Page 66 of How to Ruin a Wedding

I keep glancing up at Sora as I pull out my phone and type in “Mason Maguda”—the name of the man who offered to buy Joshua’s share of Save a Paw.

Information I’m not supposed to have, but Taina knows how to dig, and I asked her to find it.

Unlike me, Mason comes from a long line of animal lovers. His family lives and breathes this stuff. Some are vet techs. Some, emergency surgeons. A couple are dog walkers and groomers. Mason himself owned a private veterinary practice for years and now, according to his website, wants to dedicate his life to helping as many dogs as possible.

There’s a site called Vet-Vetter, where people post uncensored reviews—nothing filtered, nothing deleted. Every review under his name is glowing. Clients say he goes above and beyond. That there’s no one better.

And here I am, sitting on a beach with sand between my toes, competing against someone who’s actually qualified. A nepo baby with real credentials and multiple degrees directly related to animals.

It sucks. Not because he’s a bad option—because he’s a good one, a great one, actually.

Because even I have to admit—if it can’t be me, he makes sense.

But I love Save a Paw. I know the dogs by name. I know the quirks of our plumbing system and how long it takes the heating to kick in in the back kennels. I forced myself under Joshua’s wing, learned how to run payroll, fix the books, talk to donors, manage inventory—all of it. Not because it came naturally, but because I refused to let the dogs go without what they needed.

Mason may have the resume. But I have the heart.

And yeah, I know that sounds like the kind of thing you say when you don’t have enough credentials to back yourself up. But it’s true. I would die for animals.

If this doesn’t work—if I can’t save Valerie from this wedding disaster—I’ll lose my shot at Save a Paw. I’ll lose the only place that’s ever felt like mine.

Like he heard me thinking of him, Anders’s name appears on my screen.

I answer on the first ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he says. “Where are you?”

I look at the time, and it’s already four. “Long story, but I’m at a dog shelter.”

“Dog shelter?” he repeats.

In the background, a loud, young, excited voice echoes, “Dog shelter?” There’s a rustling of movement, and then, Olive has the phone. “Are you with Sora?”

“Hang on,” I say, FaceTiming her.

She picks up immediately, and I turn the camera to Sora playing in the water. Olive squeals, then snaps, “You said you’d bring me!”

“I still can,” I offer.

“Can we go now?”

“That’s up to your uncle.”

There’s another rustling, and I take the camera off, bring the phone to my ear just as Anders is back on the line. “Will you send me your location?”

“Sure,” I say, then ask, “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you for that.”

My cheeks heat at the warmth in his words, and I hang up before I say something likeThank you for existing.

It takes them about twenty minutes to arrive, and when they do, Olive—dressed in the cutest strawberry-print matching set—takes off running toward the sand and promptly face-plants.

Anders immediately scoops her up, inspects her for injury, and murmurs a string of comforting words I can’t quite make out. Whatever he says makes Olive’s slumped shoulders slowly straighten.

The sight tugs at me with a strange mix of nostalgia and loss—feelings that catch me off guard. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Watching them together reminds me of Taina and me—of the kind of closeness that fills you with burning warmth.