It's past midnight, and I'm lying in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment with Heather on the patio. The way she looked at me when I told her I wasn't going anywhere. The taste of her lips. The soft sound she made when I pulled her closer.
I'm thirty-two years old and feeling like a teenager again.
Except it's different this time. Back then, I was all hormones and fear, and too chicken to admit what I felt. But now I know exactly what I want, and it scares the hell out of me in an entirely new way.
Because this isn't just about me anymore. Every choice I make affects Violet. Every relationship I pursue becomes part of her world, part of her healing process. And if I screw this up with Heather, if I let myself fall completely and somehow lose her, it won't just devastate me. It'll shatter that little girl sleeping down the hall who's already drawn us into her family pictures.
The responsibility of that should make me pump the brakes. Instead, it makes me want to sprint full-speed toward Heather and lock this down before the universe can throw another curveball at us.
I've spent my life playing it safe emotionally. Dating women I knew I'd never fall for. Keeping everything surface-level. Insisting I was protecting my career, my focus, my freedom.
But the truth is I was protecting myself from feeling anything close to what I felt for Heather so long ago. That terrifying, all-consuming certainty that someone could matter more than baseball ever did.
And now she's right next door, acting like maybe she feels the same way. I'm not letting that slip through my fingers again. Not this time.
With a sigh, I throw off the covers and pad down the hall in my shorts and t-shirt. I need to check on Violet anyway—old habits from those first terrible months after Tracy died. Some nights Violet would wake up screaming, and I quickly learned to sleep half-awake, always alert.
I ease open her door, letting the hallway light spill across the room, and stop in my tracks.
Violet is sound asleep flat on her back, her thumb tucked in her mouth, blonde hair spread across her pillow. Cookie’s potato-shaped body curves along Violet’s side, her head resting protectively across my niece's chest like a furry guardian.
Cookie's eyes open when I step closer, fixing me with that steady, watchful gaze. For once, there's no judgment in it. Just a quiet understanding, as if she's sayingI've got her. She's safe.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the dog.
Cookie's nubby tail gives one small wiggle, then her eyes drift closed again.
I stand there for a long moment, watching them sleep. Violet's face is peaceful, relaxed in a way I haven't seen since before Tracy's accident. No tension, no fear. Just a little girl sleeping soundly with her best friend.
My throat tightens. This is why I brought her to Pelican Point, for this peace and a sense of normalcy. But I couldn't havepredicted that it came in the form of a stubborn corgi and a beautiful, brilliant librarian.
I pull Violet's door almost closed and head downstairs, knowing sleep won't come anytime soon. My mind is too full of Heather, of possibilities, of the way my life has shifted in just a few short weeks.
The giggling wakes me up.
I fumble for my phone in the pre-dawn darkness. Six AM. A groan escapes as I drag my hand down my face. Four hours of sleep, maybe.
“Cookie, wait! It fell off again!” Violet's voice floats from her bedroom, chased by giggles and a muffled woof.
Curiosity pulls me upright. I grab a t-shirt from the dresser, tug it on, and pad down the hall. Her door stands wide open. When I reach the threshold and peer inside, I freeze as a slow grin stretches across my face.
Violet is sprawled on the floor in her nightgown, surrounded by every stuffed animal she owns—an audience for a very important gathering. Her small pink blanket lies spread in the center, her tea set positioned with meticulous care.
Cookie lies across from her with Violet's sparkly pink princess crown perched at a crooked angle between her ears. The corgi is fully splooted, her back legs stretched behind her like a frog, front paws extended, and her belly pressed flat against the carpet.
“Like this, Cookie?” Violet asks, trying to copy the pose, stretching her legs behind her. Cookie watches with the gravity of a yoga instructor assessing her student, then issues a single approving bark.
If my heart were made of granite, it would've cracked right open. This might be the most absurd, heart-melting thing I've ever witnessed. Needing proof this happened, I raise my phone and capture it before the moment vanishes.
The click turns both of their heads, and I take several more pictures: Cookie in her crown, Violet attempting to sploot, the circle of stuffed animals bearing witness to this absurd tea party. Then I pull up Heather's contact and attach the best photo before typing:
Your dog is teaching my niece important life skills. Also, she's wearing a crown again. I think this means Cookie is officially royalty.
Her reply pings back almost instantly:
OMG. I need to frame this. Also, Cookie only shares her splooting secrets with people she REALLY loves. Violet should feel honored.
I chuckle and type:
