The nose pressed harder. A small whine of urgency.
“Jack. Meatball needs to go out.” I wiggled against the arm wrapped around my waist.
“She can’t keep interrupting our morning activities like this,” came his muffled complaint from somewhere under the covers beside me.
Meatball—fifty pounds of enthusiasm and terrible timing—put her paws on the bed and licked my ear.
“Jack—“ Whatever I was about to say averted to a laugh when Jack pushed off the covers with a resigned sigh.
He looked at Meatball doing her urgent pee dance, then at me.
“Want me to take her?”
“I’ve got it. You make coffee.”
I said climbing down from the bed with Meatball looking at us with approving eyes.
“Come back fast.” Jack said, squeezing my hip. “I’ll have coffee ready. And a few other ideas.”
I quickly leaned to cover Meatball’s ears, shooting him a playful bashful stare. “Behave. Not in front of the child!”
He laughed and headed for the kitchen, and I watched him go—all lean muscle and confidence, in a way that still made my stomach flip.
“Come on,” I told Meatball. “Before your father makes me combust.”
By the time Meatball and I made it back upstairs, Jack had coffee waiting and was attempting to cook something that involved eggs.
“Should I be concerned?” I asked, eyeing the pan like it might explode.
“Probably. But I’m committed now.” He gestured at the counter with the spatula. “There’s something for you. Came this morning.”
I found the envelope next to my coffee mug. Thick, expensive paper. My name in elegant script.
‘California Journalism Awards’
My hands weren’t steady when I opened it.
Dear Ms. Wells,
We are pleased to inform you that your feature story “Love and Custody: The Tucker Family’s Fight” has been selected as the recipient of this year’s Excellence in Feature Writing award…
I read the first paragraph three times. Then looked up to find Jack watching me, spatula forgotten, eggs probably burning.
“I won,” I whispered, my voice hollow with disbelief. “Jack, I won!” This time it came out as a squeal.
He was across the kitchen before I could blink, lifting me clean off the floor, spinning me while I laughed and cried at the same time and Meatball barked frantically because clearly something exciting was happening and she wanted to be involved.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said against my hair. “So goddamn proud.”
“The eggs are burning.”
“I don’t care about the eggs.”
“You’re going to care in about thirty seconds when the smoke alarm?—”
The smoke alarm went off.
Jack set me down, swearing creatively, as he lunged for the stove while I opened windows and Meatball howled at the ceiling like she was personally offended by the noise.
