Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) - Nina Lane Page 0,129
really hard to resist,” he says.
“What was hard to resist?”
He flashes me his patented Dean West smile, which he knows perfectly well makes me all weak and mushy inside.
“Well, your beauty, for one thing,” he remarks.
“Dean West.” I cross my arms and steel myself against his charm. “What are you trying to hide?”
Then I hear it.
A bark.
I push past Dean and open the door. Bella and Nicholas are crouched on the front porch, laughing at a small, rambunctious, and entirely adorable mixed-retriever puppy.
“Oh. My. God.” I stare at the dog, then at Dean. “You did not buy a dog.”
“No,” he assures me hastily. “I didn’t buy a dog.”
“He was free,” Nicholas says gleefully.
The puppy comes running over to sniff my legs, its tail wagging like a motor as it jumps up to greet me.
“The Humane Society had a rescue animal van in the beach parking lot,” Dean explains. “And we saw…uh, this little guy, and well, he seemed really friendly and…”
“Keep him, Mommy, please?” Bella begs, turning her imploring gaze on me.
The dog grabs the hem of my skirt between his teeth and tugs.
“I don’t think we can take care of a dog,” I say, though one look at the dog’s eager brown eyes cracks my defenses.
“I promise I’ll feed him and walk him and everything,” Nicholas says.
“It would be nice for the kids to have the responsibility of taking care of a pet,” Dean adds.
I look down at the dog, whose furry little body is vibrating with energy and excitement.
“Pleeese can we keep him?” Bella asks again.
“He can sleep in my room,” Nicholas says. “And he’ll be a great friend for Patch. Patch doesn’t know any other dogs yet.”
“He’s so cute,” Bella squeals. “Mommy, he’s smiling at you.”
I sigh. “He’s also peeing on my shoe.”
The dog, Fitzy Darcy, follows Dean around like…well, like a loyal dog wholeheartedly devoted to its master. And I eventually admit that puppy energy is—sometimes—nice to have around the house.
As summer draws to a close, I start putting the kids to bed at eight so they’ll be accustomed to an earlier bedtime when school starts. This tactic also gives Dean and me more time alone in the evenings, which is welcome after full days spent with our children in serious pursuit of summertime fun.
One evening in August, I find him sprawled on the sofa in the sunroom with a thick book, his features set in that “I’m thinking very very hard” expression. Fitzy Darcy is lying on the rug near him, enjoying a restful sleep without interruption from the kids.
“A little bedtime reading?” I ask Dean, nodding to the book as I settle in beside him on the sofa.
“I’m thinking of writing a book about a boy’s journey to knighthood,” he explains. “Training, weapon skills, duties, that kind of thing.”
“You already wrote a book about knighthood.”
“Not a children’s book.”
I look at him in surprise. “You’re going to write a children’s book?”
“Maybe.” He scratches his head. “Nicholas was asking me about apprentice knights and pages, so I started telling him a story about a boy apprentice who goes on crusade. He really liked it and said I should write a book.”
“That’s a great idea.”
Knights, I think. Another drawing to add to my North-inspired artist’s book, which I’ve continued filling with things that make me happy. And one knight in particular makes me very happy.
I reach for a loop of string sitting on the coffee table. I sense Dean glance at me as I fasten the string around my fingers. I’d memorized the steps of the pattern, and I repeat them silently to myself as I twist and coil the string around my fingers. Then I spread the pattern out and hold my hands up to show him the rectangular box containing a perfect heart.
He smiles. “When did you learn how to do that?”
“Not long ago,” I say. “You’re not the only one who can do research, professor.”
I untangle the string from my fingers and shift closer to him. He puts his arm around me, and we sink into each other. I rub my cheek against his shoulder, everything inside me settling and at peace.
Dean slides his hand beneath my chin and lifts my face to look at him. In his eyes, I see the rescuer who crouched beside me on a sidewalk and touched the sleeve of my gray sweatshirt. I see the professor who eased me into both love and lovemaking with slow, assured gentleness.