Page 93 of Mr. Perfect

The caption below reads: We might not have one of each, but it’s never a bad thing to be prepared.

What is this?

I click on the next picture and it takes me to a kitchen. A fabulous kitchen. Then I look through all of them. Rooms and rooms filled with things. And in each one there is something special displayed that says Mac and Ellie. Framed pictures. Pillows. And the office has two desks facing each other. There’s a close-up picture of the desk plates. Again, Mac and Ellie.

I text him back.

Ellie: What are you doing?

Mac: Sharing my delusional dreams with you.

I can’t help it, I laugh again.

Ellie: Why?

Mac: Because it’s all I have left, Ellie. Just the dream of all the things that never happened between us, but I desperately wish they had.

I feel a little tear run down my cheek.

Mac: Did you scroll down to the end?

I go back to the board and scroll down. The very last picture is Mac standing in front of a sold sign in the yard of my dream house.

Holding a puppy.

An Old English Sheepdog puppy.

Mac: Did you?

I am fully crying now.

Ellie: What did you do?

My phone buzzes and I tab the accept button. “Hello?”

“I want the dream, Ellie. I want it more than anything. And I know you wanted time to get your head straight. Make your own way in the world. And I couldn’t be more proud of you. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t wait anymore, Ellie. I need you to get off that train at the airport. Because I will never stop texting you my delusional dream life until you’re a part of it.”

“Mac—”

“Just meet me in the hangar.”

Chapter Thirty-Six - Mac

Eloise Hatcher steps into the hangar wearing a long, red wool coat with a black belt that cinches at her waist. Her knee-high black boots hide her delicious legs, and the only thing on my mind is whether or not they have a zip-up back for easy removal.

Get it together, Mac. This is your only chance to win her over. You will not fuck her senseless until she buys into the dream.

I’m not sure what to expect, but the blush and hidden smile is a good indicator that I did good.

Scout whimpers and her tail swishes on the dirty concrete floor.

Ellie is shaking her head as she walks towards me, her hands buried deep in her pockets, the wind from the helicopter out on the tarmac gently tossing her hair around her face.

I cannot take my eyes off her. She looks… incredible. Perfect.

“Who’s this?” she asks, nodding her head to the puppy, who is huge for eight months old.

“Scout,” I say. At the mere mention of her name, Scout jumps up and paws at Ellie, desperately trying to lick her face. “Sorry,” I say. “She’s been to five obedience schools, but—” I laugh and throw up my hands in a shrug. “Girls will be girls. Only obedient when they want to be.”