RHYS

Several years later….

“Once upon a time a girl walked into a bar and captured my heart, but I was too stupid to see what was happening. Luckily for me she was a very goal-oriented type of girl who decided against all logic that I was goal-worthy. I wasn’t, but that didn’t stop her. Thank God that didn’t stop her.”

“Rhys!” Lydia hisses. “Don’t tell him that! That is not an accurate retelling of the fairytale. Nor an appropriate retelling.”

“Hush. It’s our favorite bedtime story. Also he’s a dog so I don’t think he minds which version I give him.”

We both turn to look at our new dog, Trooper. He thumps his tail against the floor and tilts his head to the side, one eye raised as he attempts to discern if Lydia is about to give him an extra belly rub before bed. He’s some kind of lab mix we obtained through a rescue group, but I don’t think that should be a surprise to anyone. Lydia loves to rescue things. People, old sheets, lost tourists, a pair of swans that needed a sponsorship—honestly I didn’t ask for the details on that last one. Trooper’s an adult dog and badly behaved. Much like I was when Lydia found me. She says he has potential.

“Does he have to sleep in his kennel?”

Trooper thumps his tail in response. He knows how to work me.

“Yes. Yes, he does. Until he’s earned his good behavior badge he needs to sleep in his crate.”

“He’s only eaten two of your shoes,” I point out. Trooper hangs his head and emits a dramatic grunt. “And one was a flip flop. That hardly counts.”

“It counts, Rhys. So does eating half a pound of ground beef off the counter after he distracted me by overturning his water bowl.”

Trooper rolls onto his back and thumps his tail again.

“What if the best dog he can be is still awful?” I reach over and give him a belly rub.

“Then I’ll get new shoes.”

“Or you could just run around barefoot and pregnant, rendering the shoes irrelevant.”

“You’d like me barefoot and pregnant? That sounds horribly inconvenient.”

“Which? Being barefoot or being pregnant?”

“Barefoot while pregnant. Imagine you cut your foot while barefoot but you were so pregnant you couldn’t reach your own foot to take care of it.”

“Lydia.” I stand and motion for Trooper to get into his kennel. He does so without complaint, turning in a circle before settling with his head on his front paws.

“What?”

“I think we should talk about doing the reproductive kind of mating. Have some cygnets of our own.”

Lydia beams. “You know that baby swans are called cygnets?”

“Of course I do.” Fine. I paid a little bit of attention to the swan sponsorship packet.

“Babe. That is so sexy.” Lydia’s eyeing me and licking her lips like she does when I return from the gym, shirt off and slung over my shoulder.

She’s still too easy.

“We could buy a house. Trooper needs a yard. The kids will need a yard. And I could be wrong, but I’m almost positive that no school bus is going to make a pickup on the Strip.”

“We could buy a fixer-upper!” Lydia exclaims. She’s moved to the bed and she’s sitting cross-legged on the surface, wearing a pair of sheet pajama pants and a tank top.

“Or we could build,” I offer. “Find the perfect lot with a view of the Strip on one side and mountains on the other. Custom build.”

“Or we could buy a fixer-upper!”

“Or we could buy a fixer-upper,” I agree. Because once I get my head out of my ass I’m not that much of an idiot.

“It’ll be just like an episode of House Hunters,” Lydia says dreamily. “Only I’ll get to look at all the houses instead of just three.”

“It’ll be just like that,” I agree. “Only better.”

I’ve spent every day since I thought I’d blown it with her appreciating her. Appreciating what we have together. We’ve spent weekends exploring Vegas. Weekends traveling. Evenings doing nothing and days doing everything. We’ve been to Austin for the taco trucks and San Antonio for the puffy tacos. When we went to Paris for our honeymoon we had crêpes and she called them French tacos. Then she laughed at herself until she nearly fell over. I fell in love with her all over again.

Lydia makes every experience better. Being with her feels like luck and fate and winning the lottery. It feels like trust and friendship and home. Her love feels like a surprise so good you’d never dare expect it, but when it finds you, you hold on tight.

And I will. I’ll hang onto my good girl forever.