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Like…we’d be in a relationship.

Married.

Stop.

Stop it, right now, Adeline.

This is no time to panic.

“There ya go.”

Panting fills the inside of the truck, and I rapidly blink to find Pickles inside, tongue all out, and looking as happy and wet as ever.

Dodger closes the backseat door, the rain still pelting his truck with fury, when he climbs back into the driver’s seat, and I’m in sheer awe of this man.

Pickles is in the backseat of the truck.

He got the dog in the backseat.

And he barely tried.

“How did ya do that? How did you just get him⁠—”

“Shut up, Adeline.”

Alright, he’s still mad at me, fine.

He got the dog.

We got Pickles.

And that, alone, will give Dodger his free ticket to get me to be quiet because I have a bunch of things I need to do.

I have to set up a bed for Pickles, get him fed, and see what’s safe for him to eat at my house. He needs a bath, but I don’t want to push my luck right now. I’d like him to get more comfortable with me in an intimate space, and I need a fence.

I need a fence so he doesn’t run away on me.

How much are fences?

I need to get him to the vet and have him checked out.

I need food, toys, a collar, and a tag. I definitely need a leash.

How do you get dogs to like you? Is that a natural thing, or do I need to find a dog training class for us to bond?

Is that what people do?

The wind picks up then, making Dodger’s truck sway a little as we make our way back into town. He takes his time, though, careful but urgent to get us out of the storm.

So much so that he takes me right home, not asking if I took my car anywhere or would like to go get it.

It’s fine, though.

I have Pickles and that, to me, is a win.

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DODGER