Page 61 of Call It Serendipity

Of course, the second I do, disappointment weighs heavy on me. I wish I could be as comfortable with things as Jake. That I could announce to my mother how much I enjoy being in his presence, no matter what’s brought him to our town.

“He certainly is a great dog,” she agrees gently. “I wasn’t aware that we were looking to foster him though.”

I avert my gaze, looking down at my boots. “Special circumstances came up.”

“I see,” Mom says sympathetically. Apparently, Jake isn’t the only one that noticed the way I gravitate towards Bear’s pointed yet floppy ears and big brown eyes and that adorable white patch in his black and tan fur. “Well, I’m happy to hear this. I’ll leave you in good hands with Lucy for all the foster paperwork. Besides, I need to get Oakley squared away.”

The two of them say their goodbyes with her insisting he calls her Susie, not Mrs. Hart, and him promising he won’t be a stranger.

I wish there was a good way for him to keep that promise.

I want him around every day. I want to see him smile at me and to hear those charming stories. I want no slivers of space between us.

As soon as she disappears down the hall, I blink up at patient, understanding eyes. “Ready to go get Bear?” he asks.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted, I just don’t want to lie to her about you being a travel writer. And I don’t want to⁠—”

I don’t want her to sour when she learns why he’s really here.

“Hey, we don’t want any pitchforks chasing me out of here. Right?”

“We certainly don’t,” I agree. “But I still wish…”

I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Do I wish I was brave enough to announce to everyone that I like the hotel mogul? Or do I wish this hotel wasn’t happening in my town? Then there would be no need for pitchforks or distance or lies.

But that would also mean no Jake to begin with. And I don’t want that at all.

“What if, when the event ends, we get Bear and head back to my place together? I’ll make you dinner while we help him start to settle in.”

“You’ll make dinner?” I ask. Did I know he cooked?

“As long as you like spaghetti from a box and sauce from a jar, I can make us dinner.”

Me, and Bear, at Jake’s apartment for a cozy night and home-cooked dinner. I try to tamp down the soft flutter in my stomach and fail. “That sounds perfect.”

34

That soft flutter has turned into a full body buzz. It started just under my ribs, spreading through my chest and on to every inch of me as I watch Jake clip the leash on Bear to take him home.

To a real home. Where he’ll get more than nightly checks from my dad in his cinderblock and chain link kennel.

We grab his bed, his favorite purple squeaky ball, and a bag of food, and then head out the door. Bear can sense something is happening, his routine disturbed for an excellent reason. His tail wags furiously, abandoning the typical side to side movement for a more emphatic full circle—like a helicopter. I beam down at him, feeling like my heart is going to explode.

And it nearly does once we turn onto the sidewalk, out of sight from the shelter, and Jake slips the leash around his wrist to hold my hand instead. Our fingers weave together, and his grasp is warm against the bite in the air.

If I’m still wishing for things, I wish this walk was longer.

Our steps crunch over fallen leaves, and every so often Bear lets out an eager whine. “I still can’t believe you’re taking him home, just like that,” I mumble with a sniff.

The tip of my nose is chilled, and probably red from the late autumn wind. It would be easy to write off that sniff as weather related. Same with the pressure behind my eyes. But it would be a lie.

“I’m sorry you can’t take him home,” Jake replies, squeezing my hand. “Hopefully I’m a decent consolation prize until you can figure something out.”

We cross Monroe, his apartment only steps away now. A light glows from the upstairs windows, looking terribly inviting in the fading daylight. I press in tighter against his side and say, “I can’t imagine anyone feeling like you’re simply a consolation prize.”

His thumb drags across my skin, and he glances over at me with an expression I can’t quite put my finger on. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask softly.

His throat bobs. “Careful, Luce. If you keep saying things like that, I might start to believe you.”