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“What was that?” Theo asks, earning another grunt from Pippa.
“Our emergency catchphrase,” I explain. “It lets her know I’m serious about being obeyed without raising my voice. She gets upset when I yell. Now, go to your bed,” I tell Pippa firmly. “I don’t need protection right now.”
She grunts and taps a suspicious hoof on Theo’s chest.
“Yes, I’m sure. Theo’s an old friend,” I assure her. “He’s here to help us.”
She squeals and tosses her head from side to side.
“Yes, he is.” I point a stern finger toward the house. “Now, go lie down on your bed and wait for a treat. Right now. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Still grumbling, Pippa slides off Theo and starts toward the open sliding glass door only to spin back at the last moment and cough aggressively in Theo’s direction.
“Message received,” Theo says, lifting his hands into the air as he shifts into a seated position. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”
With a “you’d better be” snort, Pippa heads inside, trotting over to flop onto her canvas dog bed in the corner with a dramatic sigh, making it clear it’s still very hard to be a wise pig in a world full of dumbass humans.
“Sorry about that,” I say, reaching a hand down to Theo. “She’s overly protective at the best of times. Let alone a day like today, when she nearly drowned, was forced to pee on a puppy pad, and only got one apple for a pre-dinner snack. I’m rationing them because we’re low on food.”
Theo’s big fingers wrap around mine as I help him to his feet, making my entire body hum again. Touching him is even better than I remembered. It’s like riding my favorite stretch of white-water rapids and being snuggled up by a warm fire during a winter snow, all at the same time.
Safe and wild and…perfect.
“Is she okay?” he asks. “Does she need a vet?”
“She’s fine,” I say, keenly aware of the fact that he’s still holding my hand, long after any need for it has passed. “I was able to get her untangled from the extension cord that was holding her under the water in time. She just needs rest and to get back into her routine. Pigs thrive on routine.”
Remembering that most of our “routine” now belongs to the river, I sigh and add, “Though that might be hard for a while. The river took the camper van. We watched it float away about an hour ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” He threads his fingers through mine. “I can imagine how hard that must have been. It was your home for so long.”
“Fifteen years,” I say, my throat going tight. “A lot of things have changed since I left Bad Dog, but not that.”
“I bet.” He steps closer. “I’ve missed a lot of your life.”
“And I’ve missed a lot of yours,” I whisper as I tip my head back, searching his expression in the dim light from the candles flickering in the living room. “We’re probably completely different people than we used to be.”
“I don’t know.” His gaze locks intimately with mine, making it hard to breathe. “Do you think you’re different?”
I ponder the question for a moment before shaking my head. “No, not really. I’m just more confident about my good qualities and better at managing my bad ones.”
“What bad ones?” he asks, bending his head closer. “As far as I remember, you’re pretty damned perfect.”
“I’m so far from perfect,” I say, guilt swelling in my chest. “Perfect people don’t ghost the people they love and run off without saying goodbye. I would never do that now. I can handle hard conversations.” My pulse races as I lift my chin, bringing my lips close enough to his that I can feel his body heat warming my skin. “I really am so sorry, Theo. If I could go back and change one thing in my entire life, that would be it.”
“Apology accepted,” he says. “Now I need a promise from you.”
I nod, my heart lifting. “Anything.”
“Never apologize for any of that ever again.” He releases my hands to wrap his arms around my waist, drawing me slowly against him. “I don’t want to rehash the past. I’m way more interested in the future. Are you home to stay?”
Curling my fingers around his biceps through his raincoat and the sweater beneath, I want to tell him what he wants to hear, whatever words will make our clothes vanish and his lips cover mine.
But I was telling the truth before.
Iambetter at managing my bad parts, and I don’t say things I don’t mean, not even to please the people who matter most.
Doing my best to memorize the feel of his strong body pressed to mine in case he pulls away for good, I confess, “No, I’m not. Bad Dog never felt like home to me. I know it does for a lot of people. I know it’s a great place to live in so many ways, it’s just notmyplace. But I completely understand if it’s yours.”
