Page 25 of Echoes of Obsession

Sky makes a noise and I look down as his body stiffens. I’ve also done research on seizure-alert dogs. Each dog is different depending on who trained them, so I don’t know what he’s agitated about, but I’ll learn.

Snow’s watch starts beeping, but she quickly presses something to silence it before continuing to dance around with the girls.

I swear it seems as if Sky sighs before he leaves my side and heads for the little bag that Snow had around her waist the first time I met her. He picks the bag up by the strap and carries it to Snow. Sitting down near her dancing feet, he barks.

“Oh, it’s time for my medicine,” she laughs. “Good boy, Sky. Here.”

Opening the bag, she pulls out something and gives it to Sky, who takes it and returns to my side.

“That was quite impressive,” I admit to the Golden Retriever.

All the ladies and Knox are now dancing around the room, and I simply watch. The most precious members of my family, including Snow and Dove, are in this room. Even baby Hope is jumping in her walker and laughing.

Feeling the need to up security, I pull out my phone and text King.

“Everything quiet?”

“Yep. I pulled Reynolds from Oasis, and he’s camped out back.”

“Thanks, brother.”

“She yours?”

“Soon.”

Smiling, I pocket my phone and head into the lounge room.

“Who wants pizza?” I shout over the music.

Everyone turns and cheers—except Snow. Her shocked eyes take a few moments to register what I’ve said, and then she, too, cheers.

Not giving a single fuck what the norm is for waiting to pursue someone, I walk over and pull Snow into my arms.

“Hey, babe,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Having fun?”

“Oh. Uhm. Yeah. I didn’t know you were here.”

Smirking, I lean back and take in her puzzled expression.

“Told you that I would see you today,” I remind her. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Anything but olives,” she says. “Yuck.”

“Got it. And Dove?”

“Just cheese,” Snow tells me.

A tug on my shirt grabs my attention.

Dove looks up at me, her smile radiant as she communicates with her hands. With her left hand clenched into a fist and her right hand forming a gentle “C” shape, she gracefully glides it across the top of her left.

Snow, quick to interpret, chimes in, “Chips. She’s asking if you’ll grab some chips.”

Kneeling down so Dove can read my lips, I say, “Yes. What kind?”

With her right hand, she holds up her four fingers with her thumb tucked against her palm. Closing her fist, she repeats the gesture. Then, using her pointer finger and thumb, she holds them slightly apart as if saying something is small, then flips her entire hand upside down.

“That was three letters,” Snow explains gently. “B.B.Q. Her favorite chips.”

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