I turn my half-eaten sandwich over in my hands and pull my gaze away from him to stare down at it. “You just wanted him to be taken care of.”

Ash lets out a kind of half-sigh/half-snort, and I look up to find him looking at me. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Exactly.”

The silence stretches out like a ribbon between us, neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, I can’t take it any longer. I take another bite of my sandwich to buy myself a minute, but when I swallow I plaster a smile on my face and look over at him. “So, no offense or anything, but are you sure that he’s your dog? I mean . . . he looks pretty feral.”

“Pfft, feral,” Ash mutters, but I can see the smile tugging on the side of his mouth. “I’ll show you feral. Watch this.” He reaches down and picks up the bag of potato chips he’d snagged from the grocery store at the last minute, claiming that after all our hard work and all that swimming, mere sandwiches wouldn’t be enough for his quote-unquote “manly hunger.” He rips the bag open, and the dog is instantly on high alert, pinning the bag with a stare that any body guard would be proud of.

“Sit,” Ash says, and before the word has even completely left his lips, the dog’s butt hits the ground. His tail’s wagging so hard it’s thumping against the dirt, drawing dust up into the air, and he watches as Ash pulls out a single large chip and holds it out to him, telling the dog to wait. Bruiser looks between Ash’s face and the proffered chip over and over again, and I laugh at the look on his face. Half obedience, half betrayal, and one hundred percent Seriously? You’re making me do this right now? But he doesn’t make a move toward it. He barely even breathes.

Finally, after long seconds have passed, Ash says “okay,” and the dog darts forward and snaps the chip up. The animated crunching that follows is honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and something inside of me is torn between laughing and melting at the sight.

“Nope,” he says, smiling at me as Bruiser licks his chops and starts rooting around, looking for more treats. Ash just looks down and shakes his head at the dog, grinning, until Bruiser finally gives up and makes his way over to me instead. I’m lost in that moment, that instant of us together in my mother’s backyard, sitting by the fire. Because in those long, drawn-out heartbeats, the sight of Ash’s smile by the light of the fire is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. “He’s definitely my dog.” He rubs the back of his neck before sinking back down into his seat. “I mean, fuck. He’s kinda skinny and he’s got more gray fur than I remember, but it’s definitely him. It’s Bruiser.”

I shove down the warmth that’s spreading through my chest, and lean forward. “So,” I say, reaching out to run a tentative hand down the dog’s back. I’m trying to picture a bigger, heartier version of the dog in front of me, and honestly it’s kind of terrifying. I feel like the dog’s going to turn on me at any moment and snap my fingers off. Just because he seems to adore Ash, doesn’t mean he’ll put up with me touching him. But Bruiser dashes my fears in about two seconds, as he leans into my hand, squirming, pressing closer, so I continue. “Not dangerous, then.”

“Not at all,” Ash says, and then reaches out his left hand to me, pinkie out. “I promise.” I bite my lip and reach out to link my finger with his.

And while we’re mid pinkie-swear, Bruiser sees his opportunity and makes off with the rest of my sandwich.

Chapter 8

Star

I’m settled on the porch steps the next morning, a paper cup of coffee clutched between my hands. It’s absolutely boiling—and for once worthy of the Caution: Hot label on the side—but I didn’t sleep well last night. I was too busy trying to figure out a plan and how to set it into motion, and as a result I ended up getting maybe four hours of sleep. Maybe. At this point I need the coffee like I need to live. And even though I was barely awake, Ash was already hard at work when I arrived, and I’m glad that he’s finally gotten comfortable enough to just do his own thing.

Progress.

He’s puttering around, hauling stuff out to the Dumpster, and at first I think it’s just the heat, but after watching him for a few minutes as I wait for my coffee to cool, I realize that what I’m seeing isn’t just my imagination. Ash is sunburned.

“You know,” I say, trying to force down my smile before it gives me away. “You’re looking a little red about the edges, there.” My smile breaks free and Ash turns even redder at my words. I can’t help it if the guy looks cute with a little pink in his cheeks. He’s more approachable that way, somehow.

“Ugh, I know,” Ash mutters, scrubbing at his ever-so-slightly sunburned neck. “Curse of the blonds. I was always getting burnt when I was a kid. I was kind of hoping I’d grow out of it.”

“I don’t think it’s something you really grow out of,” I tell him, and dig into my purse and pull out a tube of sunblock. “Here.” I toss it to him when he turns around. He looks down at it, clutched in his hands.

“You’ve had this the whole time?” he asks.

“Of course. I need it for the tattoos. The sun messes with them. Also—” I pin him with a smile “—you’re not the only blond around here.”

His eyes narrow on me for a minute, then he shakes his head and pops open the tube, dumping a pile onto his palm, which he then claps on the back of his neck. “You’re messing with me.”

I watch as Bruiser twines around Ash’s legs like a cat, sniffing away like mad. Probably wondering what Ash has in his hands, and if he can eat it. I’ve known this dog less than twenty-four hours, and he’s already tried to eat everything I’ve laid my hands on. It’s a wonder he managed to survive on his own, considering the way he was staring at the station wagon’s tires and licking his chops. I look up and Ash is still looking at me like I’m trying to pull one over on him somehow, so I just shake my head at him and settle back down on the porch. It’s scorching again today. I can barely take it.

“I’m serious,” I say, reaching up and ruffling the roots of my hair. “Totally blonde underneath the dye.”

“I can’t even imagine what that would look like.” He tosses the tube of sunscreen back to me. I fumble it when it hits my hands and it almost goes tumbling to the ground before I manage to get a grip on it. He’s gotten a bunch of the sunscreen on the tube itself, and it’s all greasy now. I sigh and try to scrub it off as best I can, wiping my gooey hands on my legs. Boys.

“It’s better if you don’t,” I say, clicking the cap back into place and dropping the tube back into my bag. Stretching out my leg, I shove Bruiser away with my bare foot, trying to keep him away from my purse. “Stop it. That’s not for you.” He looks up at me with big puppy-dog eyes and I sigh and reach down to ruffle his ears to ease the sting of rejection. This dog is going to be the end of me.

“No, seriously.” Ash steps closer to me, his eyes dancing over my face and hair as a little smirk starts pulling at his lips. “What does it look like?”

“Like Barbie, okay?” I say, exasperated. I can tell he isn’t going to let it go. “If I don’t dye it, I end up looking like I need a hot-pink car to go shopping in. I hate it.”

“That’s so bizarre.” He laughs and I stick my tongue out at him. “No offense, or anything,” he says. “It’s just really hard to picture you like that.”