Page 101 of Puppy Love

“That’s because I am.”

He lifted a hand toward her cheek, holding it just above her skin until she turned into it.

“And I still think you’re an evil dragon of a woman who trains sweet, innocent puppies to be her minions.”

She choked on a laugh. “Why not? There have been worse crimes committed in the name of love.”

His palm tensed on her cheek, his fingers pressing into her skin and pulling her close. It was impossible to wrap her arms around him and squeeze while he had Bubbles between them, so she did the next best thing and licked her lips. The edge of her tongue grazed the side of his thumb, drawing forth his deep groan.

“I do love you,” he said, his breath growing ragged. “More than I thought possible, more than I knew peoplecouldlove.”

She smiled against the press of his thumb. “I always knew I could love you this much. I was just afraid you wouldn’t want me to.”

His deep chuckle was the only sound she needed for her heart to swell and her body to start throbbing with desire. Both of these sensations—of fullness and emptiness, of the entire world expanding within her—were nothing compared to the words that left his mouth next.

“Will you help me?” he asked, bringing his mouth down to hers. “When I stumble? If I fall?”

She accepted his kiss readily, prepared to stand on the gusty side of the highway with a puppy wedged between them forever if it meant she could always feel like this.

“Of course I will,” she said and laughed against his lips. “If I can train a broken, skittish puppy to love a grouch like you, how hard could it possibly be to train a man?”

Epilogue

“This one’s for you, and this one’s for you, and this one’s for you.” Harrison tossed the paper-wrapped bundles at the people standing nearest him in the backyard. The billowing smoke that surrounded them came from a summer barbecue rather than the forest fires that had kept him from home for the past two weeks, which made for a nice change.

It was also nice to see so many friendly, relaxed faces. The backyard was still a pit of half-finished projects and Sophie’s never-ending battle with the raccoon who refused to heed her eviction notice, but no one seemed to care. Sophie’s sisters were there, which was a large part of the carefree ambiance, but his parents were in attendance too.

Dawn accepted her bundle greedily and started tearing in right away. Lila was a little more restrained, but she still shrugged and daintily began undoing the tape around the edges. His mom, however, just stared at hers.

“Go on,” he said, his voice gruff. This time, at least, he had the excuse of two solid weeks of breathing smoke outside Chelan as the cause. Even though he’d been doing a lot better job of slowing down and putting his—and Bubbles’s—health first, he had a tendency to sound like he’d gargled rocks for a few days afterward. “It’s not a big deal.”

His mom opened her mouth as if to argue, but she was forestalled by Dawn’s shout of laughter.

“Is this supposed to be a shawl?” she asked as she held the deformed lump of red yarn to the sky. “Or a…dish towel?”

“It’s a scarf,” he retorted. “And it took me three weeks to make, so you’d better wear it every day.”

Lila had managed to extract hers from the packaging and joined in her sister’s laughter. “I think mine has an armhole. Or a breezeway. That’ll come in handy, seeing as how it’s ninety-five degrees outside right now.”

“Four weeks. That one took me four weeks.” He paused. “I sent one to your parents in Greece too. Your mom promised to take it to all the important sites. I think she’s finally starting to like me.”

“Oh, she hates you,” Dawn said. “You took her precious darling.”

“She loves you,” Lila countered. “You took her precious darling.”

Harrison just shook his head and gestured for them to put their garments on. He wasn’t sure he’deverunderstand the strange relationship that existed in a family as intimate and loving as this one, but he was getting closer.

The two sisters looked ridiculous, of course, and not just because it was the dead of summer and the need for handmade knitwear was slim. No matter how many times he tried to get the hang of knitting, or how well he thought he was doing at the time, he always ended up with a variation of the same awkward scarf.

Poor Bubbles would never get the full wardrobe he’d promised her—which was probably just as well, since the women in Sophie’s knitting circle had taken it upon themselves to outfit her in every style and color under the sun. They loved that damn dog.

He was starting to think they loved him a little too. It was a nice feeling.

“Is mine a scarf too?” his mother asked. She still hadn’t opened her package. She held it against her chest like something precious, a misty look in her eyes. “You made me a scarf?”

“It’s not a very good one,” he said. This time, his voice was gruff with emotion, but he didn’t try to fight it. He and his mom weren’t close yet, but he liked to think they were making progress. “But I like knitting. It’s weirdly calming.”

She nodded as if that made perfect sense. “You never were able to sit still for long periods at a time.”