“How long since you’ve had him?”

“Eleven weeks—it was eleven weeks ago.” I sighed sadly.

“Pardon me?”

“Sorry, what?” I asked, coming back from Planet Lucas to the dog park, where the two women were staring at me as though I’d grown a third eyeball.

“I asked, how long you’ve had him? Sammy Davis Jr.?” one of the women asked, still kneeling down and petting my very contented dog.

“Oh! Sorry, daydreaming a little. I got Sammy when—” And I launched into my tale.

Twenty minutes later I was standing on the water’s edge, letting the waves tickle my toes as Sammy splashed and played. I’d given out two business cards for Our Gang. One of the women was still a little standoffish, but the other seemed genuinely interested in coming by and seeing the dogs we had up for adoption, having been won over by my sweet boy.

“You did great today, buddy,” I murmured as he nudged at my knees, threading between them and looking up at me, grinning. “You ready for your ball?” As he watched eagerly, I tossed it up in the air a few times, then threw it out into the water.

But instead of chasing the ball, he craned his head around behind me, sniffing the wind. His tail began to thump wildly, banging against the back of my legs.

I turned to see what he was looking at. People. Dogs. More dogs. But he was still sniffing something. Before I could catch him, he took off like a shot toward the fence, aiming for the gate where everyone came in and out.

“Crazy dog,” I said, chuckling as I made my way back up to where he was barking happily. “Sammy, what are you—”

I stopped short. Because there, on the other side of the fence, was my daydream. Deeply tanned, dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt, Lucas was pushing through the gate to greet Sammy Davis Jr., who was bouncing and jumping with happiness. He bent down to greet the dog, and when he stood up again I was struck again with how gorgeous this man was. Long and lean and breathing sex—eleven weeks in my imagination had not done him justice. It was all I could do not to literally run down the beach and throw myself into his arms, romance-novel style.

But I’d tried that before, done the grand gesture at the airport, and knew how that ended up. So I approached, but with caution. “What are you doing—”

I was cut off by his mouth covering mine in a slow, wet, burning, and churning kiss. He finally pulled back, hands clutching at my hips. Finishing my earlier question, “—here?” prompted him to kiss me again. Harder. Longer. Deeper. Tonguier.

This time, I managed to break the kiss and looked up into his face. “What’s happening here?”

“I came home early.”

“I’m getting that, but why are you—”

“I spent eleven weeks working twenty-hour days, because unless I was busy or sleeping, I was thinking about you. And even when I was sleeping I didn’t catch a break, because I’d dream about you.”

“Dreaming about me?”

“Yeah. Mostly naked.” He nodded, sliding his hands a little higher, just under the edge of my T-shirt. “Although once you were wearing a snowsuit while trying to paddleboard in the middle of the ocean. That was one of the weirder ones.”

“Okay, just wait a minute. You leave for eleven weeks without a phone call, without an email, after I humiliated myself in an airport—and now you show up and make out with me, without one shred of explanation?”

“I needed some space. I took some space.” He tilted my chin up to place one single soft kiss on my lips. “And I don’t want space anymore. I want you.”

Oh!

“I had a whole speech planned out, saying how sorry I was that I didn’t call you back while I was gone, that I know you’re nothing like Julie and I was a real shit to say that before I left, that I missed you like crazy. But when I saw you, I just wanted to kiss you. So I did. Thanks for not slugging me, by the way.”

“I was too surprised to slug you. Plus, the kissing was nice,” I said, fighting the urge to bury my hands in his hair and do it again. Talk first. More kissing, after?

“It was nice,” he repeated, and the look in his eyes had me clenching my hands into fists to stop them from pulling his face down to mine.

“But what about what I did to Charles? And not telling you?” I asked.

“Are you ever going to lie to me again?” he asked, his eyes searching.

“Big ones like that? No. Little white ones about things like how much pudding I really have hidden away? I can’t promise that.”

“Good enough for me.”

“Are you sure? Really? Because—”

I was cut off once more by his amazing mouth. Why the hell was I trying to talk him out of this? I gave my hands the All Clear and they sank deep into his hair, pulling him into me, holding him, loving him. When we finally came up for air, he tucked me into his chest and I burrowed in, surrounded by Lucas. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“I missed my girl,” he murmured, his hands wide on the small of my back to capture as much skin as he could.

“To be clear, that’s me, right?”

“Only you, chickie baby,” he said with a chuckle. And then he kissed me again.

“I’ve tried so, not to give in . . .”

“Boy, I’ll say.”

“Oh, shush,” I said.

An hour later, with a record on the turntable and Sammy Davis Jr. occupied on the patio, I lay naked on top of an equally naked Lucas, breathing heavily and unable to wipe the grin from my face.

“I’ve said to myself, this affair never will go so well . . .”

“Have you been listening to this since we met?” Lucas asked. “Is that why you didn’t kiss me in the barn that day? Fucking Troublemaker Sinatra. You totally should have kissed me in the barn. Think how much longer we could have been doing . . . oh man, do that again.”

“I would if you’d just shush already.”

“So why should I try to resist, when darling I know so well . . .”

“No way, chickie baby. No way I could have resisted you another second.”

“Let’s be clear: it was me who attacked you. In the shower. With the naked.”

“Are we playing Clue?”

“You really want to talk about board games right now?”

“No. Not when I’d rather . . .”

“Mmm, Lucas . . .”

“I’ve got you under my skin . . .”