Dante huffs impatiently, and I nod. “Right this way.” I lead them to the front door and they take off into the woods, yipping as they go. They really are a perfect pair. Athena will always be the wild child, but Dante knows when to put her in her place.
I lost Juniper right after Christmas. The cold was too much for her joints, and the vet said we were out of options to keep her comfortable. She’s not the first dog I’ve put down, but it never makes it any easier. But I’m glad Dante had Athena for company as much as he did.
“Charlie?”
Still no answer, which means he’s in his office.
Officially, Charlie doesn’t live here. He still has his place in town. We haven’t talked about it, but I know he’s got some unofficial countdown in his head. He didn’t want to move in with someone so soon after ending things with Gavin, and I’ve tried to respect his need to be confident by himself before he commits to me.
But summer is here, we met almost nine months ago, and he spends more nights in my bed than he doesn’t, so we’re going to have that conversation very soon.
And, as I said, he has an office—I don’t know who he thinks we’re kidding at this point.
The office is really the spare bedroom, but we took out the old dresser this spring, and he set up a simple desk. He’s sitting at it now, back to me, with his big, noise-canceling headphones on. When I come up behind him and glance over his shoulder, a group of muscly bears are having a three-way on a bank of exercise equipment. Charlie’s staring at it intently, hands poised on his keyboard like he’s about to unleash a flurry of words.
“Colt Bronson and Max Stallion initiate Stud McStudderson into their fitness regimen,” I say, dropping my voice theatrically, but even though I’m standing six feet behind him, Charlie still doesn’t hear me. This right here is the ultimate trust. He’s in my home, completely unaware that I’m so close to him.
I slide my hands over his shoulders, and he stiffens for a second before he reaches up to dislodge one of his earphones.
“Hey,” he says, shoulders rising on a deep inhale that says he’s been working for a while. “How long have you been here?”
“Just walked in.” I lean down to kiss the side of his neck, and he hums, tangling his fingers in my hair.
“Is it time to go?” he asks.
Oh, we’re going to go, but not like he means.
“Come with me,” I say.
His grin is open as he rises, letting the headphones drop as I lead him out of the room. There’s still a perfectly functional bed here, but that’s not what I have in mind. I love that he doesn’t ask anymore. His apprehension is almost gone.
“We’ll be late,” he says.
“We don’t have to be there for an hour. I can work with that.”
He twists so he can wrap his arms around me and kiss me. When Call Me Charlie kisses, he does it with his whole being, and I love that.
“Are you excited?” he says, and the way his eyes shine makes a lump form in my throat.
“Sure.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “It’s okay if you still miss Juniper. She won’t be the same.”
We’re picking up a puppy. Puppies aren’t my usual thing, but Charlie found a listing online for a litter of chocolate lab mixes that needed homes. A dog park accident, the owner said when Charlie called. He didn’t know his dog was in heat until a few days later, and by then it was too late. And when Charlie showed me their round brown faces and their striking blue eyes, I couldn’t find it in myself to say no, especially not with the way his face lit up when I said I’d think about it.
The new puppy’s resemblance to Juniper makes it both better and worse, but it’s been too quiet here with only Dante. Even Athena has calmed down—as much as she ever will—with more focused training and structure, and her presence here is still a part-time thing.
But we’re going to change that. All of it.
I back Charlie into the kitchen, opening his fly as we kiss and touch. He’s so eager and greedy now that he knows what I want and that while I may be in control, I would never use that control against him. He wraps his legs around me as I lift him onto the table. A stack of paper—the latest round of edits to his book—shifts and slides over the wood.
“Wait,” he says, reaching to slow the avalanche.
“Let it fall,” I say. “We can clean it up later.”
“But,” he says but then bites his lip when I grab hold of his shaft and stroke gently, drawing his attention back to me.
“Later.” I hold his face between my hands and kiss him until he goes soft and warm against me again. His eyes are unfocused and his lips puffy when I finally let him go. “Are you excited?”
