Page 84 of A Fighting Chance

Even now, as I watch her push the cart down the cereal aisle in front of me, I want to get down on one knee right here next to the leprechaun on this box and ask her. But I won’t. I’ve been waiting patiently. I will wait a little longer.

“Do you want anything in this aisle?” she asks as she stuffs three different boxes into the cart.

I’ve come to learn that one of Lyla’s favorite snacks before bed is a bowl of cereal, but she almost never eats it in the morning. In fact, I’ve never seen her eat it in the morning. I appreciate these things about her.

“No, I’m okay,” I say. I rub the pouch with the ring inside between my fingers. I can’t keep it in a box because it’s too bulky and she touches me too much—not that I’d ever complain about that.

We move to the next aisle for dog food. Because even after I sobered up, I still wanted the German Shepherd puppy I drunkenly inquired about. Our fur baby—Mack—is basically our pride and joy, and I’ve watched Lyla show no less than ten strangers his picture at random. She’s the best dog mom. Of course, we’ve talked about real babies. We both want them eventually. My heart flutters a little at the idea but I tuck it away. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

I pull a bag of dog food from the shelf and hoist it into the cart.

Lyla is comparing two bags of dog treats then shrugs before throwing both in the cart. “I think he’ll like both,” she says.

Mack may also be a tad spoiled but that’s all right by me.

“What do you want for dinner?” I ask.

I watch her chew the pad of her thumb the way she does when she’s thinking really hard. I don’t know why I’ve asked her this.

“I don’t know, what do you want?” she asks—and I knew she would do this.

“How about we just grab sushi on our way home?” I ask.

Her eyes light up because I know, no matter what, sushi is always the right answer. The woman has a serious addiction. She nods enthusiastically, and I know I’ve set the tone for the evening.

“Can we get dumplings, too?” she asks.

“What kind of question is that?” I say. “Of course we can.”

She claps her hands like she’s just won a prize.

“And wine,” I add.

“Wow, I feel so special,” she says.

I lean in close to her and whisper, “Baby, you are special.” With that, I kiss her cheek.

“I love it when you do that,” she breathes.

“Do what?” I whisper again, my voice gruff.

“Whisper things to me,” she says. “I get all hot.”

And just like that, I’m hot. “We should get out of here,” I whisper.

She nods.

I load everything into the back of the truck and we head back to the farm.

Lucky for us, Harper had been two things: super excited her sister was moving back, and totally willing to move out of the cabin for our sake. So, we live in the cabin, and Harper basically has the entire second floor of the main farm house to herself.

Of course, Lyla and I renovated a lot of the cabin. We transformed one of the bedrooms into an office for her, updated a lot of fixtures, and repainted nearly every room. It really isoursnow.

I unload the truck while she takes the food in and, as always, Mack runs out to greet us. It pains me to know he’s already turning one soon. We’ve talked about getting an addition so he can have a playmate, but we don’t want to disrupt our dynamic just yet.

I wrangle the bags and Mack inside, but Lyla isn’t in the kitchen with the food. I look into the living room and she’s not there, either.

“Lyla?” I yell out as I pull our items from the bags.

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