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“Jesus!” I blurt, lunging forward, but Pork freezes, stunned, completely baffled at this turn of events. I swear the wiener dog actually shrugs before picking up his paw and smacking the cat right back across the face.

For a split second, no one moves. The look on Mr. Snugglebutt’s face is pure indignation. Like, “Excuse me, peasant, did you just touch me?”

The tension lasts all of two-point-five seconds, because then Pork flips the script and licks Mr. Snugglebutt straight up the face. No warning, no apology—just a big, wet, “let’s be friends” right between the cat’s eyes.

Mr. Snugglebutt sits, dead still, processing the glory and horror of having his skull licked by a dog. Beans circles the entire scene, snorting like he’s refereeing a UFC fight, and I swear to God, Pork and Mr. Snugglebutt both snap their heads to watch the pig as he snorts and chuffs. I brace myself for round two, but instead of a full-scale brawl, the three animals just… stand there. Frozen. Like someone hit pause on the world.

Beans lets out another snort, ears twitching as he sizes up the new arrival. Mr. Snugglebutt’s tail is puffed to full bottle brush, but he doesn’t budge. He’s glaring at Pork and Beans like he’s daring them to make a move. Pork cocks his head, clearly not sure if he’s supposed to play, run away, or just lie down and let the cat win.

I’m holding my breath, waiting for the next explosion, but Beckett just grins at me over the top of the chaos, completely unfazed. Honestly, he looks like he’s loving every second of it.

Then, like fate’s flipping a switch, Mr. Snugglebutt climbs up on the giant pet bed, turns in a slow, deliberate circle, and flops right down. The pig and wiener dog follow him, and each curls up next to the cat.

My cat lets out a sigh, like “I’ve accepted my fate,” and two seconds later, Pork snuggles up to the pig’s belly, chin propped across Mr. Snugglebutt’s orange fluff.

I’m so stunned I almost drop the wine glass Beckett hands me.

“They’re… snuggling?” My voice cracks, disbelief on full blast.

Beckett glances at the heap of pets and smirks. “Told you they’d get along.”

“They tried to murder each other thirty seconds ago!”

He shrugs. “That was thirty seconds ago.”

I want to argue, but I can feel all the air leaving my lungs as I watch the little animal pile-up in the living room. Beans is already snoring softly, Pork makes happy little grunting noises, and Mr. Snugglebutt, ever the diva, is kneading the pig’s spine like his own personal massage therapist.

The tension I’ve been dragging all day finally slides off my shoulders. I didn’t expect this. I was prepared for mayhem, maybe carefully separating the animals, but this is just—perfect. We order pizza again, and I’m not complaining. I could eat Mario’s every day for the rest of my natural life, but Beckett actually looks embarrassed when he pulls the box open on the kitchen counter.

“I promise I eat more than pizza,” he admits, voice low. “I had planned to cook dinner, but I got stuck at my mom’s house. My asshole brother told the entire family I spent the night out last night.” I burst out laughing at the look on his face. “I had to remind them that I’m a thirty-six-year-old man who doesn’t need to explain myself.”

“Oops.” I can’t sympathize with him. My family isn’t close, and no one cares if I stay out or not. There’s a weird ache in my chest as I watch Beckett plate up pizza and pour wine like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I think about the last time I had a “family dinner” with anyone. I can’t even remember. But right now, watching him laugh and drag his hand through his hair, I realize this is what I want my “normal” to be.

He glances over and winks. My brain short-circuits. It’s possible I’m obsessed, but at least I’m in good company.

We flop on the couch, my feet tucked under me, Beckett’s arm heavy around my shoulders.

He grabs the remote and scans the movie options. “Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“Whatever you want.” He flicks through a few choices, and I pretend to care, but the truth is, the only thing I want is to curl up against him and soak in the feeling of being right where I belong.

“Action or comedy?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“Comedy.” I lean back against him and feel my muscles turn to goo.

He grins, all wicked and sweet at the same time. “You got it, Hot Doc.”

I snort out a laugh, then almost choke on my wine when he picks the most ridiculous buddy movie possible. Within ten minutes, I’m giggling like an idiot, barely paying attention to the screen as Beckett keeps up a running commentary that makes everything ten times funnier.

At some point, I realize he’s not even watching the movie. He’s just watching me while his thumb traces lazy circles over my shoulder.