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“I couldn’t resist,” he replies. His amber gaze holds mine, the mid-morning sun bringing out flecks of gold and honey and copper. “After you told me this guy was coming, I had to bring him a new toy. It wouldn’t be fair not to; considering I’ve gotten one for all the others.”

It’s true. Every time I bring a new rescue to Barks n’ Bliss—I know it’s cheesy, but it goes with the trend of all the other local businesses—Gage insists on getting them a welcoming toy.

And it’s never something cheap, like a flimsy stuffed animal.

It’s an expensive Kong or a triple reinforced stuffed toy that could resist even the toughest of chewers.

My smile widens as I watch Charlie nudge Gage’s leg with the toy. “Well. It looks like he likes it.”

“You think?” A rare flicker of uncertainty crosses his features. “I wasn’t sure if it would be too much for him, since he’s a little guy. I know Dewey loves these, but he’s so much bigger.”

I reach down to pat Charlie on the top of his head. Then I give his ears a quick scratch. “How’s Dewey doing? Still hiding your shoes all over the house?”

Dewey is his recently adopted rescue, and the reason for Gage’s initial visit.

He came by looking for an older puppy, one he could still train, but wouldn’t have to worry about leaving for a few hours at a time.

So I introduced him to Dewey, a German Shepherd Labrador mix, and the two of them hit it off immediately.

“Yes. Unfortunately.” Gage chuckles. “But I have a new strategy.”

“Oh?”

While I wait for his response, the sun heats my arm, reminding me that my sleeves are pushed up past my elbows. And in broad daylight… it makes the scars there even more visible.

Inwardly cringing, I shove my sleeves back down.

But Gage doesn’t let on that he noticed, just says with a smile, “Yes. I started leaving out decoy shoes for him to hide. Old ones I don’t wear anymore. And I stashed my good shoes in the closet. This way, my shoes aren’t all ruined, but Dewey still gets to enjoy his game.”

Aww.

That’s another thing I like about Gage. Despite his serious, almost gruff exterior, he has a soft spot for animals. Most people would just hide all their shoes. Or they’d punish the dog. But Gage came up with a way to make both of them happy.

“That’s a great idea,” I tell him. “Although you’d better hope he never figures out how to open your closet.”

His eyebrows go up. “Do you know dogs that do that? I keep the door shut. I can’t imagine Dewey opening the doorknob…”

“You’d be amazed. One dog I adopted out—she was part poodle—figured out how to open doors with her teeth. The family came home after a birthday party to discover the dog had snuck into the pantry and raided it. So they have latches on all their doors now.”

“Latches, hmm? I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Gage pauses. “What about Elmore and Toby? I can’t picture them getting into any trouble.”

A small laugh slips out. “Not usually. But sometimes they’ll pull all the blankets off my bed. So when I head into the bedroom at night, everything is in a big pile on the floor. Then I have to get fresh sheets and blankets, which is the last thing I want when I’m ready to snuggle into bed.”

“I bet.” A beat later, his smile fades. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

And I’m left wondering what I said wrong. If I somehow triggered some unpleasant memory. Or if I shared too much information.

“So,” he abruptly says. His hands shove into his pockets. “I brought my tools today. We were going to look at that lock. Did you think of anything else?”

The shift from happy to somber has my stomach twisting again.

More reasons for his sudden shift in mood fly through my head.

Was the glimpse of scars on my arm so unsettling?

Since we met during the winter, my arms and legs were always covered.

But now that it’s May, I’ve cut back on my layers of clothing.

Had I thought about it, I would have made sure my sleeve was pulled down.

But Gage came early, and I was worried about Charlie…

Or maybe this is the day when Gage tells me he can’t come anymore. That he’s too busy. That his girlfriend doesn’t approve.

Although. Gage doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to let his actions be dictated by a woman.

My own smile fades as I reply, “If you’re too busy, it’s okay to skip the repairs this time.” A weight settles on my chest, making it hard to speak. “You’ve been so great about coming to help. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

A few seconds go by before he answers, when I mentally steel myself for the long-awaited rejection.

It doesn’t matter , I tell myself. I’m just fine out here on my own. I have the dogs. I have Isla. And maybe I’ll take Alice up on her invitation to have a movie night sometime.

Still. Even though I know this thing with Gage is temporary, I’m not ready to say goodbye to him yet.

“I don’t want to skip the repairs,” he finally replies, a hint of roughness in his tone. “I said I’d come to fix the lock. And I know you can use the help taking all the dogs for walks.” A pause, and then, “Unless you don’t want me to stay?”

“I do.” It’s quick. Fiercer than intended. More quietly, I add, “I’d like it if you stayed. I just… I don’t want you to feel obligated to.”

Surprise jerks Gage’s features. “Why would I feel obligated?”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly, I feel more like an inexperienced teenager than a grown adult. I tug at the hem of my sleeve. “But you have so much else going on. Your job, the work for Green Mountain Guardians, your friends…”

Gage stares at me. His eyes soften. A corner of his mouth tips up. “I like coming here every week, Rory. I don’t feel obligated at all.”

As he looks at me, a frisson of something moves between us. It’s strange. Almost unsettling. But it also makes my breath catch.

“I know you like the dogs,” I reply quickly, forcing a brittle smile. “But?—”

“No.” He touches my shoulder, his heat searing into my skin. “I like seeing you , Ror. The dogs are just a bonus.”

I keep spinning Gage’s words in my head.

He likes seeing me .

He doesn’t feel obligated.

He doesn’t want to stop coming.

And right before he left, he said he’d be back tomorrow morning to fix a loose plank on the front step. “I have to get to a team meeting,” he explained, “or I’d do it now. But I don’t want to see you get hurt. Will you use another door until I take care of it?”

So he cares about me, to some extent.

Practicality tells me it’s strictly friendship. That it’s no different from me wanting to spend time with Isla during the rare times she can get back to Vermont or I can travel to Texas.

It’s entirely possible that Gage likes the break in his day, and that’s one of the reasons he comes here.

I know he splits his time between working remotely for a company that designs flight simulators, something he’s uniquely qualified for as a former Night Stalker with the Army, and taking on jobs with Green Mountain Guardians.

So maybe this is kind of a down-time, of sorts. It’s low pressure—play with the dogs, hose out the kennels, do some basic repair work—which sounds a lot less stressful than his other responsibilities.

I just wish…

No.

There’s no point in wishing. Wishing is for rainbows and pennies on the ground and four leaf clovers. It’s for tossing a coin in a fountain, but deep down knowing it’s all a hopeful illusion.

I spit out my toothpaste and look into the bathroom mirror, taking a moment to inspect my reflection.

Most days, I can look at myself without really thinking about it.

I focus on the individual features—button nose, olive green eyes, lips a touch too full, shiny hair someone once referred to as the color of a raven’s wing—but never the whole of it.

But tonight, I let my gaze wander to the scars.

First the one on my jaw, about five inches long, still slightly raised and pink even after twenty years.

Then the one at my hairline that cuts down to my eyebrow. One Halloween in college, a guy asked me if I was supposed to be a wizard. “But the scar’s in the wrong spot,” he informed me, “You should really fix the makeup so it’s in the right place.”

If only it was that easy.

But truthfully, most days I don’t think about the scars. I’m too busy with other things. It’s just tonight, in the aftermath of my conversation with Gage, that I’m bothered by them.

I can’t help wondering how it would be if I looked different.

Would I have gathered up the courage to ask Gage over for dinner instead of settling for these brief afternoon visits?

Would I be confident enough to wear pretty clothes and makeup instead of trying to wear whatever attracts the least notice?

Would I go out in Bliss to actually meet people?

“Ugh.” I make a face in the mirror, wrinkling my nose and baring my teeth. “Stop being such a baby.”

At my feet, Toby whines. His brown eyes look up at me pleadingly. At half-past eleven, he’s more than ready to snuggle into bed—his warm body on one side of me, Elmore on the other.

“Fine,” I tell him. “The pity party is over.”

I swear, even though he’s a dog and can’t respond, his expression tells me he approves.

“Yes, I know. There’s no point wishing for things that can’t happen.” Patting my leg, I signal for him to follow me out of the bathroom. “And anyway, I have plenty to be thankful for. You guys. The other dogs. This house. Isla. A friend in Gage.”

Once I get into the bedroom, Elmore springs up from the floor and trots over to the bed. His tail wags at a blinding speed.

“Okay, okay.” Laughing, I pull back the covers while my two dogs wait eagerly on either side of me. These two are my personal pets—family members, really—and they aren’t up for adoption. Not like the others in the kennels outside, who I hope to find good homes for soon.

Just as I’m about to get into bed, a flash of light outside catches my eye.

It’s not bright, like a headlight. It’s smaller. More subtle. But it doesn’t make sense.