ready.
His SUV sat centered in the space, perfectly aligned between the painted lines on the concrete floor.
Mike inhaled, a small sense of satisfaction settling over him. He liked things in order, predictable and contained. He crossed to the office supply cabinet and pulled out a ream of paper. Turning back toward the house, he started for the door. And stopped.
Something was out of place. It took his mind a second to register it. Anything unfamiliar stood out.
The bowl. Pumpkin’s food bowl. It lay on top of the air compressor beside the workbench, slightly off-center, as though someone had placed it there distractedly and never put it away properly.
Mike stared at it. He remembered how it had gotten there. He’d carried it into the garage when he unpacked, intending to throw it away. It had felt impractical to keep it. And unnecessary.
He walked around the car and reached for it.
There was no reason to hang on to it. He didn’t need a reminder of a woman he would never see again.
His fingers closed around the edge of the bowl.
And just like that, the memory rose: her eyes, warm and kind; the way she had knelt without hesitation to check Buddy’s paws, her hands gentle and her voice soft with concern; and the way she had called him her knight in shining armor.
He exhaled slowly. What were the odds? A delayed flight. A chance meeting in a hotel. One shared evening. And yet, he’d felt more in those few hours than he had on carefully planned dates, or in months of trying to “be open,” to “give things time,” and to “allow the process.”
It wasn’t logical to measure real life against a fleeting, perfect moment.
Mike knew that. He straightened, the bowl still in his hand.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.
But the longing didn’t fade. It sat there, quiet and insistent, like something unresolved.
Like a door that had been opened and never properly closed.
He turned the bowl over in his hands. It was an ordinary thing, stainless steel and lightly scratched.
And yet it was the last tangible connection he had to her.
The one small thing that could have given him an excuse to find her again.
If he’d thought faster and asked for her number.
He cut the thought off. Nothing useful could come from his musings.
“It’s a perfectly good bowl,” he said aloud, grounding himself.
“If anything, I should donate it.” It was a practical solution.
He had been meaning to go through his closet, clear out what he didn’t need, and make space.
He glanced around the garage, looking for a box or a bag to start a donation pile.
There wasn’t one. Of course there wasn’t.
Everything in this space had already been sorted, categorized, and assigned a purpose.
He looked down at the bowl again. Everything except this.
After a moment, Mike set it back on top of the compressor, centering it carefully this time, as though giving it a proper place. “You can stay there a while longer,” he said.
He picked up the ream of paper and headed into the house. From the living room, Buddy lifted his head the moment he heard the door open, hope flickering back to life.
Mike gave him a rueful smile. “Almost there,” he said.
But as he returned to his desk, the numbers and drawings on the screen felt more distant than they had before.
And no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept returning to a woman in a pair of Christmas pajamas, and a moment he couldn’t quite let go of.
Lauren clutched her cardigan close around her as she and Pumpkin hurried along the sidewalk.
The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, but the breeze sweeping down the street had a sharp, unexpected bite.
They were headed to The Friendly Bean to pick up lunch for both her and Kathy.
Business was booming with new clients, new projects, and new deadlines, and they had fallen into the habit of eating at their desks almost every day.
Unlike before, Lauren wasn’t working all hours to keep up.
She left the office every day at five-thirty, and participated in karaoke on Thursdays.
Sometimes she went out afterward with the other regulars.
And K + L Interiors was hiring an assistant, something they’d never considered before. Her life felt fuller.
A flicker of movement in the block ahead caught her eye. A tall, dark-haired man was walking a golden retriever. Her breath hitched. His back was to her, a white takeout bag swinging at his side. The dog moved beside him with easy familiarity, its golden coat catching the sunlight.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Is that him? Could it be Mike … and Buddy? She didn’t think—she moved. Picking up her pace, she wove through clusters of pedestrians. The door of a nearby florist opened, filling the air with the scent of roses and jasmine.
Her eyes never left the man. “Come on, Pumpkin,” she murmured, her voice tight.
Pumpkin paused. A water bowl sat outside a cheerful neighborhood ice cream shop with pastel-painted shutters and a chalkboard sign promising small-batch flavors and house-made waffle cones. Without hesitation, Pumpkin dipped her head and began lapping.
Lauren stopped short to avoid tripping over the pup. Her sudden halt sent the woman walking close behind her straight into her back. “Oh—!” the woman exclaimed as she stumbled.
Lauren spun and caught her by the elbows before she hit the pavement, but the woman’s yoga mat tumbled toward the curb.
“I’m so sorry,” Lauren sputtered.
“No, no,” the woman replied, catching her balance. “That was my fault. I was window shopping and not watching where I was going.”
Pumpkin lifted her head, water dripping from her chin, and looked up at them.
“Is your dog okay?” the woman asked.
“She’s fine,” Lauren said, already reaching to retrieve the mat. She handed it back.
“Thank you,” the woman said, tucking it under her arm.
Lauren nodded, already turning, already searching. The man and the dog were gone. Her chest tightened. She scanned the sidewalk, the storefront reflections, and the cross street ahead. Nothing.
“Come on,” she said, more to herself than to Pumpkin. They hurried toward The Friendly Bean, Lauren’s gaze sweeping in every direction. Then, suddenly, there he was. At the end of the block. The man and the golden retriever stepped into the crosswalk.
Lauren’s pulse surged. “Pumpkin—let’s go.” They broke into a run, passing by The Friendly Bean and reaching the intersection just as the red hand began flashing on the opposite signal. Lauren darted into the crosswalk anyway, quickening her pace. They made it across just as the light changed.
The man and dog were now thirty feet ahead.
Lauren and Pumpkin continued to jog, the leash taut between them. Pumpkin’s breath came faster now, her small legs spinning to keep up.
Lauren’s throat felt dry. I have to know. She closed the distance, then edged slightly ahead, her heart pounding. Instead of calling out, instead of risking the wrong name, she slowed, turned, and looked.
The man glanced up at her, his expression curious.
It wasn’t Mike. The moment collapsed. Her hope shattered so quickly that it left her almost breathless. “Sorry,” Lauren said, the word catching in her throat.
She turned away, heat rising to her face. She and Pumpkin stepped into a recessed doorway, out of the stream of foot traffic. Lauren pressed a hand to her chest and inhaled slowly.
Pumpkin sat at her feet, head tilted, sensing the shift in her mood.
Lauren let out a long breath. “Sorry, sweet girl,” she said, bending to stroke Pumpkin’s head. “I thought they were our friends from vacation.” She gave a small shake of her head. “No such luck.” She straightened, and the disappointment lingered, deeper than she wanted to admit.
I thought you were over that, she told herself. So why does this feel like a loss? She swallowed. “I can’t go around chasing every tall man with a golden retriever,” she muttered under her breath.
Pumpkin blinked up at her, solemn and attentive, as if considering the logic.
Lauren let out a soft huff of laughter. “Okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders and giving the leash a gentle shake. “Kathy is going to wonder where we’ve disappeared to, and what we’ve done with her lunch.”
Pumpkin jumped up.
“We’ll return to The Friendly Bean, grab our order, and head to the office.” She paused, looking down at her pup. “And since you’ve been such a good sport about all of this …”
Pumpkin’s ears perked.
“… I’ll have them add an extra homemade dog treat for you.”