Page 121 of Between the Lines

“You know some of the most intimate things about me, Claire. Things I’ve never told another soul.”

I swallow. Think back to that day in his office, when I’d held him through that phone call. That evening, when he’d spilled open his soul, and I’d read to him from his favorite book.

“But, in the name of transparency, I’ve always wanted a dog.”

My eyes sparkle.

“Oh my gosh. He’s adog man?!Tell me everything. What kind? Why don’t you have one? Youtotallyhave the space,andthe yard.”

“If I’d have known that all it took to make you sparkle like this was to tell you my favorites, I’d have led with them. I don’t have one because I work long hours and would feel neglectful leaving it alone all day.”

“But you have summers off.”

“Not as an administrator.”

Ugh. News to me. Plans of a summer with him melt like ice cream cone runoff in the summer heat. But with that same thought, I wonder what they’re doing there in the first place.

Sure, I’ve spent every day since Christmas in Nathan’s home, his arms, his bed. We’ve shared secrets and confided in one another, but at the same time, Idon’tknow him. What his hopes are for the future. If he’ll stay at River Valley, or if he’s on the move. What does he want from a relationship? I stutter at the thought of kids—even with Nathan, I don’t want them. But what if he does?

“I’ve always wanted a big dog.”

“Ugh. You’re making me miss Sonny.”

“Sonny?”

“My family’s golden.”

I swipe through my phone for the album dedicated to my sixth pseudo-child.

“Oh, he is agood boy.”

Stop.My jaw drops. What is thatvoice?

I squeal. His brows pinch together, but even that scrunch cannot hide the transformation before me. This man looks ten years younger, a childlike sparkle in his eyes as he tears themaway from meto keep swiping through photos of Sonny. I laugh. I can’t help it. Uncovering surprises about him has been my favorite part of this week, and seeing the absolutely transformative joy on Nathan’s face makes me want to keep it there.

I pop up from the couch and snag the hand he doesn’t have clutched around my phone.

“Where are we going?”

“Get your coat. I have an idea.”

I don’t know where this man has been hiding, but it’s like Nathan Harding has a second personality hidden deep inside that he only shows to dogs.

When I offered to drive, he insisted that I just tell him where to turn, and then promptly tried to leave the car without taking the keys from the ignition when we pulled up outside of the shelter. He has been playing with a crew full of dogs in the rumpus room for the past twenty minutes, and I’m almost certain that if I left, he literally wouldn’t notice.

Since the weather is your typical New England cold, not many people have been coming by to walk dogs at the shelter. With today’s bone-chilling winds, Nathan opted to stay inside as well—but not before signing up to be a dog walker once the state of Massachusetts thaws out in a few months.

I’m sitting on the floor with a golden pup whose pawsare so big, he can’t quite function without tripping over them. He’s curled up in my lap, dog-paralyzing me, giving me the perfect opportunity to spy. I watch Nathan, taking in the carefree boy who has replaced the man with the weight of everyone’s world on his shoulders. He seems to have melted into the little boy he never got the chance to be. With my fingers lazily combing through the puppy’s golden soft fur, I prop my elbow on my knee and let the scenery around me change.

We aren’t in the shelter anymore. Instead, we’re in the vast yard that his house sits on. The summer sun lights up the landscaping, where we maybe have a vegetable garden. Nathan is tossing a frisbee, and two massive dogs chase after it, tails wagging as they steal it for a quick tug of war before bounding back to the man who saved them—because hewouldsave them. He’d insist that we get rescues, and once the day finally arrived, an animated pout would persuade me to adopttwodogs instead of one. The dogs would start to roll in the grass, and he would find himself there too. Rubbing bellies and rough housing. A complete turn around from the man that seems to think he can’t be anything for the world besides buttoned up to the neck.

My head tilts in my hand as the summer image fades away, giving me back Nathan in present day, seated on the floor with a mile wide smile that lights up my insides. I both love and hate that I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. Hate, because the world deserves the parts of him that are wild and free. Love, because he saves them for me.

He has three puppies between the wide-spread V of his legs, scratching the head of a golden with one hand and a Rottweiler with the other, while a Doberman licks right over his lips. He laughs. Tosses his head back and tosses his inhibitions to the wind as that dog kisses him and destroys the lenses of his glasses. But he couldn’t care in the slightest.

When the woman in charge enters with an apologetic expression and informs us that we’ve actuallyoverstayedour welcome, I realizethe sun has gone down. Nathan’s brows turn down along with his lips, and he spends time individually saying goodbye to each pup. I almost have to drag him away. Then again, it’s an excuse to hold his hand, and for that, I’m not complaining.

“I don’t think we’ve done this,” I say as we walk lazily to his car, staring at my small hand engulfed in his.

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