“Of course I am.” Evelyn stated. “The other thing that became strikingly clear is that I want you, Alyssa. I want you to be with me. At Christmas but also for all other Christmases. I know it’s fast and you might need time to adjust. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready. I just need you to know that I’m all in.”
Alyssa felt her eyes water. “Evelyn, I’m all in too. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I might completely suck at being your girlfriend, but I will try my utmost to give you everything you need. The sanctuary has been my everything for so long, but now I know I can share that space. Is that okay?”
“You wouldn’t be the woman I fell for if you didn’t put your everything into the things you love. I will never ask you for more than you can give. And maybe, in time, I can help more with Four Paws?”
“So we’re doing this?”
“Honey, we did this a long time ago. We just had to let our heads catch up to our hearts.”
23
Seventy-Two Hours and Counting
Alyssa
There were exactly seventy-two hours left in the Four Paws and Crawford’s partnership, and Alyssa was determined not to think about what came after.
Not that there was much time for existential dread. Evelyn—her actual girlfriend, a phrase that still felt strange and wonderful in equal measure—was currently in the main conference room, negotiating with a senior sales manager about appropriate festive attire for the final day celebration.
“I’m not wearing the hat,” the sales manager said firmly.
“The hat is optional,” Evelyn replied, her tone suggesting it absolutely wasn’t. “The jumper, however, is not.”
Alyssa watched through the glass wall, nursing a cup of tea that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. The sales manager, a man who could convince a vegan to buy pork scratchings, looked genuinely rattled. There was something deeply satisfying about watching Evelyn in full CEO mode, even if it was over something as ridiculous as Christmas jumpers.
The last day of the partnership wasn’t meant to be a production. Alyssa had suggested cake in the break room and maybe a group photo. Evelyn had other ideas.
The top floor of Crawford’s headquarters had been transformed overnight. Tasteful garlands hung from doorways, fairy lights were strung along the windows, and someone—probably Maggie—had arranged small potted poinsettias on each desk. Every workstation had a plate of biscuits and a thank-you card from the Four Paws team.
The main event was meant to be low-key: employees who’d been fostering or adopting through the partnership could bring their dogs in for the afternoon. A sort of informal meet-and-greet in the break room. Nothing too elaborate.
Except Evelyn had also arranged for catering. And a photographer. And apparently sent a company-wide email mandating “festive jumpers or face my wrath.”
Alyssa’s phone buzzed. A text from Lil, who’d arrived an hour earlier to help wrangle the incoming dogs.
Lil
Please tell me you’re wearing the jumper.
Alyssa glanced down at the Fair Isle monstrosity she’d pulled on that morning. It was aggressively festive, the kind ofthing that should come with a migraine warning. Bug had a matching bandana, which he’d already tried to eat twice.
She sent back a photo. Bug looked deeply unimpressed.
Lil
You both look like you’ve been attacked by a Christmas cracker. Perfect.
By half ten, the break room was packed. Fifteen dogs and their humans, plus what seemed like half the office staff who’d found excuses to wander up from other floors. Bug had positioned himself near the biscuit table, playing host with the gravitas of a bouncer at an exclusive club.
Alyssa had made it clear to everyone involved: these weren’t full adoptions yet. She’d extended home visits through the holidays, but final paperwork wouldn’t be signed until January. She wanted to see how the dogs settled, how the families coped with the reality of pet ownership beyond the honeymoon phase.
Evelyn had backed her up with the kind of authority that made grown men nervous. “If you’re not serious about this,” she’d told the group during the initial meeting, “don’t waste Alyssa’s time. Or the dog’s.”
No one had argued.
Now, watching a marketing assistant crouch down to let a nervous terrier sniff her hand, Alyssa felt something settle in her chest. This was working. Actually working.
“Alyssa!” One of the IT guys—James, she thought—waved her over. He was holding a lead attached to a small, scruffy thing that looked like a mop with anxiety issues. “Just wanted to say thanks. Properly. Biscuit here has been…well, she’s been brilliant.”
