Page 67 of How to Ruin a Wedding
It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to comfort, or someone who looked to me like that—for safety, for softness. The absence hollows out my chest.
When they approach me, I plant a smile on my face and remind Olive that Sora is deaf, so she should try to let him see her first.
She agrees, then shoos me off to join him.
Anders approaches soon after, his white shirt rolled at the sleeves so almost every inch of his biceps is revealed. I give him a wave, he returns it with a smile, before standing beside me, overlooking Olive and Sora.
“Olive told me about Sora,” Anders says. “Did you steal him?”
I chuckle, then sigh. “Just letting him out so he doesn’t see another dog get a new family while he sleeps on his own again.”
Anders places a hand on my lower back for comfort, and I lean into him. He moves so that his hand covers the side of my waist, and I’m tucked at his side as we watch the two play.
“Are you a dog person?” I tilt my chin to look up at him. “Or a cat one? Or anti-animal?”
“Not sure,” he answers. “Aunt Bethany always had allergies, so we never had pets. Some of my friends had cats growing up, and I liked when they’d come around while I visited their house. Never really been around a dog.”
“They’re angels,” I explain though he didn’t ask. “They love you no matter what, even if you suck as a human being. It’s why so many dogs get hurt. They’re overly trusting, and it leads to them being attacked, and injured, and still they come back to us.”
His features pinch together as he frowns and squeezes my cheeks. “You look so upset.”
“A polite way to sayrough, because I spent hours showering dogs, and smell like one too. Sorry to your shirt, you’re going to reek in a minute.”
He presses a kiss on my matted hair in answer, and it makes my stomach do a tiny dance.
“I’m sad to bring him back,” I tell him. “That’s the worst part of working with dogs. You can’t take them all in, but you want to.”
“How do you manage it?” he asks.
“Lots of crying, and wine, and more crying. Sometimes I sleep in the cages overnight. It’s very dramatic.”
He turns us, his hands entirely around my waist as he leans down to me. “You’re an incredibly empathetic person.”
My hands slip up his chest. “So are you.”
He smiles, and moves closer, as if to press a kiss to my lips. I jerk back, fanning myself like the heat has suddenly become unbearable.
Since we met, it feels like my brain and heart have been playing this game of fact or fiction whenever we touch, or steal a glance, or speak. Is it real? Is he playing it up for an audience? Are we just getting lost in the act? Is he genuinely just charming, albeit dangerously flirtatious?
But I already know it’s real—that’s what makes it harder.
He’s not playing anything up for an audience. He’s genuine. Honest in a way that feels rare. He is a good man.
One who may be easy to take advantage of. And I’m not a good enough person to stop from grabbing his hand. “Remember our night playing pool?”
He coughs, then glances over my shoulder, back to me. “Yes, but maybe we should talk about that another time.”
My cheeks heat as I shake my head. “No, not that part. The part when I scammed you and you bet a wish.”
“Oh, yes.” Then, again, I swear he can read my mind. He says, “Lucinda, I’ve never owned a dog before. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I could help you”—I squeeze his hand—“and it’d be so much fun. You’ll have a little running buddy. And company, so you’ll never be lonely. And Sora is such a sweet thing. Dainese says he never barks, even when all the other dogs are getting rowdy. He’s potty trained, and he only eats twice a day. He’s deaf, so you have to make sure he sees you before you touch him, but he won’t get violent, you just don’t want to scare him.”
“Lucinda.” He removes his hands from mine and grips my cheeks. “Breathe.”
“Can you promise to at least think about it?” I beg. “I can answer any questions you have while you do.”
“I—”
