“Don’t encourage her. Last week she tried to convince me that dragons were a legitimate school supply.”
“For art class!” Debbie crossed her arms and pooched out her lip. “Mrs. Martinez said we could draw anything we wanted.”
Watching them together—the easy affection, the playful arguments, the way Theo’s entire face softened whenever Debbie laughed—left me speechless. Breathless. Utterly and completely incapable of reason, not that I was ever that good at reasoning. Still . . .
Was this what I’d been missing my entire life without even knowing it?
This wasn’t just romance, though what I felt for Theo was definitely that and more.
But this sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger than myself, of mattering to people who mattered to me—was this what every parent felt, whatever man or woman who loved from the depth of their souls felt?
One evening, about a month into our routine, Mrs. Chen surprised me.
“I think I can handle Cuddles on my own now,” she said as I was getting ready to leave.
I froze mid-motion, my jacket halfway on. “Are you sure? I don’t mind—”
“I know you don’t mind. That’s why I’m sure.” She smiled, and there was something knowing in her expression that made me suddenly self-conscious. “You’ve taken better care of both of us than we had any right to expect, but I’m feeling strong enough now to handle one spoiled golden retriever.”
I looked down at Cuddles, who was sprawled across my feet like a furry anchor. “But what about her morning walks? And the evening feeding? You said the doctor wanted you taking it easy—”
“Jeremiah.” Mrs. Chen’s voice was gentle but firm. “I’m fine. More than fine, thanks to you, but I think we both know you’re not coming over here for the dog and her old woman anymore.”
Heat flooded my face. “I don’t . . . Mrs. Chen . . . what do you mean?”
“Fine. Play dumb. You’re good at that.” She chuckled. “Go on, get out of here. Go tell that librarian of yours how you feel before I have to come over there and do it for you.”
I bent down to give Cuddles one last scratch behind the ears, earning myself a gentle nip on the wrist that I’d learned to interpret as affection.
“You be good for your mom,” I told her.
She wagged her tail and promptly stole my jacket from where I’d set it on the chair.
“Cuddles, drop it,” Mrs. Chen commanded.
The dog looked between us for a moment, clearly calculating her options, then reluctantly released my jacket and trotted over to her bed with the air of someone who’d surrendered while still successfully making her point.
“She’s going to miss you,” Mrs. Chen said.
“I’ll still visit,” I said quickly. “I mean, if that’s okay. I could bring dinner sometimes, or help with yard work, or—”
“Jeremiah.” She placed a weathered hand on my arm. “You’ll always be welcome here. Both of you will. All three of you, when you’re ready.”
I hugged her goodbye—mindful of her still-healing body—and walked across the street with my heart hammering against my ribs.
Mrs. Chen was right.
I wasn’t visiting for the dog anymore.
I was visiting because somewhere along the way, Theo and Debbie had become my home, and I couldn’t imagine a day without seeing them, without being part of whatever this thingwas that we’d built together. These visits had become my excuse, my rationalization for spending more time with them than was probably reasonable. We were nearing our two-month mark. It was ridiculous for anyone to spend every night together so early in a relationship.
Wasn’t it?
Shit. Relationship? Had I just thought that?
As I reached Theo’s front door, I heard the familiar sounds of their evening routine—the television playing softly, Debbie’s voice asking a thousand questions, Theo’s patient answers and gentle laughter.
I knocked.
