Page 196 of Stranger to Love

"You look like you're about to explode," Carrie remarked, her legs crossed elegantly as she sat on the small sofa. She looked entirely out of place in her designer trench coat against the backdrop of chewed-up plastic toys, yet somehow, she still managed to look like she owned the room. Like every fucking room she was in.

"I’m just excited!" I said, clutching a squeaky toy between my hands. "What if they like you more than me?”

A. That was a valid fucking worry because I had wanted a dog forever and we could never afford one so what if we got one and it didn't like me? B. I would not have been surprised because for a woman who liked people at arm's length everyone and everything gravitated towards her, why wouldn’t our dog love her?

Carrie smirked, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her trousers. "Dogs are excellent judges of character, darling. They’ll likely see me as the one who provides the structure and you as the one who provides the chaos. It’s a balanced ecosystem."

Just then, we heard the frantic scritch-scratch of claws on the lino floor outside, followed by a muffled "Easy now!" from the volunteer.

The door swung open, and a blur of golden-cream fur exploded into the room, trailing a leash behind it like a victory flag. It was a young Labrador mix, all oversized paws and a tail that moved so fast it was practically a lethal weapon.

Oh, I was fucking in love.

The puppy didn't even hesitate. It skidded across the floor, ignored the toys, and headed straight for the most imposing person in the room. Carrie barely had time to gasp before thirty pounds of unbridled joy launched itself onto the sofa, planting two damp paws right on her lap and licking her chin with frantic devotion.

I froze, terrified Carrie would recoil. Instead, she let out a surprised, genuine laugh, her hands instinctively coming up to steady the wiggling creature.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she murmured, her disciplinarian mask vanishing as she looked down into the puppy’s big, soulful eyes. "You really have no respect for personal space, do you?"

"Off," Carrie commanded, her voice regaining that sharp, habitual authority. It wasn't mean, but it was absolute.

To my utter shock, the puppy actually listened.

Another one of us not even thinking before taking orders from her.

It scrambled back down with a reluctant huff, its tail giving one final, pathetic thump against the sofa cushions. But it didn't stay away for long. It immediately planted its bottom on the floor right between Carrie's designer heels and rested its heavy, golden head directly on her lap, looking up at her with pure, unadulterated fucking worship.

I pouted dramatically, crossing my arms over my chest and letting out a long, theatrical whine. "I knew it! I knew they would love you more. I’m the one who did the research! I’m the one who bought the squeaky pig! And you just sit there looking like a Bond villain and get all the devotion."

Carrie smirked, her long fingers effortlessly finding that perfect spot behind the dog’s ears. She gave me a look of pure, smug satisfaction. "I told you, darling. Structure. They recognise a leader when they see one."

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "You're a nightmare."

The puppy must have sensed the shift in energy—or maybe it finally realised I was holding the aforementioned squeaky pig. It let out a soft woof, its head snapping toward me. After a second of intense deliberation, it decided the "leader" was safe and the "chaos" looked like more fun.

It launched itself off Carrie’s feet and barrelled into my lap, a whirlwind of soft fur and clumsy paws. I was nearly fucking knocked off the sofa as a wet tongue found my cheek, the puppy’s tail drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"See?" Carrie murmured, her eyes softening as she watched us. "The ecosystem is perfectly balanced."

I laughed, burying my face in the dog's neck, the smell of puppy breath and rescue-centre shampoo filling my lungs. "I think his name should be Barnaby," I managed to say through the licking. "Barnaby Carter."

Carrie let out a dry, elegant snort. "He is absolutely not taking my surname, Alex. He hasn't even mastered the concept of a leash yet."

I laughed, “It has to be Carter, one day I’ll be a Carter too so it's only right we all have the same last name.”

Even though I was the one who said it, it still gave my heart a little lurch at the thought.

Carrie didn't scoff. She didn't roll her eyes or make a witty remark about my impulsiveness. She simply looked at me, her gaze tracing every inch of my face as if she were seeing me for the first time—or perhaps, seeing our entire future laid out in front of her.

"A Carter," she repeated softly, the name sounding like a prayer in her low, raspy voice.

The silence stretched for a few more heartbeats until a slow, breathtakingly beautiful smile spread across her face—not her usual smirk, but something real and raw. So fucking beautiful. She reached across the small gap between us, her thumb grazing my lower lip.

"I suppose," she murmured, her voice thick with an emotion she rarely let show, "that if we are going to be a family, Barnaby had better start learning some manners. We wouldn't want a Carter misbehaving in public, would we?"

I beamed, the relief washing over me so fast I felt dizzy. I leaned forward and kissed her, right there in front of the confused volunteer who had just walked back in with a stack of paperwork.

Epilogue