Page 39 of Free

The coffee machine gurgles to life, filling the kitchen with the sharp, earthy scent of salvation. I fill a travel mug to the brim, Sunshine watching me limp around the counter like I’m a wounded animal she’s debating whether to rescue or put out of its misery. I clip her leash to her collar and shuffle out the back door for her morning walk. As much as I’d love to climb right back into bed, working out these kinks now will help me feel better for the rest of the day.

The sun’s already climbing, warming the air with the promise of another hot day. The ocean breeze carries the sharp tang of salt, and the sound of distant waves mingles with the rustle of palm fronds. Sunshine bounds ahead, her tail wagging furiously as we hit the beach. When I adopted her, they said she might have a few issues to work through—just like me. Veteran dogs suffer from PTSD, too, apparently. But Sunshine has been true to her name, adapting a hell of a lot faster than I have.

Every now and then, I catch a limp in her back leg, or a slight hesitation when someone new gets too close. But those moments are rare. She’s made of resilience, this dog. Every time I watch her bounce through the water like this, I can’t help but smile.

If she can heal, maybe I can too.

Maybe I’ve been the one standing in my way this whole damn time.

When I unclip her leash, she takes off like a rocket, darting through the shallow waves and barking at seagulls like she’s auditioning forBest Dog Ever.She’s been through her own kind of hell, but you’d never know it watching her now. She leaps at the surf, tongue lolling out of her mouth, eyes bright with pure, uncomplicated joy.

“Show-off,” I mutter, watching her zigzag across the sand, completely carefree.

She finds a massive piece of driftwood—practically a log—and hauls it out of the water like it’s her job. Her back leg gives a little wobble, a reminder of old injuries, but she steadies herself and keeps going, proud as hell when she drags the thing back to me and drops it at my feet.

“Okay, fine,” I admit, crouching to scratch her behind the ears. “You win. You’re tougher than me. Happy now?”

She barks once, the sound sharp and triumphant.

Back at the house, I grab my phone off the counter, my muscles screaming in protest. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I replay yesterday with Charlie in my head. Her laugh, her smile, the way she teased me like no time had passed between us, it’s all stuck on a loop.

God, she’s something special. The kind of special that makes a guy stupid enough to willingly do yoga just to spend an hour in the same room with her.

I fire off a text before I can overthink it.

I’d like to thank you for introducing me to several muscles I’ve never met before. I’ve never hurt like this. Never. And that’s saying a lot, considering what I used to do

I toss the phone onto the counter, pretending I’m not waiting for a response. She’s probably busy. She’s got a life. But when the phone buzzes, I snatch it up faster than Sunshine can grab a tennis ball.

Charlie

Little sore today, are you?

I roll my eyes, but my grin only widens.

Little?? I started my day with a cramp that ran from my big toe to my belly button. What the hell did you do to me?

I can practically hear her laughing on the other end, and despite the soreness, I feel good. Better than I have in a long time.

Oh, so my pain is funny to you, huh?

Always the big guys who fall the hardest. Yoga is no joke, but everyone thinks it’s just stretching and breathing and relaxing

I am so not relaxed

Her response comes quicker this time, like she’s waiting for it.

You looked like a giraffe on ice skates

That is so not the vibe I want to put out

Any chance I could get some private lessons?

The question is impulsive, my thumb hitting send before my brain can second-guess it. The phone buzzes again, and my chest tightens as I read her reply.

I’d be happy to give you some one-on-one instruction

My heart does this weird little flip, the kind it has no business doing if we’re just friends. But I’m not about to lie to myself. Not about this. I type away as I wander into the living room.

---