"Also tempting, if we're being honest."
She laughs, and it's the best sound I've ever heard. Better than engines roaring to life, better than the clear tone of a successful landing, better than anything.
"Okay," she says.
"Okay?"
"Okay, you can stay. Help me pack. Take me for pie." She pauses. "But you're getting your own hotel room."
My face must do something, because she laughs.
"I'm kidding," she says. "You can stay with me. Ranger and Maverick too." She glances at the puppy, then back at me. "Only if Biscuit approves, of course."
"Deal."
"And you're buying the pie."
"Also deal."
"And if Maverick eats my couch, you're replacing it."
I look down at the puppy, who's now trying to gnaw on Callie's stethoscope. "That's fair."
She kisses me again, quick and sweet. "We're really doing this."
"We're really doing this," I agree.
Maverick barks his agreement, and somewhere in the back of the clinic, Biscuit barks in protest. Callie's phone buzzes with what's probably a client message. My watch beeps with a reminder I forgot I'd set.
It's chaos. It's messy. It's completely unplanned.
And somewhere between the puppy trying to eat everything in sight and Callie's sarcastic commentary about my place on her priority list, I realize I've stopped thinking about flight plans and mission objectives and carefully plotted trajectories.
I'm just here. With her. With dogs who don't respect personal space and a future that doesn't come with a manual.
Best decision I've ever made.
Epilogue
CALLIE
The Texas heat is nothing like Colorado.
In Pine Valley, summer meant cool mornings and afternoons that rarely broke ninety. Here in Iron Creek, the sun feels personal. Aggressive. Like it has a vendetta against anyone foolish enough to stand outside past nine a.m.
But watching Dean try to wrangle a stubborn German Shepherd while sweat soaks through his Iron Creek K9 t-shirt? Worth every degree.
"Come," he says for the third time.
The dog—a two-year-old named Apollo who thinks he's smarter than his handler—sits down and yawns.
I hide my smile behind my clipboard.
"Don't laugh," Dean calls across the training yard. "He can hear you not taking this seriously."
"I'm very serious," I call back. "Professionally observing."
"You're enjoying this."
