Page 71 of Huge Pucking Play

"He really likes you," I say.

"The feeling's mutual." Garrett looks up at me with a smile that makes my knees weak. "He's a good boy."

"The best. I'll just be a few minutes to change—feel free to raid the fridge if you want anything.”

I head to my bedroom, pulling off yesterday's clothes and quickly sifting through my closet. I settle on a pair of jeans and a soft green sweater. A quick brush through my hair, a touch of mascara, and I'm ready. Comfortable but cute for our day out.

When I emerge, Garrett's sitting on my couch with Oscar pressed against his side, looking completely at home.

"That was fast," he comments.

I grab Oscar's leash. "Ready for walkies?"

Oscar nearly pulls my arm out of its socket, getting to the door. Outside, the fall morning feels fresh, the air crisp but not cold. Oscar trots ahead, nose to the ground, while Garrett and I fall into step beside each other.

We complete a loop around the block, our conversation flowing easily. There's something about this moment—walking my dog with Garrett beside me—that feels almost domestically perfect. When Oscar finally does his business, Garrett takes the bag duty without complaint, another small gesture that makes my heart flutter.

Back at the apartment, I fill Oscar's food and water bowls while Garrett pets him one more time.

"Sorry, buddy," I tell Oscar as I lead him back to his crate. "We'll go for a longer walk when I get home." His sad puppy eyes are almost enough to make me feel guilty, but he settles onto his bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Ready for our adventure?"

"Absolutely." I lock up, giving Oscar one last wave through the window. As we walk to Garrett's car, his hand finds the small of my back—a gentle, protective gesture that makes me feel both safe and seen.

Garrett drives to Long Grove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably on my thigh. The city gradually gives way to suburbs, then more open spaces as we head north. The radio plays softly—some indie station he tuned to after asking what I liked.

"Did you go on a lot of road trips as a kid?" I ask, watching his profile as he navigates traffic.

"Some. My dad would take me fishing up in Wisconsin a couple weekends every summer. Four-hour drive each way."

"Sounds nice."

"It was. Mostly quiet. He wasn't much of a talker. But I remember those silences better than most conversations." He glances at me. "What about you? Any family road trips?"

"Not really. Mom worked most weekends." I look out the window, watching the scenery change. "But sometimes, on her day off, she'd surprise me with what she called 'adventure days.' We'd hop on the L and pick a stop we'd never been to before."

"Your own urban exploration." His smile is warm.

"Exactly. Once we found this amazing Thai place in a neighborhood we'd never visit otherwise. It became our special occasion restaurant." The memory makes me smile. "What did you and your dad talk about on those long drives?"

"Hockey, mostly." He laughs. "Even before I started playing seriously. But also fishing techniques, school..." He pauses. "The tough stuff too, sometimes. Easier to talk about hard things when you're both looking at the road instead of each other."

I think about that, about how vulnerability sometimes needs the right setting. "I get that."

We fall into comfortable silence until Garrett announces, "Almost there," as we turn onto a road lined with trees, just starting to burst into fall colors.

Long Grove appears like something from a storybook—historic buildings with wood storefronts, brick sidewalks, and hanging flower baskets preparing for warmer weather. Garrett finds parking easily—a weekday perk—and comes around to open my door.

We wander down the sidewalk, window shopping. Garrett's hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining naturally. The streets are relatively quiet, just a handful of other visitors and locals going about their day.

"Oh, we have to go in here," I say, tugging him toward a shop with handmade crafts in the window. Inside, it smells ofcinnamon and wood. The owner greets us warmly, then leaves us to browse.

I pick up a hand-carved wooden box, admiring the craftsmanship. "This is beautiful."

"You like it?" Garrett appears behind me, peering over my shoulder.

"I do. My mom had something similar for her jewelry."

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