Page 92 of Left-Hand Larceny
I melt.
“Okay?” he asks softly.
“Yeah,” I say, voice suddenly too high. “Just… recalibrating.”
He smiles and squeezes my hand.
We walk a little more in silence. Howl is ahead of us, sniffing every mailbox but refusing to approach any people we pass. Twice, neighbors try to greet him and he backs up, ears down, to hide behind Ragnar.
“Wow,” I say. “You weren’t kidding. He really isn’t social.”
“Except you,” Ragnar says.
I glance up at him. Trying to remember how to breathe.
“What?” he asks, deadpan. “He’s a good judge of character.”
We finish the loop around his block. It’s barely nine a.m. and I already feel like I’ve lived an entire second life since last night. I wonder if I will forever think of this moment as a shift. Sadie BR and Sadie AR—Before Ragnar and After.
Howl trots ahead, a soft blur of white in the morning sun, occasionally circling back to nose Ragnar’s hand like he’s checking to make sure he’s still there.
“Hold up,” Ragnar says.
He hands me the leash and bends to pick something up from the grass—a smooth, round stone. It’s about half the width of his palm.
“Howl tried to eat this,” he says, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it’s a keepsake. “Figured I should intervene.”
I laugh. “Truly a menace.” To Howl I add, “You are a prince among dogs and men alike.”
“You can visit anytime,” Ragnar says.
“I can watch him when you’re out of town.”
Ragnar’s mouth tips into a little smile. “Usually I send him to Vic’s mom. She watches Hela too, but you’re welcome to him. Only if you want to. He’d love to play with you.”
“Perfect.” I smile, “As long as it’s okay that I might want to play with his daddy, too.”
The words come out before I can filter them, and I panic, scrambling to cover.
“I mean—if, like, you’re also around. Or whatever. Like a crossword. Checkers—”
He looks at me, unreadable. But his fingers squeeze mine again, and I don’t pull away.
We slow as we near his house. My heart feels too full and too light all at once. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this… content. Maybe once. When I was little. Sitting in a pile of leaves I wasn’t supposed to touch, sneaking a candy bar I wasn’t supposed to eat.
I realize Ragnar is watching me.
“What’re you thinking about?”
I blink up at him. “That I might be happy.”
He’s quiet for a second. “Yeah?” he says. “Me too.”
I think—maybe—he squeezes my hand again. But I’m not totally sure.
“I usually only feel like this in three places,” he adds after a moment. “On the ice. At home in Iceland. Or when I’m with you.”
I swallow. “That’s a really good list.”
