Pete gave one energetic woof from the kennel and thumped his tail. Then he sighed back into that patient, alert calm he’d perfected since the pup years. In the back seat, Kevin had not stopped talking since Riversong.
“And then Benny held the ‘stay’ for like—okay, maybe not a minute but close—and Alex said the police dogs are coming next week and if we foster him he needs kid time and?—”
“We’ll see what Mr. Hoff says,” Shane said, still smiling. This version of Kevin—lit up, motor-mouthed, buoyant—was a far cry from the solemn kid who’d asked him to be his mom’s bodyguard.
He should always feel so carefree. Safe. Proud.
Steam curled from the pizza box beside Shane, fogging the passenger window. Shane grabbed the box along with two paper sacks sitting on top. One order of hot wings for him, one teriyaki-flavored for April, with a side of ranch because once upon a time she’d dip each piece and declare,Everything tastesbetter with ranch.Shane chuckled to himself. He used to give her hell for it, just to hear her laugh.
After all these years I still know her favorite flavors. God help me.
Outside the SUV, the river took over the soundscape—low and steady winding between the trees. Kevin was already unbuckling when Shane opened the back door. “I’ll get Pete,” he said, half whisper, half battle brief, and then corrected himself because he was still a kid but trying to be twenty. “I mean, I can get him, if you want.”
“Go on, little man. Slow and easy.” Shane cracked the hatch and Kevin dropped into his best handler voice, opening the kennel door carefully like they’d practiced. Pete hopped down gracefully, nose tipping into the breeze. He smelled the pizza, sneezed, and looked personally offended. Shane scratched the ruff between his ears. “Not yours, buddy.”
Kevin looked up hopeful. “But if he’s good, can he have my pizza bones?”
“Pizza bones? What’s that?”
Kevin scoffed like Shane was an idiot. “My leftover crusts.”
Shane chuckled. “Pizza bones. I like that.”
The porch was swept clean, wind chimes tinkling from the eaves. Someone had replaced a deck board; Shane noticed the new grain against the older planks. A planter box skirted the steps—mint and some lemony-smelling herb—cutting through the smell of the water and the trees. April’s house felt like a favorite pair of jeans—comfortable and broken-in. Unpretentious.
Kevin beat Shane to the door and then remembered himself, hovering, waiting. Shane shifted the pizza and let the sacks slide toward his torso. Before he could knock, the door opened and April was there, silhouetted in the frame.
The night went still.
Hair down, the day’s curls loosened into soft waves. A soft-looking sweater that his hands suddenly ached to touch. No makeup, just clean skin and a glow in her cheeks that didn’t come from rouge.
“Hey,” she said, and it landed warmer than a hello. The scent of lilac soap drifted off her skin.
“Ma’am,” Shane heard himself say, because apparently he forgot how to be a normal human when she looked at him like that. He tipped the pizza toward her. “Your ten-minute warning is up.”
She grinned. “Come on in.”
Kevin had already wedged past her with Pete on his heels, narrating as he crossed the front room. “We brought Route 66 pizza. I didn’t have to tell him what to order or anything, Mom. He just knew.”
April glanced at the bags, then back at Shane. “Whatdidyou order?”
He set everything on the entry table to free up his hands and pulled a box out of one of the white paper sacks so she could see the label. TERIYAKI. “Ranch is in the bag.”
She didn’t say anything for a second, just bit the corner of her lip in a way that drove Shane just as crazy today as it did when they were eighteen.
“Everything tastes better with ranch,” she said, and Shane almost saidThere it islike he’d been waiting years to hear that line again.
Because I have.
April shook her head, a soft laugh escaping like she hadn’t meant to let it out. “You remembered. Everything.”
“Never forget a critical detail,” he said lightly, because if he saidI remember everything about youthat would be… a lot. “I got the hot wings for me.” He picked up the other bag. “AsI recall, you’re a heat wimp,” he teased. “I promise no cross-contamination will occur on my watch.”
“Get inside before the food gets cold,” she said, stepping back to let him in.
The vanilla scent from a newly-lit candle on the mantel lingered under the smell of pizza. A plaid throw blanket covered the back of the couch. Floating shelves of books—mostly romances if Shane had to guess—lined the wall beside a window. Another wall was covered with framed photos of April’s family and friends. A jar of wildflowers Shane recognized from the riverbanks outside sat beside the candle, a couple of wilting dandelions giving away who had picked them. An ordinary room, but so warm and welcoming, unlike the perfect, sterile rooms full of museum-grade art that Shane grew up in, fearing that if he broke anything or left so much as a smudge on the white marble, his father would beat him within an inch of his life.
“My house isn’t much, but it’s spotless,” she said quietly beside him. He realized he’d been looking around.
