“He recognized him immediately. He spent a lot of time with Brio,” Nico reminded me. “Hey, it’s just an hour or two,” he said, coming to me and reaching for my arms, forcibly uncrossing them. He pulled them up his chest to rest on his shoulders.
“I just hate to think he thinks he’s going back to the shelter.”
“I’m sure he’s going to have a good time at training.”
Goya was a good boy.
But he did need a little work on his leash manners. And I wanted him evaluated for how he did with other dogs of all different sizes and personalities. I just wanted to really know what I was getting into with his long-term future.
Besides, Brio insisted that all dogs should go to some single and group training classes.
“Gotta set ‘em up for success,” he’d said on the speaker phone when he called to talk about Goya and any questions or concerns I had.
It had been Nico who’d insisted that Brio take Goya to training for us since the training facility was only a couple blocks away from our apartment building and he didn’t want me being seen in that area yet.
“He’s going to be okay, honey,” Nico assured me, his arms going around me and pulling me up against his chest.
“What’s that look for?” I asked when his blue eyes went all gooey.
“Just getting a glimpse into the future.”
“What do you mean?”
“You, panicking that your preschooler thinks you abandoned them on their first day of school.”
There it was again.
The heart squeeze.
But this time, amplified at the idea of a family.
One with a man like him.
Someone who would be kind and committed. Someone who was capable and dedicated to being a partner.
And maybe that preschooler would have his sweet dark blue eyes. And his calm nature. And his generosity.
“You think about things like that?”
“Honey, I’ve been thinking of little else. Well,” he said, hands sliding to cup my ass, “and other things. But, yeah, I think of things like that. About Christmas mornings, holding mugs of coffee, bleary-eyed from being up all night wrapping and stuffing presents under the tree, watching as the kids tear into the paper. About birthday parties and vacations. And about Friday night pizzas or ice cream and movie nights. About hard talks and funny family jokes.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man say anything like that,” I admitted. “But I’ve thought about all those things too. Then mourned over losing all those things. It’s still hard to remember that those dreams aren’t gone now.”
“Not gone. Just featuring a different partner being there with you.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Yeah,” I agreed, letting my arms slide around him. “Nico?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Well, you like neutrals in terms of décor. But you secretly love purple the most. Probably because it was your grandmother’s favorite color.”
