What kind of person walks away from that?
ChapterTwenty
Callum
The kitchen smelledlike garlic and herbs, evidence of the past hour I'd spent attempting to cook something that wasn't reheated leftovers or takeout. Chicken with roasted vegetables. A salad. Nothing complicated. I could manage basic cooking without burning the house down, even if most of my attention kept drifting to the clock.
Pudding sprawled by my feet, working over a rope toy with serious determination. He'd filled out these past few weeks, coat shinier, ribs no longer visible. Still gangly, but healthier.
I pulled open the oven door to check the chicken, and Pudding abandoned his toy, nose twitching as he stood.
“It's not for you.”
His ears perked, tail wagging hopefully.
“Seriously. This is for Rosie.” I shut the oven door. “You already ate.”
Pudding sat, looking offended. I grabbed a training treat from the jar on the counter and tossed it to him. He caught it mid-air before trotting back to his rope toy.
The transformation from the terrified puppy behind Frank's dumpster to this confident little dog still amazed me. Pudding had learned to sit, stay, even come when called—most of the time. His progress with people was slower but steady. He let Sharon pet him now without cowering.
Rosie would be thrilled to see how far he'd come.
It felt like forever since I'd seen her properly. We'd managed a wave when I'd driven past the farm yesterday, but between emergency calls and her market prep, we'd barely exchanged a few texts. Tonight would be different—a whole evening together, no interruptions.
I set the pan on the stovetop and checked my watch. Rosie would be here soon. The thought sent a familiar warmth through my chest, the same feeling I'd been getting every time I thought about her lately.
Which was constantly.
Pudding wandered over to his water bowl, lapping noisily. I wiped down the counter, straightened the already-straight dish towels, rearranged the salt and pepper shakers. Ridiculous. When had I become the kind of person who fussed over place settings?
Since Rosie, apparently.
A knock at the front door made Pudding's ears perk.
I opened the door and there she was—sandy brown hair escaping its ponytail, freckles scattered across sun-kissed cheeks, wearing that yellow sundress that made her eyes look more green than hazel.
Beautiful.
“Hey.” My voice came out rough.
“Hi.” She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Sorry I'm a few minutes late. Had to wrestle Snickers back into her pen.”
“No problem.” I stepped aside, letting her in. “Everything okay with the goats?”
“Fine. Just Snickers being Snickers.” Rosie's laugh sounded forced. Brittle around the edges.
Pudding approached slowly, ears forward but body low. He sniffed Rosie's outstretched hand before his tail started wagging, tentative at first, then with growing enthusiasm as he recognized her. Rosie dropped to her knees, letting him lean against her legs while she scratched behind his ears.
“Look at you, sweet boy,” she murmured, voice softening. “You're getting so big.”
Pudding pressed closer, soaking up the attention but still glancing at me as if checking that this was okay.
“I think he missed you.”
“Did you?” She looked at Pudding, voice playful, continuing to scratch behind his ears. “I missed you, too.”
Pudding's tail picked up speed, a tentative wag that grew bolder.
