And speaking of mum’s the word, my mother, in a twist of fate I could never have predicted, had fallen head-over-heels in love with an old black and white dog named Sally. Missing an ear and walking with a limp, she’d come to us as a stray, almost starved to death. But a kinder soul I’d never met. She helped to wrangle the younger dogs, she sat patiently with the sick ones that came to us, and she was always the first one into the yard each day, and the last one back in the barn after herding in any stragglers for the night.

When my mother was visiting one weekend, I’d put her to work helping me clean out the stalls in the barn. Initially, she’d regarded everything with an upturned nose and a when-will-this-be-over attitude. But after about an hour, every time I turned around, I noticed that Sally was right next to my mother, and my mother seemed to be sneaking her something from her Talbots-inspired overalls. I finally caught her with some leftover turkey bacon, and suggested that she take Sally on a walk around the property, that she needed some exercise on that bad leg.

My mother came back an hour later, enraptured, and told me that no one was allowed to adopt Sally. Because she was taking her home with her the following day. Later on that afternoon, with Sally and Sammy Davis Jr. asleep by the fireplace, my mother and I had a traditional English tea, with tiny cucumber sandwiches, clotted cream, and about a barrel full of tears. She talked, I talked, and she told me she was . . . proud of me.

She also told me that if Lucas and I ever got married, we should elope.

Lucas.

Sigh.

Bad kind of sigh.

I hadn’t heard from him the entire time he was in Belize. I kept a few tabs on him through the news service that was Marge. He was due home sometime next week, but I didn’t know when I’d see him, if I’d see him. I’d sent him a few emails but none were replied to. I’d tried everything I knew to do, and it was still radio silence. When he’d said “I can’t,” he really meant it. I had to respect that.

“How long since you’ve had him?”

“Eleven weeks—it was eleven weeks ago.” I sighed sadly.

“Pardon me?”

“Sorry, what?” I asked, coming back from Planet Lucas to the dog park, where the two women were staring at me as though I’d grown a third eyeball.

“I asked, how long you’ve had him? Sammy Davis Jr.?” one of the women asked, still kneeling down and petting my very contented dog.

“Oh! Sorry, daydreaming a little. I got Sammy when—” And I launched into my tale.

Twenty minutes later I was standing on the water’s edge, letting the waves tickle my toes as Sammy splashed and played. I’d given out two business cards for Our Gang. One of the women was still a little standoffish, but the other seemed genuinely interested in coming by and seeing the dogs we had up for adoption, having been won over by my sweet boy.

“You did great today, buddy,” I murmured as he nudged at my knees, threading between them and looking up at me, grinning. “You ready for your ball?” As he watched eagerly, I tossed it up in the air a few times, then threw it out into the water.

But instead of chasing the ball, he craned his head around behind me, sniffing the wind. His tail began to thump wildly, banging against the back of my legs.

I turned to see what he was looking at. People. Dogs. More dogs. But he was still sniffing something. Before I could catch him, he took off like a shot toward the fence, aiming for the gate where everyone came in and out.

“Crazy dog,” I said, chuckling as I made my way back up to where he was barking happily. “Sammy, what are you—”

I stopped short. Because there, on the other side of the fence, was my daydream. Deeply tanned, dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt, Lucas was pushing through the gate to greet Sammy Davis Jr., who was bouncing and jumping with happiness. He bent down to greet the dog, and when he stood up again I was struck again with how gorgeous this man was. Long and lean and breathing sex—eleven weeks in my imagination had not done him justice. It was all I could do not to literally run down the beach and throw myself into his arms, romance-novel style.

But I’d tried that before, done the grand gesture at the airport, and knew how that ended up. So I approached, but with caution. “What are you doing—”

I was cut off by his mouth covering mine in a slow, wet, burning, and churning kiss. He finally pulled back, hands clutching at my hips. Finishing my earlier question, “—here?” prompted him to kiss me again. Harder. Longer. Deeper. Tonguier.

This time, I managed to break the kiss and looked up into his face. “What’s happening here?”

“I came home early.”

“I’m getting that, but why are you—”

“I spent eleven weeks working twenty-hour days, because unless I was busy or sleeping, I was thinking about you. And even when I was sleeping I didn’t catch a break, because I’d dream about you.”

“Dreaming about me?”

“Yeah. Mostly naked.” He nodded, sliding his hands a little higher, just under the edge of my T-shirt. “Although once you were wearing a snowsuit while trying to paddleboard in the middle of the ocean. That was one of the weirder ones.”

“Okay, just wait a minute. You leave for eleven weeks without a phone call, without an email, after I humiliated myself in an airport—and now you show up and make out with me, without one shred of explanation?”

“I needed some space. I took some space.” He tilted my chin up to place one single soft kiss on my lips. “And I don’t want space anymore. I want you.”