“Then how about Bear?”
She huffs a laugh. “He does look like a little bear.”
I smile, trying out the name again. “Bear.”
The puppy opens one eye like it’s acknowledging the name.
“Okay,” I say, and I don’t even fight the warmth in my voice. “Bear it is.”
We spend the rest of the day orbiting each other around the house with a puppy between us.
Bear pees on the rug twice.
We take him outside into the garden and he loses his mind over a leaf.
A leaf.
He pounces on it, then sprints in a crooked circle like he’s won a championship.
Talia laughs so hard she has to bend over, hands on her knees.
Bear falls asleep in the sun patch near the porch steps.
Talia sits on the grass beside him, leaning back on her hands, face tilted toward the sky.
I lower myself next to her without thinking.
My shoulder brushes hers.
She turns her head slightly and smiles at me.
The doorbell rings.
Bear startles awake and lets out a tiny bark.
I push myself to my feet. “I’ll get it.”
Talia nods, brushing grass from her shorts. “Okay.”
I walk to the front door and pull it open.
A young woman stands on the porch.
Blue eyes. Freckles.
She looks like Talia.
But sharper around the edges. Paler. Thinner.
Her hair is darker, tangled.
And there’s something frantic in the way she’s holding herself together.
Her gaze flicks over my shoulder into the house like she’s checking exits.
Then her eyes land on me.
“Is Talia here?” she asks.
