I have to bite my lips together to stop myself from laughing out loud because the bar is low with this one.
“My daddy’s never had a girlfriend. I think he’s lonely.” Lucky turns to me, face so innocent, eyes wide and full of hopeas she inches closer. “And if you were my daddy’s girlfriend, then I could have a mommy.”
Ouch. There goes my damn heart again.
I sit up then, moving in next to Lucky so we’re side by side, looking out over the meadow. And as I glance down at her to find her still fidgeting with the toy dog’s ear, I contemplate my words. Yes, she’s only five years old, but I feel like I can talk to this tiny human. Like, really talk to her. So, I do.
“You know, my mom isn’t around either.”
Lucky looks up at me. “Is she in heaven too?”
Releasing a breath, I shake my head. “No. She’s not in heaven. She’s in South Carolina. Where I grew up.”
“Do you go see her?”
I look out over the sweeping green grass, thinking back to the last time I saw my mother. And, as insufferable as the woman is, I’m not proud of the time it’s been since I last visited. Maybe I really do need to give her a chance. “I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
“How long?”
“A few years.”
“Why?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know…” is all I say can instead of the honest truth. This little girl doesn’t need to know that there are mommas out there who aren’t nice to their daughters.
Lucky seems to process that, looking out over the meadow, her forehead puckered in thought a moment before she looks up at me again. “You should go see your mommy. Before she goes to heaven and youcan’tsee her.”
I smile sadly. Because, for five years old, she’s wise as hell. “You’re right. I should. And I will. I promise.”
She grins up at me, but the sadness is still there in her eyes, and I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tight. Lucky squeezes me back, and I feel her relax against me, allowing her the moment she needs until it’s interrupted by the sound of afamiliar bark that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to prick.
Turning my head, I see Toast Malone galloping toward us in the distance almost as if in slow motion, his ears bouncing with every one of his long strides, leash trailing behind him. Happy appears over the knoll, running at full speed, his arms flailing in the air as he shouts something unintelligible.
“What on earth…” I mutter, releasing Lucky and standing up to my feet, squinting through the glare of the sun, which is when I notice something hanging out of Toast’s mouth, his jowls flapping around it as he hurtles toward us.
“Is that… pizza?” I ask no one in particular.
And as Toast comes closer, my suspicion is confirmed when I make out the giant slice of pepperoni that hangs almost like a makeshift tongue from his mouth. What the fuck?
Toast makes it to us and casually flops down onto the grass with an almighty snort, the slice propped between his paws as he eats with noisy, sloppy chews. And I look from my dog to a flustered and out of breath Happy as he gasps and splutters for air, stopping just shy of us and keeling over, resting his hands on his knees as he tries to breathe.
Lucky and I share a confused glance.
“That dog—” Happy manages through a gasp, pointing an accusatory finger at Toast Malone, who continues living his best life, eating pizza like it’s his life’s mission. “Is amenace!”
“Hey!” Lucky stands, placing her hands on her hips. “Don’t you talk about my baby like that!”
Happy gapes at her, glancing to me, and I flash him a smug smirk, placing my hand on Lucky’s shoulder.
“Hestolethat slice!” Happy shrieks, his voice all high and pitchy.
“He stole it? From who?” I throw Toast a chastising look, but he just continues munching on the contraband, head held high, eyes closed like it’s the best pizza he’s ever consumed.
“The vendor!” Happy guffaws, removing his ball cap andpushing his hair back from his sweat-beaded forehead. “Just jumped right on up there against the counter and swiped it,like eff the police, full NWA-style, and then he took off like a bat out of hell.”
I look Happy up and down, quirking a brow. “And… why is your shirt… wet?” I try not to outwardly gawk at the way the white cotton of his t-shirt clings to the ripple of muscles underneath.
“Oh, this?” Happy points at himself with a scoff. “This is the three homemade lemonades I was holding when pizza thief over here took off and ripped the leash straight outta my goddamn hand.”
