I wasn’t quite ready to put a name to those feelings yet—it was a big step—but I suspected it wouldn’t be long before I was. And when that day came, I’d say those words without hesitation, because Mason deserved to hear them.
He deserved every good thing I could give him.
“Apricot Danish and a cappuccino?” Chase asked when I got to the front of the line.
I nodded.
Chase slid a Danish into a bag, plus a cookie I hadn’t asked for, then busied himself at the hissing coffee machine for a moment. When the coffee was done, he slammed a lid on it and slid it across the counter to me. Then he took his apron off, balled it up, and yelled, “I’m taking my break!”
The lady behind me in line drew a deep breath, maybe to complain, but Chase just glared and she snapped her mouth shut. By the time we’d made it to the front door, Tyler was already taking her order, and his coffee was better than Chase’s anyway. I’d never tell Chase that, though, because I didn’t want to be clubbed to death with a portafilter.
Dog wriggled with excitement as Chase and I approached the bench where I’d tied him up. I sat down and scritched his chin the way he liked—Dog, not Chase. If I’d tried to scritch Chase under the chin, that clubbed-to-death thing might happen for real.
“So,” Chase said, giving me the side-eye, “I’m guessing you won’t be home tonight?”
He said it like he was annoyed, but I knew him better than that.
I shrugged. “Probably not. You know how it is.”
“Call of the dick,” he said with a wise nod.
“Fuck off.” But my face was burning and probably bright red.
Chase nudged me and grinned. “I guess it’s your turn to smell of jizz, huh?”
I nudged him back. “Asshole.” But we both knew I didn’t mean it.
We sat there and shared the chocolate chip cookie, ignoring Dog’s pleading gaze. There were plenty of ways I wanted to welcome Mason home, but poisoning his dog with chocolate wasn’t one of them.
“I’m glad Mason’s staying,” Chase said finally. “He’s not a total dick.”
“He’s less of a dick than you,” I said and stole the last chunk of cookie. But secretly I was pleased. Chase was still fiercely protective of me—probably always would be—so coming from him, “not a total dick” was practically a Michelin star, or whatever the boyfriend equivalent was.
I pulled out my phone and checked the time, and Chase asked, “When does he arrive, anyway?”
“He said around two.”
“That’s only a few hours away,” Chase said.
“I know.” I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
“I still can’t believe you stole a dog and ended up dating a hot vet.”
“Yeah.” I knew what he meant. Sometimes I couldn’t believe it myself. Mostly I just wondered how I’d gotten so lucky. How we both had.
Like he was reading my thoughts, Chase bumped his shoulder against mine. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t run when we did?”
“Jesus, Chase. Why the hell would I do that? I already have nightmares.”
He grimaced. “Yeah.”
“I think…” I drew in a deep breath and held it long enough that the words were ready. “I think that what happened to usreally sucked, but the one good thing to come out of it was that we ended up in Goose Run. I think we were meant to be here.”
“It’s kind of a shithole, though,” Chase said.
“Well, we’re kind of shithole people.”
The smile Chase gave me had an edge of vulnerability to it. “Maybe we were. But maybe we’re not so much now?”
