Page 80 of My Best Years

“Hi there,” she coos, pulling me from my dirty thoughts. “You’re a cutie.” She nuzzles Ollie’s nose with hers.

Ollie responds by licking a line up her cheek, causing her to scrunch up her nose and chuckle.

Ever since Ollie was a puppy, he’s always been a friendly dog, but it usually takes him some time to warm up to new people. It’s surprising to see him be so comfortable with Birdie, as if he’s known her forever.

People say that dogs can sense good and bad people. Maybe he can sense how special Birdie is to me.

“Alright, Ollie,” I laugh, gently tugging on his collar to give Birdie some air. “That’s enough,” I add when he refuses to stop licking her face.

Finally, he retreats back as Birdie stands up and smoothes her hands down her dress. I reach behind her and shut the door as she recovers from the tornado covered in fur.

When I turn back to face Birdie, Ollie’s old tennis ball rolls between our feet. I drop my gaze to find him sitting beside me, staring down at the faded neon ball he pushed our way.

“If you haven’t noticed,” I chuckle, “Ollie loves being the center of attention.”

“Ollie the collie,” she smiles down at him. “What a fitting name. I love it.”

“Right? The name was too good to pass up.”

She purses her lips together and nods before bending over to pick up the tennis ball.

“Here ya go, Ollie,” she grins before tossing his ball across the floor. He darts into the kitchen to chase after it.

“He’s such a cutie,” she chimes, but I barely register a word she says.

Now that we’re left alone, I can’t keep my eyes off her. I can’t control how my gaze roams every inch of her body. Everything about her is fucking perfect. I’ve never seen anyone as naturally beautiful as Birdie Wren.

“You’re staring,” she tosses out. A cute little smirk curves her pink lips.

“I can’t help it,” I rasp. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Birdie.”

Her silver eyes glisten as she bats her eyelashes.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I’ll be honest—I was a little pissed after I saw you in the grocery store. I’d hoped you’d gotten ugly over the years, not hotter.”

I narrow my eyes as she flashes me a cheeky grin.

“So, you think I’m hot?”

She tilts her head and folds her arms across her chest, staring at me like I’m clueless.

“You’re a 6’2 lawyer with jet-black hair, blue eyes, and the body of a swimmer,” she says flatly. “Nah, that’s not hot at all,” she shrugs.

Well, fuck.

Ego officially inflated.

“For the record, I’m 6’3 now,” I boast. “But I think it’s cute that you know my height.”

“Oh God,” she rolls her eyes. “You think pretty highly of yourself, huh?”

“Hey, you’re the one who called me hot.”

“Yup, you’re right,” she sighs. “And now, I’ll regret saying it for the rest of the night.”

“We’ll see about that,” I grin sheepishly.

She’s still standing in the entryway, awkwardly clutching onto her purse.

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