“Knock, knock.” I push open the front door at my mom and Phil’s house and poke my head around the corner. She’s standing at the sink doing dishes, but as soon as she hears my voice she turns around.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Tossing the rag over her shoulder, she walks into the living room and pulls me into a warm embrace.

Sharon Daniels is the best mother a girl could ask for. After Daddy passed away, our lives weren’t easy, but you’d never know it. She pulled up her pants—figuratively, of course—and despite her grief, fell easily into the dual role of mom and dad. And I sure as hell didn’t make it easy on her. To say that I handled my father’s passing poorly is a huge understatement.

The denial stage didn’t last long for me—a few days tops. And not long after Dad’s funeral came the anger. I was angry at him for going back into that building. Angry at myself for being angry at him. Angry at Mom for being seemingly unaffected by the whole thing—although I know now she was putting on a front to stay strong for me. I spent days in bed, crying my eyes out, and then throwing things around my room. But Mom was always right there with a gentle touch and enough encouraging words to coax me into the shower or to eat a hot meal.

The bargaining and depression phase was nothing but a big blur of emotional mess. Tears. Crying. Screaming. Sleeping for days. Refusing to go to school. Refusing to see my friends. Refusing to live. Not even Mo could get through to me.

And then, somehow, came the acceptance. It took years, but with my mother’s unwavering support and love—and her example of bravery and perseverance—I finally came to accept that my father was gone. Some days—especially holidays or birthdays—I still expect to see the fire truck pull up in front of the house. I’m not sure that’ll ever go away. I’m not sure I want it to. Because unlike when I was younger, I can look back on those memories—the memories of my father dressed in his turnouts barging through the door, scooping me up, and tossing me over his shoulder while he gave my mother a kiss; Mom and me taking Christmas cookies to the firehouse and listening to the guys all fawn over my mother’s baking skills—and feel something other than devastating emptiness. I can feel the joy I had in those moments, though they’re long past, and they remind me of the duty I have to be the woman my father would have wanted me to be. Careful, loyal, brave, strong.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Maybe I should bake cookies and take them to Trevor.

“Where’s my grandpup?” Mom asks, looking around at our feet.

“Oh, um, she’s still outside.” I turn around and whistle. “Come on, Milo. Do your business already.”

Milo doesn’t pay me any attention. She simply walks in circles, sniffing the ground.

“I don’t know what she’s looking for: the dog can’t see.”

Mom laughs, and about that time Milo drops a load, kicks at the grass with her hind legs, and darts toward the porch—except she forgets she’s blind and runs face first into the base of the step.

I can’t help it, I laugh. One of these days she’ll learn that she has to use her other senses to find her way around. I walk down the steps, scoop her up, and go back into the house, shutting the door behind me.

I’ve only had Milo for a couple of weeks, but I’m learning so much about her and how she maneuvers through her world as a blind dog. And what I’m learning is she doesn’t do it well. Her biggest tool is her nose, which she’s using now.

Milo juts her snout into the air, and I know she’s familiar and comfortable with her surroundings when she starts to squirm. I let her down, and she sniffs her way to Mom.

“Yeah, you know who your grandma is, don’t you?” Mom lifts Milo up and walks into the kitchen. “Do you want a treat? I bought some just for you.”

Milo barks and then barks again, showing her approval.

“She’s already had two treats.”

Mom shakes her head. “This dog is the closest thing I’ve got to a grandchild, and until you settle down and decide to pop out kids, don’t tell me I can’t spoil her.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “You just had to throw that in there, didn’t you?”

“I’m not getting any younger, Claire Daniels, and neither are you.” She grabs a treat from the bowl in her cabinet.

Mom went a little crazy when she found out I’d adopted Milo. Turns out she always wanted a dog; it was Dad who didn’t. I asked her why we never got one after his death, but she said it was hard enough managing me. She couldn’t imagine throwing a dog into the mix.

“Don’t rush me, Mother. Mo is bad enough. The last thing I need is you on my case too.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She feeds Milo the treat and turns to me. “I’m not rushing you. It would just be nice to see my only child settle down.”

“I am settled down. I have my own home, a great career, and a dog. It could be worse; I could be whoring myself around town, sleeping with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who looked my way.”

“Okay, smartass,” she quips. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, and I promise that if and when I find a good man, you’ll be the first to know.”

I don’t bother telling her that I think I’ve already found him, because I don’t want to get her hopes up—or my hopes, for that matter. I still have to find a way to snag him. And by him, I mean Trevor.

It’s been three weeks since our heated kiss, and I’ve thought about him every second of every day. I’ve thought about the touch of his skin against mine, his soft lips, and the way he held me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never felt so alive and wanted, and it’s made me think long and hard about what I’d begun to realize about my rules even before my disaster of a date with Joseph. I’ve bubble-wrapped the passion right out of my relationships. Of course I need to be careful and responsible, but maybe relaxing my stringent standards a bit would be worth it if it meant getting to experience what I felt in that bathroom with Trevor again.

That thought alone makes my heart race and my palms sweat, but it no longer gives me the urge to throw up. I’m left wondering if those sensations are of anticipation rather than dread.

There’s only one way to find out.

The only problem? I haven’t seen Trevor to tell him, and it hasn’t been for lack of trying. I’ve done all the things I normally do, including dinner at Dirty Dicks with Mo and Rhett, and I even had an impromptu girl’s night out with Mo, Tess, and Trevor’s sister, Adley, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of him at the bar. But he was nowhere to be seen either time.

I could pick up the phone and call him, but what would I say? Hey, remember that kiss we shared? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Wanna do it again?

“You better get going or you’re going to be late.”

I look down at my watch. Crap. “I have three classes tonight, and the last one gets over at eight, so I should be back here to pick up Milo by eight fifteen.”

Milo is spoiled rotten, and I learned the hard way that when I come home from work, she expects me to stay there and pamper her. And by the hard way I mean she destroyed my favorite heels and we went three days without speaking to each other. Needless to say, from now on, when I volunteer in the evenings, she comes to Mom and Phil’s, who don’t seem to mind one bit.

“Okay, sweetie, go do your thing.”

I kiss Mom on the cheek, then Milo, and I slip out the door.