“I’m thinking about signing them up with an animal modeling agency. I’m sure they can get a good gig with all the tricks I’ve been teaching them.”
“You are so weird,” she says. She takes a sip of her champagne, and as she does, her phone buzzes on the table. She quickly turns it over so that I can’t see what’s on the screen, but it’s too late.
“Patrick is texting you? I didn’t know you had his number.”
“I sent him that selfie of us in front of your new house,” she says. I can tell that she’s trying to maintain a sense of nonchalance, but her face is turning pink.
“Oh my God. You like him.”
“What? No. Of course not. He’s my boss, and he’s practically bald.”
I almost snort out my champagne. “You said that Maxwell was cute.”
“Who?”
“Luca’s old friend that we met in Georgia. He was bald.”
She shrugs. “So what? That has nothing to do with Patrick.”
I smile, deciding to let it go. She leaves her phone face down as we finish dinner.
“When are you moving into the new house?” she asks.
“I have movers coming next week. I’m going to start packing this weekend.”
“Nice. And what about Luca?”
“What about him?”
“Don’t play dumb. What are you going to do about him?”
I smile. “I have a plan.”
ChapterThirty-Eight
THE END OF THE ROAD
Luca
I’m in bed, half asleep, when I hear the knocking at my door. I climb out of bed, not bothering to put on a shirt as I make my way to the front door. Not many people visit me here, and the few that do would never come this late. There is only one person who I think it might be, but I’m still surprised when I open the door and it’s her.
“Naomi.”
She doesn’t wait for me to invite her in. She steps through my doorway and stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. Her lips taste like wine. I don’t ask where she’s been all day. She’s here now, and she’s kissing me, and it feels like this is all that matters.
Without letting go of her, I reach behind her to push the door closed. She doesn’t stop kissing me as we move through my apartment, backing into furniture and tripping over dog toys on the way to my bedroom. When we make it there, we end up on my bed. Her clothes come off gradually, in between kisses and light touches of fingertips against skin, the kind of touch that sends goosebumps over bare flesh even in a warm room.
When it’s over, we lay there, her head against my chest. She’s breathing deeply. I can’t see her eyes, but I think she might be asleep. I could stay like this forever, but I don’t know if she can. I hurt her, and I’m still trying to make up for it.
In the morning, she’s still in my bed. I watch her sleep for a little while. It’s rare that she gets to sleep in, so I don’t wake her up. I get dressed quietly, then pack up Bruno and all of his belongings and bring him to the pet store. It’s always hard giving up a foster animal. Before Roland and Phoebe, I had fostered an adult cat, and before the cat, there was an older dog. I try not to get too attached to the animals, but it happens every time, and then I go home feeling like a piece of me is missing until I bring the next animal home.
I think it’s going to be even harder with Bruno. Not because he’s more special than any of the other animals I’ve fostered, but because Naomi has grown attached to him too. Standing here at the pet supply store with Bruno in a pen, waiting for his first adoption applicant to show up, feels a little like giving away someone else’s pet.
Now he’s going to his new home, where Naomi won’t hear him crying through her ceiling, and there won’t be any reason for her to sneak into my apartment and leave little notes on my refrigerator.
It’s raining this morning, so instead of having Bruno’s pen outside like it was last time, we’re crammed inside the store, his pen lined up with all the others through the center aisle. I hope that the heavy rain won’t be enough to discourage people from coming in and adopting a pet.
I watch the front of the store as the doors slide open and a woman walks in wearing a heavy rain coat. She peels off her hood, and for a moment I think I’m imagining that fiery red hair. It feels like it did the first time I saw her coming out of the apartment building, when she held the door open for me. Except this time, I’ve memorized the way she walks and the way the little dimples appear on her cheeks when she smiles. There’s no mistaking that the woman walking into the store is the one I fell in love with before I ever met her.
