Page 74 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

A low, familiar sound.

The rumble of a truck.

The bark of a dog.

My head lifts before my brain catches up.

And there he is.

Rex Morgan, the older guy I met at the pizza shop, walking down the path towards Evan and me. Big jacket. Easy stride. Hat low on his head. His hands in his pockets, looking like he’s got nowhere else to be.

His dog trots ahead of him, a gray-muzzled retriever mix, tail wagging, nose to the ground, tracking invisible messages left by every animal that’s passed through.

Rex spots me and smiles, and my body reacts in the stupidest way.

Warmth. Interest. A flicker of nerves.

He lifts a hand. “Well, hey there.”

I stand slowly, brushing my palms on my jeans. I’m nervous but trying not to show it.

“Hi,” I say.

“Bolt,” he calls out to his dog. “Be careful.”

But Bolt isn’t listening. He’s bounding towards Evan full of excitement.

Evan freezes mid-stick poke.

Bolt sniffs him, sneezes once, then nudges Evan’s hand, saying hello, small human.

Evan’s eyes go wide. “Dog.”

Rex chuckles, walking closer. “That’s Bolt.”

Bolt wags harder like he understands his name and loves attention.

Evan looks up at me, asking permission without asking.

“Go on,” I say softly. “You can pet him. Just be gentle.”

Evan reaches out slowly, carefully, and pets Bolt’s head.

Bolt immediately attempts to lean his entire body weight into Evan like a dramatic Victorian man fainting onto a couch.

Evan giggles. “He’s squishy!”

Rex laughs. “He’s old. He thinks he’s still a puppy.”

Bolt sneezes again, offended by the accusation.

I can’t help smiling.

Rex’s gaze flicks to me.

His eyes are warm. Hazel. The kind that have seen a lot but still choose softness anyway.

“Mind if we join you?” he asks.