I hearLuke’s key in the lock at 7:14 p.m.—sixteen minutes later than his last text said he’d be home from rounds. I’ve been counting.
The puppy—still nameless because I refused to pick without Luke—is losing his tiny mind. He’s been pacing the rug for the last hour, ears perked at every hallway sound, tail whipping like a metronome on fast-forward. It’s like he knows someone is coming. The second the deadbolt clicks, he launches toward the door—paws skidding, yipping high and frantic, a golden blur of oversized paws and floppy ears.
I stay in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, fighting the grin that’s been threatening since I left the shelter this morning.
Luke pushes the door open, still in navy scrubs, white coat slung over one arm, stethoscope dangling from his neck like a badge of exhaustion. His hair is wrecked, eyes heavyfrom a double shift, but the moment he sees the golden missile barreling toward him?—
He freezes.
The puppy reaches him first—paws scrabbling at Luke’s shins, whole body wiggling so hard he almost topples sideways. Luke drops his coat and bag without looking, drops to his knees like gravity just gave up, and the puppy launches into his arms.
“Oh my God,” Luke breathes.
The little retriever licks his face in frantic, sloppy stripes—chin, cheeks, nose, eyelids—tail wagging so violently it’s a blur. Luke laughs—bright, startled, and disbelieving—hands cupping the wriggling body as though he’s afraid it’ll vanish if he lets go.
“You—” He looks up at me over the puppy’s head, eyes huge and glassy. “You got us a puppy.”
“I did.”
“Silas.” His voice cracks on my name. “You got us a puppy.”
The puppy chooses that moment to lick directly into Luke’s open mouth. Luke sputters, laughs harder, wipes his face with his sleeve, then buries it in soft golden fur.
“Hey, little guy,” he whispers, voice thick. “Hey, baby. Hi.”
The puppy yips—high, excited—and tries to climb Luke’s chest like it’s a mountain. Luke tips backward onto his butt, legs splayed, the puppy sprawled across his lap like he’s claimed ownership. Luke’s hands are everywhere—scratching behind ears, rubbing the soft belly, smoothing floppy ears—while the puppy pants happily and keeps licking whatever part of Luke he can reach.
I walk over slowly, crouch beside them. The puppynotices me, gives a happy bark, then goes right back to worshipping Luke’s face.
Luke looks up at me again, tears clinging to his lashes, grin so wide it’s almost painful.
“You said we had to wait for a yard,” he accuses, but there’s no bite in it—just wonder.
“I said we should wait.” I reach out, scratch behind the puppy’s ears until his back leg kicks in bliss. “Then I saw a post about him at the local shelter this morning and realized waiting is overrated. He’s some kind of lab mix they said.”
Luke laughs—wet, joyful—leans forward and kisses me hard over the puppy’s head. The puppy, not to be left out, tries to wedge himself between our mouths, licking both of us at once.
When we break apart, Luke’s still crying a little, still laughing, still holding the puppy like he’s the most precious thing in the world.
“You’re gonna be the strict parent, right?” he says, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Because I’m absolutely going to be the fun one. I’m already planning to teach him how to steal food off the counter and sleep in our bed.”
I grin. “I’ll be the strict one. Someone has to teach him boundaries. And how to sit before he gets treats.”
Luke’s grin turns wicked. “You’re gonna be so hot when you’re stern with him. I’m already turned on.”
I roll my eyes, but the heat in my gut says he’s not wrong.
Then Luke’s expression shifts—still happy, but thoughtful. He looks down at the puppy, who’s now gnawing happily on the drawstring of Luke’s scrub pants, then around the apartment: the small living room, the single window that barely lets in enough light for plants, the lack of any real outdoor space.
“He’s gonna need a yard,” he says quietly. “To run. To dig stupid holes. To be a real dog.”
I nod, already prepared for this.
“He can do apartment living for just for a few months,” I say.
Luke blinks. “What?”
I reach into my pocket, pull out a folded printout I’ve been carrying around for three days. I hand it to him.
