“Are you guys up to something your men aren’t going to be happy about?” I asked, small eyeing them.
The last time they looked all suspicious, they’d been plotting an April Fool’s prank that ended up with glitter being embedded in my beard for weeks afterward.
“Not this time,” Murphy said, smirking.
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m buying that,” I said, shaking my head. “Where’s my woman? Is she involved in your scheming? Shit, she’s probably the ringleader,” I said, but I was smiling. Because I loved my messy, unpredictable, prickly, fearless woman.
“Upstairs,” Nyx said. She was probably the best liar of the bunch. If it weren’t for the others, I wouldn’t have suspected a thing.
“Guess I better go face whatever it is, huh?” I asked, not sure if I was excited or anxious about it. I guess it depended on what kind of scheme Dylan had cooked up.
As a whole, the last year had mostly been filled with getting to know each other more deeply and planning. A lot of planning.
Which training classes to take. What kind of training facility we wanted to open. If we wanted that or a home first. What we wanted in a house. A yard seemed to be the most important thing, since dogs were clearly going to be a big part of our lives.
We hadn’t made any big moves yet. We both seemed content with our room at the clubhouse, with our found family. But itwas fun to talk about the future. And to watch how excited Dylan got about it.
She was still the woman she was a year ago. Just less guarded, quicker to smile and laugh, softer, warmer. It was amazing what a little safety and love could do for someone who’d never known it before.
I paused outside the door when I found it closed.
What was she up to?
But I pushed it open.
And I finally understood all the looks I’d gotten downstairs.
Because the room was fucking full of… gift baskets.
“What is this?” I asked, looking around at where the small ones were on the nightstands, on the dresser, the desk, and a much larger one on the bed.
Twelve.
There were twelve of them.
“Surprise!” Dylan said, throwing her arms out, making Sugar let out a little yip of excitement. “We met a year ago today,” she told me. As if I needed a reminder. That was not something a man forgot: the day he met the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with. “So I made you a basket for every month.”
“Baby,” I said, surprised by the rush of emotion.
It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten me a gift. I’d had a birthday since we met. We’d celebrated Christmas and exchanged presents.
But this—this was different.
“To be completely transparent, I totally had to ask all the guysandthe girls for ideas. Because baskets are not exactly my forte. But I think we did pretty good.”
Her smile was a little crooked, a bit uncertain, unsure of herself and her grand gesture.
“Youdid fucking amazing,” I told her, stalking forward to frame her face in my hands, then press a long, lingering kiss toher lips. Until she was swaying on her damn feet. “And we’re gonna go through all of it together. But first, I gotta show you my appreciation,” I said, lowering down to my knees in front of her, and reaching up to pull down her shorts and panties.
Dylan - 7 years
“That’s a good baby,” I cooed at the yellow Lab puppy at my feet.
She was going to be a service dog for someone who was visually impaired.
There were four other pups in the class: two Goldens and two more Labs. We’d had some success with other breeds, but in general, there was a reason service dogs were most often these breeds. They were biddable, friendly, smart, and eager to please. And the high food drive didn’t hurt when it came to training.
They weren’t all going to be seeing-eye dogs, though. One had shown an aptitude for sensing seizures. Another had a nose for gluten, so he was going to go to someone with a severe allergy once we were sure he was fully trained. The remaining two were perfectly suited for mobility assistance. They would be trained to retrieve things, turn on lights, open doors—anything someone with limited mobility might struggle with.
