never wanted to experience that again.
Not with Anna.
Stop. She couldn’t let her thoughts go down that path.
Bree set her phone on the porch step, jumped up, and dusted herself off. She ignored Chip’s oncoming figure as she stopped at the mailbox, waving to the car that pulled toward her house.
As if it were possible her parents could drive past her on the cul-de-sac going five miles an hour. As if they hadn’t visited three times in the last six months.
Her smile broadened as she spotted her mother’s face through the windshield.
Her entire life she had been told how uncannily they resembled each other. That was partly due to the narrow age gap between them, as Bree had been born when her mother was barely nineteen. Beyond that, they shared the same high cheekbones and the same wildly red, thick hair, though her mother kept hers short and tamed. But most of all they shared the same expression when they were genuinely excited about something—their eyes turned an even more brilliant, effervescent green. Their mouths puckered to form the same O shape. Looking at her mother right now was like looking in a mirror.
Bree bounced on her toes as the car rolled into the driveway. Her feet were nearly crushed under the weight of the rolling car as her stepfather finally put the car in park. She yanked open the passenger door.
“Happy birthday to me!”
Bree pulled her mother out of her seatbelt and into a hug. It was April 7 and her birthday was two weeks past, but for all intents and purposes, today was the day.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Bree’s mother said, wrapping her daughter in a tight hug. “And look at you—you wore your birthday sweatshirt.”
Bree opened her eyes in the hug and caught Chip’s grin as he watched them. His eyes drifted to the colorful sweatshirt covered in scribbled birthday well-wishes from family and friends, some dating all the way back to 2000. Everything in his expression said, Birthday sweatshirt?
She scrunched her nose at him, frowned, and closed her eyes again.
“Now where are the presents?” She moved to examine the back seat.
“Ah. Thirty-four years old and not a day more mature.” Bree’s stepfather stepped out of the car with open arms and an amused smile.
As Bree was moving around the car to give Dan a hug, she heard a familiar sound. She froze midstep as she saw the dog blast through the open door. He skidded to a stop on the front porch, staring at Bree like he’d reached heaven.
He began to race toward her. She started to jump back over the line and then realized: It didn’t matter anymore. There was the fresh line of soil going all the way across the yard, a solid two feet from their cars. She had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Bree sighed with relief and moved to stand next to her stepdad.
If that ignorant dog jumped over the new fence line, he’d feel a nice jolt.
Was it such a bad thing that the very idea made her smile? Giggle a little inside? Have an urge to twiddle her fingers like an evil mastermind?
She reached up with one sleeve of her birthday sweatshirt and rubbed her mirthful smile down. She would not smile. But she would watch. She would stand there, offering up no warnings to the animal whatsoever, and watch with silent glee as the dog got his due punishment.
She glanced Chip’s way. For such a devoted dog owner, Chip didn’t seem too concerned about Russell running headlong into an electrical barrier. In fact, Chip wasn’t even commanding Russell to slow down or stop. In fact . . .
Bree squinted at Chip.
Noted the way his eyes were on her at that very moment.
She looked down, noticing that the dog had not only touched the line but was now a foot beyond the line and giving no indication of slowing.
“Chip!” Bree screamed. In a single movement, she jumped, rolled across the back of the trunk, and landed on the other side. It was a Tony Stark moment born of adrenaline and terror. She could never repeat it.
“Oh, honey!” Bree’s mother exclaimed with a smile. “That was splendid!”
“Dan! Watch out!” Bree cried.
Panting, Russell skidded to a stop beside her stepfather.
“Who’s this fella?” Dan said, reaching down to pat his head.
All Bree could think about was the heart surgery Dan had the year prior. And Russell’s paws going straight through his still-tender chest like a boot through an empty cardboard box.
“Stop!” Bree cried, leaning across