Page 28 of The Words We Lost

I glance up at Joel in time to see the twitch in his cheek. “So he’s yours, then?”

“By default, yes.”

I’m too busy drowning in puppy kisses to ask for clarification.

“It’s good to hear you laugh again,” Joel says, studying me in a way that flips my insides. My smile holds as I look from him to the puppy.

I stare into two yellow-brown irises. “What’s his name?”

Joel’s hesitation forces my attention away from the happy pup once again. Only this time, when our gazes collide, I feel every syllable he pronounces like an arrow through the chest. “Rontu.”

“Rontu?” I repeat, breathless.

He tugs at his neck. “He’s not quite as wild or scraggly as his namesake, but ... it seemed a good fit regardless.”

Rontu, the feral, untrusting dog fromIsland of the Blue Dolphinswho sacrifices his life for Karana’s. The same name I’d planned to give a dog of my own one day if ever I was able to own one.

“Rontu, sit.” Joel waits for the puppy to respond to his command, and amazingly he obeys despite my distraction. “Good boy. Now, go to your bed.” Rontu looks forlorn as he tilts his head intuitively and searches my eyes before obeying his alpha’s command. Impressed, I smile at Joel. “Looks like he’s retained more than you thought.”

“A miracle.” He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet. Rontu whimpers at the edge of his circular pillow.

Joel lowers his voice. “Stay, boy. Stay.”

“What’s his breed?” It was easy to see the golden retriever in him, but there was something else mixed in I wasn’t certain of.

“He’s a beago. A beagle-retriever mix.” Joel rolls his eyes. “I’ve never been one for designer dog breeds, but Madison and Cece were all googly-eyed over them the spring before...her surgery.”

I try my best not to react in surprise at the pairing of names he’s mentioned, but like usual, Joel sees right through me. “They became friends a couple months before Madison opened her shop here.” His eyes stray from mine, and I wonder if he’s uncomfortable discussing Madison in my presence. I hope not. Joel owes me nothing, and Madison certainly seems like a great catch. “Madison’s a big dog lover, and she managed to convince Cece that having a dog at her cottage would be good for creativity and companionship. They found a reputable breeder on Whidbey Island, and then one thing led to another and they both ended up putting deposits down on the next available litter. The puppies were born three months after Cece passed away.”

“And Wendy didn’t want him?”

Joel’s telling expression suggests that it wasn’t a matter of want, but a matter of capability.

“So you chose Rontu and Madison chose ...”

“Rita, the only female in a litter of six. Madison considered taking on both puppies, but with her shop hours, she barely has enough time for one dog, let alone two. We try to get them together at least once a week or so, to share some of the load.”

“How perfect,” I say quietly.

Sure, Joel has always wanted a dog of his own, but his lifestyle at the hotel—like mine at the publishing house—isn’t exactly the most pet-friendly environment. And yet, here he is, sharing custody of a sibling set with a young woman who seems as genuine as she is gorgeous.

Joel looks to be puzzling something out when our eyes meet again, and I can only hope it doesn’t have to do with Madison. Thankfully, it doesn’t. “Did youwalkhere from the cottage?”

I nod.

“The entire way?” He asks this like the distance between the cottage and the hotel actually is the distance of a marathon, and for a moment, I consider telling him just how brutal hefting that extra bulk around really was. But instead I simply say, “It’s only about four miles.”

I lick my lips before glancing at Rontu, who has now plopped his body down on his bed, preparing for a nap. “I sent you a text last night.”

“Yeah.” His gaze cuts to his desk where paperwork is fanned out in all four corners. “It’s been a morning around here.”

A torturous few seconds tick by before I finally say what’s been brewing inside me since the moment he walked out the cottage door.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that yesterday. I ... I’m sorry for what I said to you.”

“I’m not.” He twists to stare at me head-on. “It has to come out somehow. That kind of pain will kill you if you keep it bottled up inside.”

My eyes prick. “Still, I have better self-control than that. I should have—”

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