When we finally break apart, we’re both grinning like fools. Fools in love.
“I love you,” I say again, because I can. Because it’s true. Because I’m done hiding it.
“I love you too.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips again. “So much it’s ridiculous.”
“We should probably go back to the hotel,” I say reluctantly. “The adoption event starts soon.”
“Right. The event.” He grins. “Ready to be a real couple in public?”
“I’m ready for anything as long as you’re there.”
“That’s good. Because I’m never leaving.”
The Loveat First Wag adoption event is outstanding. The venue is packed with families, volunteers in matching t-shirts, and dozens of dogs waiting for their forever homes.
But this time, everything is different.
Clark and I aren’t performing for cameras. We’re just us. Holding hands because we want to. Stealing kisses between photo ops. Laughing at the puppies trying to climb out of their pens.
The photographers capture it all, and these photos—I can tell even without seeing them—will be better than any we’ve taken before.
Because the joy is real.
By the end of the event, fifteen dogs have found homes, including a bonded pair of senior dogs that remind me of Clark and I—different on the surface but clearly meant to be together.
Sandra, our campaign coordinator, is practically glowing. “This was incredible! The engagement numbers, the adoption rate—this might be our most successful campaign ever!”
“We’re glad we could help,” I say, leaning into Clark’s side.
He drops a kiss on top of my head, casual and comfortable. “It was our pleasure.”
After the event, as we’re loading the dogs into the Jeep forthe long drive back to Cobbiton, Clark says, “I have a surprise for you.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see at The Barkery grand opening.”
“Clark—”
“Trust me, girlfriend?”
I look at him—at the man who I met ten years ago, who became my best friend, and who fell in love with me while I fell in love with him.
“Always, boyfriend,” I say.
The next weeks pass in a blur of construction, planning, and stolen moments. The Knights win three of their four playoff games, and I’m in the stands, wearing Clark’s number with pride. The WAGs have fully adopted me as one of their own, and even Sophia Snodgrass-Schuster stops by the retail site to check on progress.
My parents call the following week, as promised. The conversation is stilted and awkward, but they’re trying. Mom asks questions about The Barkery instead of criticizing. Dad actually sounds impressed when I explain the business model.
It’s not perfect. But it’s progress.
And progress is enough because now, Clark and I have each other. And five dogs. And a whole town of people who support us.
Tomorrow is arguably the biggest game of his life, the Knights’ final chance at the Stanley Cup, so tonight is a quiet night in. We had dinner, walked the dogs, and now, we’re playing a board game his parents sent for his birthday. I wanted to do something special like have a surprise party, but with the game schedule, it would’ve been too much. Instead, he said he just wanted to be home, with me and the pack—and a birthday cake. I attempted to make it myself. We’ll see how he likes it after I sing “Happy Birthday” and he blows out the candles.
I dim the lights and the dogs gather around, knowing something special is about to happen. I sing, slightly off key, and the dogs bark along, a cacophonous chorus. We’re both laughing, trying to get them to quiet down. Then I tell him to make a wish.
He shakes his head. “Don’t need to.”
