Page 67 of Click of Fate

“That she’s pushing the wrong vision?”

“No, kid. That you built this place. Chicago was mine. Indy? That’s all you. Don’t let anyone, ex-girlfriend or not, gaslight you into thinking you didn’t do it right.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “It’s just… she’s loud. And persistent. And she knows how to push all the right buttons.”

Ray chuckles. “Yeah, well. So do toddlers. Doesn’t mean we let them redecorate the living room.”

It breaks the tension in my chest just enough to laugh.

By the time I hang up, I feel steadier. Claire’s still circling, but I’m not going to let her pull me under. The conversation with Ray was exactly what I needed.

And I’ve got more important things to do today—like helping a certain photographer fall in love with a four-legged pup that is bound to help her pretend she’s not slowly becoming a dog person with a zip code.

A few hours later, I’m driving north of Indy with Stella.

“I swear, if you take me to a warehouse full of climbing gear, this officially counts as a work meeting.”

Stella’s in my passenger seat, one leg tucked under her, body turned toward me and sunglasses pushed into her hair. It’s been a good week between us—quiet, easy, real. Real dates. Real talks. Real time. We didn’t talk about it, but we’ve dropped the “non” date part of whatever we’re calling this thing between us.

I smirk. “What if I said it was a warehouse full of future heartbreak and unconditional love?”

She tilts her head. “So… a Costco?”

“Close,” I say, pulling into the gravel lot behind a small red-brick building with a handmade sign: Second Chance Paws Rescue.

She turns to me slowly. “Luke.”

“Don’t freak. We’re just visiting.”

“You brought me to look at dogs?”

“I brought you to play with puppies. One of our regulars, Joni, the yoga climber with the braid that looks like a rope? Well, she runs this place. She’s trying to set up an adoption event at Squeaky soon, and when she mentioned it…” I glance at her. “I thought of you.”

Her voice is quiet. “Because of Lilly?”

“And because of you.”

We step inside, and Joni gives us the VIP tour and then straight to the puppy playpen.

Furballs of chaos and joy tumble toward us the second we kneel down. Stella laughs—really laughs—and it hits me how rare it is to hear her like that. Unfiltered.

And then she sees it.

A small but scrappy pup with a silky black coat, like ink under sunlight, and expressive brown eyes that seem way too wise for her age. A splash of white cuts across it’s chest and runs down the front paws. It’s ears don’t quite match—one flops halfway over while the other stands up like it’s trying to tune into twodifferent radio stations. The pup sits in the corner like it’s not quite sure if it wants to join the circus or take a nap.

Stella freezes. “Oh. no.”

“Oh, yes,” I say, grinning.

The puppy perks up, looking right at Stella. It doesn’t bounce out of the pen like the others. It’s saunters—like it already knows who it wants and it’s here to collect.

“I didn’t come here to get a dog,” she mutters, stroking behind its ear.

“I know.”

“I didn’t even tell Harper I was thinking about a dog.”

“I know.”

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