Dog Walks and Autumn Hearts

The first time I saw him, I was chasing Buster through the dog park like a lunatic, my hair escaping its ponytail in wild wisps. Buster, my golden retriever mix, had decided the morning was too beautiful to waste on something as mundane as walking politely beside me. His leash had slipped from my fingers when he spotted a squirrel, and now I was running across the dewy grass in my work flats, cursing under my breath.

Then I saw him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it in frustration. He was standing perfectly still while a massive black dog sat at his feet, both of them watching me with identical expressions of judgment.

“Sorry!” I called out, finally catching Buster by the collar. “He’s usually not this—”

“Unleash your dog in an unfenced area,” the man finished, his voice gravelly with morning roughness. “Yeah, I can see that.”

I bristled, even as Buster wagged his tail enthusiastically at the stranger’s dog. “I didn’t exactly plan for him to escape.”

“Planning’s usually how responsible ownership works.” His tone was flat, matter-of-fact, but it still stung.

I opened my mouth to respond—I have plenty of snappy comebacks when I need them—but then his dog moved forward, and I realized with a start that it was a Newfoundland. A beautiful, bear-sized creature that approached Buster with the calm dignity of a creature who knew exactly how magnificent it was.

“Hi there, beautiful,” I said to the dog, crouching down despite my pencil skirt. “What’s your name?”

“Thor.” The man said it like he was admitting to a crime.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Of course it is. Let me guess, he was small when you named him?”

For just a second, something flickered across his face. Almost a smile. “Something like that.”

Thor had moved closer to Buster, and the two dogs were doing that careful sniffing dance that either ends in friendship or chaos. Buster, being Buster, immediately rolled onto his back in submission, tail wagging furiously.

“He’s friendly,” I offered, since the man seemed content to let silence stretch between us.

“So’s Thor.” He paused, then added, “Usually doesn’t take to other dogs this quick.”

I looked up at him, shading my eyes against the early morning sun. “Maybe they knew each other in a past life. Dog soulmates.”

This time, the almost-smile was more pronounced. “Maybe.”

We stood there for another minute while the dogs interacted. I wanted to keep talking—I’ve never been good at comfortable silences—but I couldn’t think of anything else to say that didn’t sound forced. Finally, I clipped Buster’s leash back on.

“Well, thanks for not judging me too harshly,” I said, standing up and brushing grass from my knees. “I’m Sarah, by the way. Buster and I usually walk through here around six-thirty, but I haven’t seen you before.”

“Marcus.” He nodded once, brief and businesslike. “We come earlier. Usually gone by now.”

“Ah, the crack of dawn crew.” I smiled, falling back on my default sunshine when faced with grumpiness. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around. Come on, Buster. Let’s try to make it through one morning without embarrassing ourselves.”

Buster reluctantly followed, looking back at Thor with what I could only describe as longing. I couldn’t blame him—the Newfoundland was magnificent, and his human wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes either, despite the attitude.

As I walked away, I felt Marcus’s eyes on my back. I resisted the urge to turn around. Some people are like morning glories—they only open up with time and patience. I’d learned that working at the library, dealing with every kind of personality that wandered through our doors.

Still, when I glanced back just before the path curved away, I caught him watching. He didn’t look away quickly enough to pretend he wasn’t.

---

The second time I saw Marcus, it was raining. Not a gentle morning mist, but a proper early spring downpour that had me questioning my life choices as Buster and I splashed through puddles. I’d already resigned myself to going home and changing before work when I spotted them—Marcus and Thor, standing under a large oak tree like they belonged to the forest itself.

Thor spotted us first, his tail beginning to wag in that slow, deliberate way of giant dogs. Marcus followed his gaze, and I saw the moment he recognized me. Even from a distance, I could read the internal debate—acknowledge me or pretend I didn’t exist.

Buster made the decision for him, pulling toward his new friend with the single-minded determination of a dog who’d found his person. His dog person, anyway.

“Morning,” I called out, raising my voice over the rain. “Or is it still morning when it’s this gloomy?”

“Still morning.” Marcus watched as Thor moved to greet Buster, the two dogs immediately beginning to play in a way that looked more like wrestling than anything else. “You’re out early.”

“Could say the same about you.” I moved under the relative shelter of the tree, close enough that I could see rainwater dripping from Thor’s fur. “Though I guess this is your usual time.”

He shrugged. “Thor doesn’t care about weather. Only thing that stops him is thunder.”

“Lucky for Buster, then. He’s been cooped up for days with this rain pattern.” I paused, then added, “Though I guess we’re both getting wet anyway, so might as well let them play.”

Marcus studied me for a moment, and I wondered if he was trying to figure out if I was being sarcastic. “How long do you have?”

“Twenty minutes before I need to head home and pretend I didn’t just stand in the rain like an idiot.” I smiled, the expression that usually won over even the grumpiest library patrons. “Why?”

“Thor usually gets forty-five minutes. I’ll split the difference—thirty?”

It was the most words he’d strung together in my presence, and I felt unreasonably proud of myself for drawing them out. “Thirty sounds perfect. Though I’ll probably look like a drowned rat by then.”

Marcus’s gaze flicked over me, quick but thorough. “You look fine.”

The words were delivered in that same flat tone, but something in them made my stomach flutter. Before I could respond, Thor shook himself, sending droplets of water in a three-foot radius. I shrieked and jumped back, slipping on the wet grass.

Marcus’s hand shot out, catching my arm before I could fall. His grip was solid, warm despite the cold rain, and I found myself leaning into it for just a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“Thanks,” I said, looking up at him. He was closer now, close enough that I could see his eyes weren’t just brown but had flecks of gold in them. “I guess I should add ‘graceful’ to my list of morning accomplishments.”

“Grass is slippery when wet.” He released my arm but didn’t step back. “You’re okay?”

“Wet, but intact. Though Buster seems to be having the time of his life.”

We both looked at the dogs, who had progressed to what appeared to be a game of chase, with Buster darting around Thor’s much larger form. Thor moved with surprising grace for such a big animal, and I found myself smiling at their obvious joy.

“They’re ridiculous,” I said. “Completely undignified.”

“Sometimes dignity’s overrated.” Marcus was still watching the dogs, but I caught the way his mouth twitched. Almost there, Mr. Grumpy. “Thor doesn’t get to play much with other dogs his size.”

“Is that why you come so early? Fewer dogs to deal with?”

He nodded. “Plus, I work late. Construction. Morning’s the only time he gets a real run.”

“That explains the calluses,” I said without thinking, then immediately felt my face heat. “I mean—I notice hands. Occupational hazard. I’m a librarian. You can tell a lot about people by how they handle books.”

Marcus held up his hand, studying it like he was seeing it for the first time. “What do these tell you?”

“That you work with your hands. That you’re careful—see how the wear is even? You pay attention to what you’re doing.” I paused, looking at his broad palm, the strong fingers. “That you’re probably stronger than you look, which is saying something because you look pretty strong.”

When I glanced up, he was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “You always say exactly what you’re thinking?”

“Pretty much. Another occupational hazard—spending all day around books makes you forget that people aren’t as easy to read.”

“Books don’t talk back.”

“Don’t I know it. Though sometimes I wish they would. Imagine the stories they’d tell if they could share where they’ve been, who’s read them, what they thought…”

I trailed off, realizing I was rambling. But Marcus seemed… not interested, exactly, but not bored either. His head was tilted slightly, like he was actually listening.

“Romance novels,” he said suddenly.

“What about them?”

“You read them. The way you talk about stories, happy endings. You’ve got that look.”

I laughed, surprised and a little delighted. “Is there a look?”

“The ones who come into the bookstore looking for them, they all have it. Hopeful. Like they believe love should be easy to find between pages even if it’s hard in real life.”

“You buy books for someone who reads romance?” I guessed.

“My sister. She sends me on missions. Says I need to understand women better.” He said it with the long-suffering tone of someone who’s had this argument many times.

“And? Has it worked?”

Marcus looked at me for a long moment. “Working on it.”

---

The third time, I was ready. I’d adjusted my morning schedule, setting my alarm for twenty minutes earlier. Not that I was stalking him, exactly. I just figured if our dogs were going to be friends, we might as well be civil about it.

But Marcus and Thor weren’t there. I waited, walking Buster through every path twice, but they didn’t appear. By the time I had to leave for work, I’d convinced myself I was being ridiculous. So what if we’d had two almost-conversations? That didn’t mean anything. He probably had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Or was married to his job. Or just wasn’t interested in making friends with the chatty librarian who couldn’t control her dog.

I was still telling myself this the next morning when I spotted them across the field. Marcus was throwing a ball for Thor, the massive dog bounding after it with surprising speed. I almost turned around. Almost pretended I hadn’t seen them.

Then Buster pulled the leash from my hand again.

“Seriously?” I called out, but Buster was already halfway across the grass, barking excitedly. Thor’s head came up, and then both dogs were racing toward each other like long-lost friends.

Marcus watched them meet, then started walking in my direction. He was wearing a t-shirt today, and I tried not to stare at the way the fabric stretched across his shoulders. Tried and failed.

“Morning,” I said when he got close enough. “Sorry about—”

“Don’t apologize for your dog liking mine.” He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets. “Thor’s been restless the past couple days. Missing his friend, maybe.”

“He has? I mean, we were here yesterday but—”

“You were looking for us.”

It wasn’t a question, and I felt heat creep up my neck. “I just—our schedules seemed compatible. For the dogs. I thought maybe we could coordinate.”

“Is that what you thought?”

There was something in his voice, a tone I’d never heard before. Not teasing, exactly, but not flat either. I lifted my chin, meeting his eyes. “Yes. And maybe that we could try being friends. Since our dogs clearly are.”

“Friends,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

“Is that so hard to believe? I’m friendly. You’re… here. The dogs like each other. It seems like a solid foundation for—”

“Sarah.” He said my name like it was a complete sentence, and I stopped talking. “I don’t do friends easily.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “What do you do easily?”

For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he moved closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “Work. Take care of Thor. Mind my own business. That’s about it.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“Sounds simple.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” I was still holding his gaze, something electric sparking between us. “I’m not asking for your life story, Marcus. Just—maybe we don’t have to pretend we don’t see each other when our dogs are clearly plotting something.”

His mouth did that almost-smile thing again. “Plotting?”

“Yesterday Buster actually whined at the door when it was time to leave. Like he was disappointed. I think your dog is a bad influence.”

“Thor’s never been a bad influence on anything. He’s practically a saint.”

“Saint Thor. Patron saint of wet dog smell and stealing tennis balls.” I grinned when Marcus’s expression shifted, something warm entering his eyes. “See? You can be funny when you try.”

“Wasn’t trying.”

“Even better. Accidental humor is my favorite kind.”

We stood there while the dogs played, closer than we’d ever stood before. I could smell his soap—something clean and simple, no artificial fragrances. Could see the way his hair curled slightly where it touched his collar. When he shifted, his arm brushed mine, and I felt that touch everywhere.

“So,” I said, my voice a little breathless, “friends?”

“Sarah,” he said again, and this time there was something different in it. Something that made my name sound like a promise. “I’m not looking for friends.”

My heart sank, but I kept my expression steady. “Okay. Neighbors with dogs who play together, then.”

“That’s not what I meant either.”

I looked at him, really looked, and saw something that made my breath catch. Want. Plain and simple and terrifying. Marcus wanted me the way I wanted him—carefully, reluctantly, but completely.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

“You,” he said, simple as that. “Been looking for you since the first morning, even though I knew better.”

“You knew better than to look for me?”

“Knew better than to want someone who’s always smiling. I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine, Sarah. I’m more of a… cloudy morning person.”

I stepped closer, close enough that I had to tip my head back to see his face. “Maybe I get to decide what I like. Maybe I’m tired of people assuming sunshine means I can’t handle a little rain. Maybe I’ve been looking for someone who doesn’t need me to be anything other than what I am.”

His hand came up, fingers barely brushing my cheek. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I’m not asking for a guarantee. I’m just asking for a chance. Dogs playing, morning light, you looking at me like I’m something worth wanting. We figure out the rest as we go.”

“That’s not how I operate,” he said, but his hand was still on my face, thumb stroking along my cheekbone.

“Maybe it’s time to try something new.”

---

We didn’t kiss that morning. But we stood close enough that I could feel the heat of him, could count his eyelashes when he looked down at me. We exchanged numbers with the careful precision of people who knew they were crossing a line they couldn’t uncross.

The next week was a dance. Text messages that started simple—“Park?” “Yeah.”—and evolved into longer exchanges. Photos of the dogs. Of our coffee cups. Of sunrise through trees. He sent me a picture of Thor sprawled across his entire couch, captioned simply: “No personal space.”

I sent him one back of Buster with his head on my lap while I tried to work, captioned: “Productivity killer.”

“Worth it,” he texted back, and I smiled for an hour.

We met every morning. Sometimes we talked—about books (he read everything his sister recommended, grumbling about it the whole time), about work (he was building a house for his mom, had been for two years, doing most of it himself), about Thor (found as a puppy, abandoned, “knew I was keeping him before I even got out of the truck to check”).

Sometimes we didn’t talk at all. Just stood close while the dogs played, close enough that our hands brushed when we weren’t paying attention. Close enough that I could smell his soap and feel the warmth radiating from his body.

The first time he kissed me, it was raining again. Not a downpour like before, but a soft spring rain that misted everything with silver. We’d been standing under our tree—I’d started thinking of it as ours—watching the dogs chase each other in circles.

“I should go,” I said, but I didn’t move. “Work.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed, but he didn’t move either. “Sarah.”

“Marcus.”

“I think about you. All day. When I’m supposed to be focusing on work, on measurements, on not cutting off my fingers with power tools. I think about your laugh. About the way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to say something. About how you look first thing in the morning, all soft and sleep-warm.”

My breath caught. “What do you think about doing?”

“This,” he said, and then his mouth was on mine.

He kissed like he did everything else—carefully, thoroughly, like he was building something meant to last. His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he learned the shape of my mouth. When I sighed into the kiss, he made this sound, low in his throat, and pulled me closer.

I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, holding on as he deepened the kiss. It was tender and hot and overwhelming in the best way. When we finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine.

“Okay?” he asked, voice rough.

“Better than okay.” I smiled, unable to help myself. “Though now I’m definitely going to be late for work.”

“Call in sick.”

“Tempting. Very tempting. But some of us don’t have the luxury of being our own bosses.”

He kissed me again, quick and sweet. “Go. Before I decide to keep you here.”

“You could come over tonight,” I offered, trying to sound casual and probably failing. “For dinner. The dogs could hang out. We could… talk.”

“Talk,” he repeated, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Marcus.”

“I’ll be there. Six-thirty?”

“Six-thirty.”

He kissed me one more time, then stepped back. “Go, before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

I went, but I looked back twice. He was still standing under the tree, watching me go, one hand raised in goodbye.

---

He brought wine. And flowers. And Thor, of course, though he’d clearly attempted to make the dog presentable—Thor’s usually wild fur was brushed smooth, and he’d even tied a bandana around his neck. Blue, to match his eyes.

“You dressed up,” I said, trying not to grin.

“Didn’t dress up,” Marcus protested, but he was wearing a button-down shirt instead of his usual t-shirt, and his hair looked like he’d actually tried to tame it. “This is just… clean clothes.”

“Clean clothes that require ironing,” I teased, stepping aside to let them in. “I’m flattered.”

Buster and Thor greeted each other like long-lost brothers, then immediately began what I’d learned was their version of playing—mostly consisting of Buster running circles around Thor while the bigger dog watched with patient amusement.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said, accepting the wine and flowers. “But thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Didn’t know what you liked,” Marcus said, following me into the kitchen. “The guy at the store said these were hard to kill. Sounded like something I’d appreciate.”

I laughed, arranging the simple white daisies in a vase. “Hard to kill is definitely my speed. Though I do better with books than plants. My balcony garden is mostly just pots of dirt at this point.”

“Next time, I’ll bring you a book.”

My heart did a little flip at ‘next time.’ “I’d like that. What kind would you bring?”

“The kind that makes you laugh. You have a good laugh. Should do it more often.”

I set the flowers on the table and turned to face him. He was closer than I’d expected, close enough that I could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

“Marcus,” I said softly.

“Sarah.” He lifted his hand, brushed a strand of hair back from my face. “I haven’t done this in a long time. The dating thing. The… wanting someone enough to try thing.”

“How long?”

“Years. Since before Thor. Since before I built my life around being alone and being okay with it.”

“And now?”

“Now I can’t remember why I thought alone was better than this. Than you.”

I set the wine down and stepped into his space, hands flat against his chest. “Then stop trying to remember. Just be here. With me.”

Dinner was simple—pasta and salad, easy enough that I could make it without burning down my kitchen. We talked about everything and nothing. He told me about growing up with three sisters (“Explains why I’m good at dealing with difficult women,” he said, dodging the napkin I threw at him). I told him about library story hour and the time a kid asked me if I was a princess because I got to be in charge of all the books.

“Are you?” he asked. “A princess?”

“More like a dragon,” I said. “Hoarding stories instead of gold.”

“I could see that. Fierce about the things you love. Protective. Beautiful.”

“Flatterer.”

“Truth-teller.”

After dinner, we took the dogs for a short walk around my neighborhood. The evening was warm, summer easing into the kind of night that seemed made for possibility. We walked close enough that our hands brushed, and when Marcus finally laced his fingers through mine, it felt like coming home.

Back at my apartment, he hesitated in the doorway.

“I should go,” he said, but he made no move to leave.

“You could stay,” I offered. “Just to sleep. The dogs would like it. And I… I’d like it too.”

“Sarah.”

“I know. Taking it slow. But slow doesn’t have to mean alone.”

He stepped closer, cupped my face in his hands. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

We didn’t make love that night. Instead, we curled up on my couch, dogs sprawled on the floor beneath us, and talked until the sky began to lighten outside my windows. He kissed me until I was dizzy with it, but kept his hands carefully above the waist, respectful in a way that made me want him more.

When I finally fell asleep tucked against his side, his heartbeat steady under my cheek, I felt something I’d been missing for longer than I cared to admit. Peace. Rightness. The sense of finding something I’d been looking for without even knowing I was searching.

---

Summer arrived, thick and green. Our morning walks became a ritual, something neither of us would have given up for anything. We fell into a rhythm: meet at the park at six, let the dogs run for forty-five minutes, then walk back toward our respective neighborhoods, sometimes parting ways, sometimes continuing together for coffee.

The first real test came in late June. My library was facing budget cuts, and my position—the community outreach coordinator—was on the chopping block. I’d been spending evenings writing grant proposals and rallying support, the stress making me short-tempered and distracted.

One morning, after I’d snapped at Buster for pulling on the leash, Marcus stopped walking. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“Sarah.” He waited until I looked at him. “Try again.”

I sighed, the fight going out of me. “They might cut my job. I’ve been there six years. I built the summer reading program from the ground up. And now some spreadsheet says it’s not ‘essential.’”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the city council.” I kicked at a pebble. “I have a meeting with my director today. She’s going to tell me if the grant came through.”

“What time?”

“Three. Why?”

“Text me when you’re done. Either way.”

I looked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” He squeezed my hand. “You’re not alone in this.”

That afternoon, sitting in my director’s office as she smiled and said the grant had been approved, I felt the tension of weeks drain away. I texted Marcus: “Got it. Job safe.”

His reply came instantly: “Knew you would. Dinner tonight? My place. Celebrating.”

He cooked steaks on his small backyard grill, and we ate at his picnic table with the dogs lying at our feet. It was simple, ordinary, and exactly what I needed.

“Thank you,” I said later, as we washed dishes side by side. “For today. For checking in.”

“That’s what you do,” he said, like it was obvious. “When someone matters. You show up.”

I turned to face him, soapy hands and all. “You matter to me too, you know.”

“I’m starting to believe that.” He kissed me, soft and sure. “Starting to believe a lot of things I didn’t used to.”

---

A different challenge came from his side a few weeks later. We were at his house on a Saturday, and he got a phone call. His voice, usually so steady, turned tight. “When? Okay. I’ll be there.”

He hung up and ran a hand through his hair. “That was my mom’s neighbor. She fell. Nothing broken, but she’s shaken up. I need to drive out there.”

“I’ll come with you.”

He looked at me, surprised. “It’s an hour each way. And she’s… she’s not great with new people right now.”

“Then I’ll wait in the car. Or take the dogs for a walk nearby. But you shouldn’t drive there alone after getting news like that.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

His mother lived in a small house on the edge of a town that was more fields than streets. While Marcus went inside, I walked Thor and Buster along a country road, the summer sun heavy on my shoulders. When he emerged forty minutes later, he looked exhausted.

“She’s okay,” he said, leaning against his truck. “Just bruised her pride more than anything. But it’s getting harder for her to be out here alone.”

“The house you’re building…”

“Is for her. So she can be close to me but still have her independence.” He looked at the ground. “She has MS. Early stages, but it’s progressing.”

“Marcus.” I reached for his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s a lot. And we’re still new. And I didn’t want to… burden you.”

“It’s not a burden. It’s your life. And if I’m in your life, then it’s mine too. The good parts and the hard parts.”

He pulled me into a hug, his face buried in my hair. “You’re something else, Sarah.”

“I’m just here. That’s all.”

On the drive back, with the dogs asleep in the backseat, he told me more—about his father dying five years ago, about becoming the person his mother and sisters leaned on, about the weight of that responsibility.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just holding it all together,” he said, his eyes on the road. “The business, the house build, my mom, everything.”

“You don’t have to hold it alone anymore.”

He glanced at me, and the gratitude in his eyes was more profound than any declaration.

---

By August, we were spending most nights together. Sometimes at his place—a small house he was slowly renovating, where everything had a place and purpose. Sometimes at mine, where books piled on every surface and the dogs had claimed the entire couch as their kingdom.

The first time we made love, it was unplanned. A Tuesday night, nothing special about it except that we were together, and the wanting had been building for weeks.

We were at his house, Thor and Buster passed out after an epic play session. I was reading on the couch while Marcus worked on blueprints at the kitchen table. The domesticity of it—me in one of his t-shirts, him focused on his work, both of us comfortable in the shared space—had become my favorite kind of evening.

When he came to join me, I set my book aside without being asked. He sat beside me, pulled my feet into his lap, and began massaging them with careful attention.

“You’re tense,” he said, thumbs working at the arch of my foot.

“Long day. Summer reading program is kicking my ass. In a good way, but still.”

“Tell me about it.”

So I did. About the kids who were excited to read, about the parents who needed reminding that reading should be fun, not competitive. About the teenager who’d asked for recommendations for books with queer characters because she was trying to figure herself out.

“You’re amazing,” he said when I wound down. “The way you care about people. The way you make them feel seen.”

“Marcus.”

“I want to make you feel seen. Want to show you how much you matter to me.”

“You do. Every day.”

“Not enough. Not yet.”

He set my feet down and shifted closer, hands moving to frame my face. “Sarah. I love you. Have for weeks. Maybe since that first morning when you were chasing Buster through the grass like a lunatic. Definitely since you told me I looked strong when I was just standing there being grumpy.”

“Marcus—”

“Let me finish. I love you, but I need to know you’re sure. About me. About this. Because once I have you, I’m not letting go. You’re it for me. The whole thing. But if you need more time—”

I stopped him with a kiss. Deep, hungry, weeks of anticipation making us both a little desperate. When we pulled apart, I was straddling his lap, his hands hot on my hips.

“I love you too,” I said. “Have for weeks. Maybe since you caught me before I fell on my ass in the rain. Definitely since you brought me flowers that were hard to kill because you were thinking about what would work for my life.”

“Thank God,” he breathed, and then we were kissing again, deeper, hotter, all the careful restraint we’d been practicing burning away in the heat of finally, finally.

He carried me to his bedroom—not easy, since I’m not exactly petite, but he made it seem effortless. Laid me down on his bed like I was something precious, something to be worshipped.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, hands hovering over the hem of my shirt.

“Positive. I want you, Marcus. All of you. However you’ll give yourself to me.”

What followed was slow and sweet and hotter than anything I’d ever experienced. He learned my body with the same careful attention he gave to everything else—touching, tasting, mapping every sensitive spot until I was writhing beneath him.

When he finally slid inside me, we both groaned. It was perfect, the way we fit together, the way his eyes held mine as he began to move. This wasn’t just sex. This was coming home. This was finding the missing piece you hadn’t known you were looking for.

“Sarah,” he breathed against my neck as we moved together. “My Sarah.”

“Yours,” I agreed, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Always yours.”

We came together, gasping each other’s names, and I knew that whatever happened next, this moment would be etched into my memory forever. The weight of him, the warmth, the way he held me after like he’d never let go.

“Stay,” he whispered as we drifted toward sleep. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Always.”

“Always,” I promised, and meant it.

---

Fall arrived like a promise kept. The leaves began to change, painting the dog park in shades of gold and crimson. Our morning walks required jackets now, thermoses of coffee to warm our hands.

Buster and Thor had settled into an easy rhythm—best friends who couldn’t stand to be apart. We’d started meeting earlier, staying longer, both of us reluctant to end these moments that had become the foundation of our days.

Marcus met my friends properly—a boisterous dinner where he endured good-natured interrogation and, by the end, had them all charmed with his dry humor. I met his sister Callie for lunch, and she hugged me tightly before leaving. “He’s happy,” she said. “Actually happy. Thank you.”

One crisp October morning, as we walked, Marcus’s steps slowed. “My mom’s coming for Thanksgiving. Callie will be there too. I’d like you to come.”

“I’d love to.”

He stopped walking, turning to face me. The dogs, sensing the shift, circled back to sit at our feet. “There’s something I need to tell you first. Something I should have said sooner.”

The seriousness in his voice made my stomach tighten. “Okay.”

“My mom’s MS… it’s progressing faster than we hoped. The house I’m building? It needs to be finished by spring. She’ll need to move in by then. And she’ll need… help. Not full-time yet, but regular check-ins, driving to appointments, things like that.” He took a deep breath. “If you’re with me, you’re signing up for that too. It’s not going to be easy. I need you to know what you’re walking into.”

I reached for his hands. They were cold, so I wrapped mine around them. “I’m not walking into anything. I’m walking with you. And we’ll figure it out together. All of it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you. That means your family too.”

He pulled me into a hug so tight I could feel his heart pounding against mine. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You were just you. That’s all I ever wanted.”

---

Thanksgiving was a quiet affair at Marcus’s house, which was finally starting to feel like a home rather than a construction site. His mother, Eleanor, was a sharp-eyed woman with Marcus’s same gold-flecked eyes. She watched me all through dinner, and I felt like I was being assessed.

After dessert, while Marcus and Callie cleaned up, Eleanor patted the couch beside her. “Sit with me, Sarah.”

I obeyed, bracing myself.

“Marcus tells me you’re a librarian.”

“I am. I run the community programs at the downtown branch.”

“He also tells me you love him.” She smiled at my surprised expression. “Oh, he didn’t say the words. But he didn’t have to. I haven’t seen him this… light… in years. Not since before his father died.”

“I do love him,” I said simply.

“Good.” She reached over and patted my hand. Her fingers were thin, the joints slightly swollen. “He’ll try to protect you from the hard parts. Don’t let him. He needs someone who sees all of him, not just the strong parts.”

“I plan to.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Then welcome to the family, dear.”

Later, as we walked the dogs under a sky full of stars, Marcus slipped his hand into mine. “She likes you.”

“I like her too.”

“She’s right, you know. About me trying to protect you. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“Then we’ll work on it together.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Just like everything else.”

---

The proposal came on a cold, clear morning in December. Frost glittered on the grass, and our breath made clouds in the air. The dogs were chasing each other, kicking up leaves in their wake.

Marcus stopped walking and turned to me. “I had a whole plan. Dinner, flowers, getting down on one knee. But that didn’t feel right. This feels right. Here, with the dogs, with the cold morning air, with you looking at me like I’m the best