“Rex.” Dean’s voice drops an octave. “Now.”
Rex’s tail wags lazily. He doesn’t move.
Ruffy, on the other hand, has noticed us. He’s on his feet now, positioning himself between Rex and the fence. His eyes lock onto me with an intensity that suggests he remembers exactly who I am.
The back door opens.
Delilah steps onto the porch, barefoot, wearing faded jeans and an oversized sweater. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she’s holding a coffee mug like a weapon.
Something in my chest does the thing it always does when I see her. The stupid, traitorous lurch that ignores everything my brain has learned about self-preservation.
“Can I help you?” she calls, then registers who we are. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Your dog has my dog,” Dean says.
“My dog didn’t do anything. Your dog broke into my yard.” She sets down her mug and crosses her arms. “Ruffy was minding his own business when this one came sailing over the fence like some kind of furry Houdini.”
“Rex doesn’t jump fences.”
“Then how do you explain him being in my backyard?”
Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks at the fence, which is a solid five feet tall. I’m looking at it too, doing the math. Dean’s side gate was broken—that’s how Rex got out of Dean’s yard. But Delilah’s fence is locked and intact. Which means Rex, a seventy-pound German Shepherd, cleared five feet of solid wood to get to a dog he met once.
“Maybe your gate was open,” Dean tries.
“My gate has a lock. Because I’m not an amateur.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Dean looks genuinely baffled. Rex looks smug.
“Can I come get him?” Dean asks.
“Be my guest.”
Dean unlatches the gate and steps into the yard. Ruffy immediately puts himself between Dean and Rex, ears flat, weight forward. Not threatening—just making it clear that nobody’s taking his friend without his approval.
“Ruffy,” Delilah says. “It’s okay. Let him through.”
Ruffy holds his ground for another long moment, then inches to the left. Just enough to let Dean pass.
“He’s very protective,” I offer from the fence, where I’m wisely staying put.
“He’s particular about who he trusts,” Delilah shoots back.
“He ignores everyone.”
“He doesn’t ignore Rex.”
She’s right. Ruffy is standing guard, yes, but he keeps glancing back at Rex like he’s protecting his new best friend rather than his territory. When Dean finally manages to clip the leash onto Rex’s collar, Ruffy lets out a low, mournful sound.
Not a warning. A protest.
Rex licks Ruffy’s face.
“Great,” Dean mutters. “Now they’re bonded.”
Getting Rex out of the yard takes another ten minutes, mostly because he’s suddenly developed selective hearing and Ruffy keeps getting in the way. By the time Dean finally wrestles him through the gate, both dogs look deeply betrayed.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Dean says, holding Rex’s leash like a hostage negotiator.
