Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Laney

Fair warning. This story isn't very believable.

Most stories start with once upon a time.

Mine? It's more like once upon a boyband.

I'm a twenty-six-year-old woman with a mortgage and a car payment and a career as a veterinarian. I have a gynecologist and a weekly shopping list, and last week, the IRS sent me a letter stating I underpaid my taxes and owe them an additional $438. Letters from the IRS mean I'm solidly adulting, doing very normal things, living a very normal life.

That's the point. I'm so normal, I'm practically boring. Which is why you won't believe that I accidentally fell in love with a popstar.

Twice, really. But the first time was completely one-sided, so I'm not sure it counts.

I was fifteen, and the teen boyband Midnight Rush had just dropped their debut album .

I was not a popular teenager by any stretch. I figured myself out in college, but high school was a lot of too-short bangs and social fumblings and watching other people live life while I stood on the sidelines and worried about the chocolate stain on my white shorts.

I muddled my way through the obligatory high school things. Prom. Homecoming. The occasional football game. But mostly I spent a lot of time at home. Alone. Obsessing over Midnight Rush.

Specifically, Deke Driscoll.

He was the quietest of the four-member group. A little shy, which made me think he would appreciate my similarly introverted tendencies. In interviews, he always came across as bashful, like he couldn't quite believe he was an international popstar.

I could believe it, though. His voice was my favorite of the four, plus, he had these enormous blue eyes and light brown hair that did this swoopy thing over his forehead. He was constantly brushing it back, and there were countless compilations on the internet of Deke running his fingers through his hair in just the right way. Because of course there was. He was perfect. Justifiably beloved by millions of teenage girls worldwide.

A year later, when I stood on the front row of a Midnight Rush concert celebrating my sixteenth birthday, I was convinced I would never experience a happier moment.

Once we get to the end of this, you'll laugh at the irony of that statement.

For now, let's just say that when Deke crouched down at the edge of the stage and touched my hand, holding my gaze for the briefest moment, something inside me shifted. I felt seen. Understood, even, which, in retrospect, I realize was a completely ridiculous thought. But somehow, I knew that if I had the chance to talk to Deke about my parent's divorce or my brother's struggle to get through college, or the fact that my best friend was moving at the end of the summer, forcing me to face the last two years of high school alone, he would get it.

It wasn't real love. I know that now. But my love for Deke—for all of Midnight Rush—saved me when I really needed saving. It gave me an online community of friends who understood and shared my obsession. It gave me something to focus on when life felt too hard or too scary or too overwhelming.

Rest assured, while I still feel a happy wave of nostalgia whenever a Midnight Rush song comes on the radio and I may crank up my playlist so I can sing along in the shower whenever I need a mood boost, I did eventually get rid of the branded sleep shorts that had images of Deke's face plastered on either butt cheek.

I do have some standards.

But I'm getting off track. Where were we?

Right. The second time I fell in love with Deke Driscoll.

Well. Hang on. It's a wild ride.

"Hey, Laney?" My vet tech, Percy, sticks his head into the break room where I'm currently hiding from anything four-legged and wrapping a bandage around my punctured pointer finger. He frowns when he sees my hand. "Wait. That little demon spawn actually broke the skin? "

"I'm no match for an angry chihuahua's anal glands."

"I swear, one of these days, I'm going to sneak over to Mrs. Finley's house and accidentally leave her door open so Fifi can escape. Maybe we'll get lucky, and a coyote will find him before she does."

"Percy!" I say, biting back a laugh.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought it, too."

"Maybe, but I'll never say it out loud. She's probably still out in reception."

Percy huffs and folds his arms across his broad chest. "It would serve her right to know how we really feel. I swear, she trains that dog to be mean on purpose."

I really do think Mrs. Finley has a lot to do with Fifi's terrible behavior, but she's old, and Fifi is old, and teaching old dogs new tricks is even harder than teaching old owners new tricks. "I doubt Fifi will live much longer anyway," I say. "I can brave it until then."

"Your patience is admirable. And …deserving of a reward." He singsongs this last part, and I look up, eyebrows raised.

Percy smirks. "Exam Two is ready for you. Your favorite mountain man is here with a new litter of puppies."

I force a deep breath through my nose as I secure my bandage and throw away the trash. I will not hurry into Exam Two to see Adam, the owner of Hope Acres Dog Rescue, no matter how Percy baits me. I have more self-control than that.

The fact that Lawson Cove's resident dog rescuer happens to have mysterious blue eyes, sexy broad shoulders, and an endless amount of patience even when he's wrangling a dozen puppies does not justify me acting like I'm in middle school .

"Oh, are you too busy?" Percy says, his voice dripping with sass. "I think your dad just got back from lunch. I can always ask him to cover the appointment."

"Don't do that!" I say, closing the cabinet that holds the office first aid supplies with a loud slam. "I'm coming right now."

Dad would happily cover the appointment. He was the vet for Hope Acres before I was—it was a random scheduling thing that moved Adam and his dogs onto my books instead of Dad's—and he's always spoken highly of Adam's operation. But I'm not about to give Adam up now.

I live in a very small town, and the dating scene is basically nonexistent. My all-business interactions with Adam are the most action I ever get.

The thought gives me pause. I really should get out more. Maybe drive over to Franklin or go even farther and spend the weekend in Asheville. I have a few friends from college who live there now. It might be nice to catch up, maybe meet a few new people?

I follow that train of thought for exactly seven seconds before deciding it's a terrible idea. What would I talk about with friends from college? Fifi's anal glands?

I pause outside the exam room door and adjust my scrubs.

Percy gives me a knowing look as he holds out an iPad.

"Don't look at me like that," I say, yanking it from his hands.

"Look at you like what?" he says, his expression a little too coy.

I purse my lips and look over the digital chart Percy created for seven—no, eight—cocker spaniel puppies born out at Adam's rescue. "Like you know what I'm thinking. "

He chuckles. "I'm not blind, honey. I do know what you're thinking. I'd be thinking the same thing if I wasn't already sure that man in there is straighter than a Michael Bay movie."

I glare at Percy, eyes wide. "Would you hush?" We've never tested just how much you can hear through the gigantic crack at the bottom of the door, and I'd rather not test it now, when Adam could be listening. But I still can't keep myself from whispering, "But also, what makes you so sure?"

"Oh, that's easy," Percy says, his eyes gleaming. "I've seen the way he looks at you. "

My heart flutters at the thought, but I can't take Percy seriously. The man is such a hopeless romantic, he sees heart eyes everywhere.

Besides, I've been taking care of the dogs from Hope Acres for the past eight months, and I've never had a reason to believe Adam is even remotely interested in me.

Not that I have a lot of practice when it comes to this sort of thing. I'm happy with who I am, but who I am will never be the woman smiling at men across a restaurant or writing my number on a cocktail napkin at a bar.

I once made this argument to Percy when I was grumbling over my perpetually single status, not liking that meeting men actually requires me to be social.

He simply shrugged and said, "Fine. Don't try. But you'll only have yourself to blame if you're single until you're dead."

Which… fine. He might have a point there.

But Adam? He is not the man who is going to break me out of my years-long dating dry spell. For the past eight months, I've been seeing him once every few weeks, and not once has he ever looked at me like I am anything but the veterinarian who happens to be taking care of his dogs. I'm a means to an end. A necessary part of his workload. Percy really could have called my dad in to cover the visit, and I don't think Adam would have even noticed.

"Wait a sec," Percy says, reaching over and tugging at my ponytail. "How are your waves today? Can we take this down?"

I duck and shrug away, smacking at his hand. "Stop it. My hair is fine."

Percy is annoyingly broad, his shoulders wide enough to practically fill a doorway, and he's doing an excellent job of keeping me from my next patient. Or patients, in this case, since an entire litter of puppies needs to be examined. He folds his arms across his muscled chest. "Your hair is amazing when you wear it down," he whisper yells. "Why settle for fine when you have all this going for you?"

"It doesn't matter. Adam is not interested in me," I whisper back. "End of discussion." I grip the doorknob, giving Percy one final warning look. "Behave, please."

He gives me a generous side-eye that seems to say he's making no promises, then follows me into the room.

Adam is sitting on the opposite side of the exam table, a wagon full of puppies directly beside him. He's wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. His beard looks a little longer than it was the last time he was here, but he's just as handsome as always, and my heart picks up speed at the mere sight of him.

Adam may not be for me, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the view.

The only thing better than tall, dark, and handsome is tall, dark, and handsome… with puppies .

Adam is currently holding two—a coal black one and another brown one with a white nose and white-tipped ears.

"Adam," I say after clearing my throat and willing some degree of normalcy into my voice. "Good to see you."

"Hi, Dr. Lawson," he says, the rumble of his voice sending a shiver up my spine. "How are you?"

"Better now that you've brought me puppies."

He stands and lowers the black one into my arms. It looks up at me with sleepy eyes and yawns.

"Oh, you're perfect, aren't you?" I say, holding the puppy close. "How's the mama?"

"Healthy and well," Adam says. "Everything with the delivery went great, and they're all eating like champs."

"Any adoptions lined up yet?" I ask as I move to the exam table with the first puppy.

"Several inquiries. We're still reviewing applications."

I nod, grateful that Adam requires a thorough application process before anyone can adopt any of his dogs. His rescue has only been in operation a little longer than I've been in Lawson Cove, and he can't be much older than I am, though the beard makes it admittedly hard to tell. Either way, he must have done a lot of research because he runs Hope Acres like a seasoned pro.

"I'm sure they'll go quickly once they're old enough," I say. "With these cute little faces, who wouldn't want one?"

I've never asked Adam if he's the one managing the Hope Acres website and the rescue's social media presence, but whoever is in charge, they do an excellent job.

The website and Instagram account is updated weekly with professional-level photos and tons of videos of the dogs romping around acres and acres of gorgeous mountain farmland. Somehow, he manages to frame even the oldest, ugliest dogs in a way that makes them seem adoptable.

Much to my disappointment, Adam never shows his face in any of the content. But I've heard his voice in a few of the videos, so I know he has to be somewhat involved.

Not that I spend a lot of time on the rescue's Instagram page. These are all just very casual observations made in my capacity as veterinarian for the rescue. It doesn't have anything to do with the way his deep voice makes my skin hum with energy.

I quickly finish my exam of the solid black puppy, who is perfect in every way possible, and hand her back to Adam. "Three and a half pounds," I say, looking over to make sure Percy is updating the chart. "What are we calling this one?"

"That's Diana," Adam says. "And the other three girls are Florence, Mary, and Betty."

I lift my eyebrows, studying his face. "The Supremes?"

Something like admiration crosses over his features. "Good catch."

"And the boys?" I swap Diana for the brown and white puppy Adam is still holding.

"George, Paul, John and Ringo."

"Be still your music-loving heart," Percy says under his breath, and I send an elbow into his ribs.

"I love the theme," I say as I lift my stethoscope to the puppy's chest. His heart sounds strong and healthy. "Which one are you?" I hold him up and look into his big brown eyes. "Are you George?"

"That's Ringo," Adam says.

The puppy leans forward and licks the tip of my nose, and my heart melts a little bit. "Percy, tell me I don't need to adopt a puppy. "

"Laney, you definitely need to adopt a puppy," Percy says.

Adam laughs. "I'm inclined to agree. And Ringo has a really sweet personality. He's a snuggler."

An image of Adam lounging on his couch with Ringo asleep on his chest pops into my mind. If snuggling with the puppy meant snuggling with the man, I'd sign the adoption papers this minute.

"Don't tempt me," I say. "I'm afraid my work schedule would leave this little guy alone way too often."

"True," Percy says dryly. "And your father would never let you bring him to work with you."

Dad's bloodhound, Juniper, has been coming to work with him as long as she's been alive, and she's close to thirteen.

Adam gives me a knowing look. "Let me know if you change your mind. And you're welcome to come out to the rescue anytime."

I freeze and lift my eyes to his, the invitation catching me by surprise.

"To…visit the puppies?" he says slowly, and I give my head a quick shake.

"Right. Of course. That's—I knew that's what you meant."

Percy clears his throat a little too loudly, and I keep my eyes down as I put Ringo on the scale.

"He's been the biggest since the beginning," Adam says, and I nod.

"He's a good size," I agree. "Three-fourteen."

Percy holds Ringo while I administer a couple of vaccines, then he hands the squirming puppy back to Adam while I retrieve another from the wagon. "So, are you into music, then?" I ask. "Is that what inspired the names? "

"I could ask the same thing of you," Adam says. "The Beatles was a softball, but not everyone would pick up on the first names of the Supremes."

"The original Supremes," I say. "There were more than just those four."

Adam holds my gaze. "Right again. You know your Motown."

"She knows everything, " Percy says. "She's like the Wikipedia of American music."

Adam cocks an eyebrow, his gaze sparking with a new interest. "Do you play anything?"

"Oh, absolutely not," I say. "I'm a dedicated listener, but I'm not musically inclined at all."

"Do you sing?"

"About as well as a cat screeching her way through a flea bath."

"I'll vouch for that," Percy says. "I've heard her try. Never ever take this woman to karaoke."

"Okay, listen," I say, holding a finger out at Percy. "I never would have gotten up to sing if Mimi hadn't guilted me into it. She's very convincing."

Adam chuckles. "Mimi?"

"My grandmother," Percy explains. "It was karaoke night at her assisted living facility, and she wouldn't rest until Laney agreed to sing."

"It was painful," I say.

"So painful," Percy agrees.

"But I'd do it again for Mimi." I look at Adam. "What about you? Do you sing? Or play any instruments?"

Adam shrugs noncommittally, almost like the question makes him uncomfortable. "Uh, maybe a little piano and guitar," he finally answers. "But I mostly just mess around. I'm more of a listener, too."

Something about the way he answers the question makes me think this isn't the entire truth, but I'm so happy to be getting this much undivided attention, I'm not about to push for more. We've been through at least a dozen appointments just like this one, but Adam has never looked at me like he's looking at me now. In fact, I've never heard him say this many non-dog-related sentences together ever.

"Do you have a favorite band?" I ask as I finish with another puppy, hoping Percy is noticing my efforts. I'm asking questions! Engaging! Not hiding behind my AirPods and a playlist cranked loud enough to make conversation impossible!

Adam takes the puppy from my hands, trading it for the next one, and my entire body flushes with heat when his fingers brush across mine.

"Just one favorite? That's tough. Depends on my mood, my location, whether I want something with words or something more chill."

"Okay, let's make this less complicated," I say. "If you were to pull out your phone right now and play me the last song you listened to, what would it be?"

Adam doesn't even hesitate before pulling out his phone and dropping it onto the counter between us. The puppy Percy is holding in place leans forward to sniff Adam's hand, and he scratches its ears while he pulls up his playlist.

"Bon Jovi," he says, pulling up the last song. "‘Living on a Prayer.'"

"A classic," I say. "Good choice."

He nods and repockets his phone. "Okay. Your turn. "

My eyes widen as I think back to my drive into work this morning. I normally wouldn't remember a specific song without having to look. The playlist I listen to most frequently has over five hundred songs on it, and I usually just let it play on shuffle. But I remember this morning distinctly because one of my favorite Midnight Rush songs came on, and I refused to get out of the car until I'd finished the entire thing. Percy stood at my window, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as I belted out the last of the lyrics. Badly and entirely off-key. As soon as it ended, I restarted the song just to spite him and would have listened to it all the way through if Dad hadn't climbed out of his truck and looked at me like I was back in high school and making very poor choices.

Adam doesn't exactly strike me as the kind of man who would be familiar with a ten-year-old boyband song though, so I opt for a different favorite. "I don't have my phone on me, so I can't show you, but if I could, it would be ‘Just Breathe,' by Pearl Jam," I say.

Percy scoffs from beside me. "Uh, that is not what I?—"

I shoot him a look—he's not about to out me as a Midnighter when I'm finally having a real conversation with Adam—and he manages to reroute his sentence.

"—what I thought that song was called," Percy says instead, but he doesn't spare me another eye roll.

Adam has to be able to tell I'm not telling the truth, but he doesn't question. He only lifts his eyebrows, giving me an appreciative nod. "Good song."

"Yeah. I think so too."

He holds my gaze for a long moment before reaching down to pick up another puppy.

I take as long as I possibly can to examine this one because she's the last one, and Adam is still asking me questions about music.

How do I feel about U2's Songs of Surrender? What was the last concert I attended live? Do I have a favorite Taylor Swift song? Do I agree that Red Renegade is the most underrated band of all time?

(Love it, Coldplay, "Exile," and absolutely not.)

I feel the heat of Percy's gaze as he watches our conversation, but I'm not about to look at him because then I'll blush and then he'll laugh and then Adam will know that to me, the fact that we're talking like this is a very big deal. Percy can tease me about it later when Adam is gone.

I hand the last puppy back to Adam and loop my stethoscope around my neck. "They all look really great," I say. "Healthy and happy."

"Good to hear," Adam says. He lifts the brown and white puppy out of the wagon and holds him out toward me. "Are you sure you don't want me to save Ringo for you?"

I scoop up Ringo and snuggle him under my chin. He leans up and licks my cheek before huffing out a tiny puppy breath and nuzzling into my neck. "Oh my gosh. He really is perfect, isn't he?"

Adam grins. "He seems to feel the same way about you."

"Oh, this is a done deal," Percy says. "It's love at first sight."

It really does feel like love at first sight. This puppy is perfect. I can't explain it, but he totally feels like he's supposed to be mine.

Which is totally unexpected.

I'm so busy. And I don't have a fence in my backyard and…okay, those are the only excuses I have, but they're both good ones. Puppies are a lot of work .

I kiss the top of Ringo's head, then hand him back to Adam. "Don't not list him for adoption, but if you get any serious applicants, maybe check with me first?"

"Can do," Adam says. He hesitates another moment, like he might say something else, but then his eyes dart to Percy and he seems to think better of it.

I could easily think of something for Percy to go and do, but usually it's me who's leaving at this point and Percy is the one who makes sure Adam has all the paperwork and records he needs on his way out. We've all done this enough times to know that's how things usually go, so to get rid of Percy would be an obvious move, and I am not, in any sense, an obvious move kind of person.

Adam clears his throat. "All right, well, I guess that's it, then. And they'll have the updated immunization records for me up front?"

"They should," Percy answers for me, shooting me a conspiratorial look. "Actually, let me head that way now, and I'll make sure they've got it all printed for you."

"Great. Thanks, Percy," Adam says. He holds my gaze for one more beat, but he doesn't say anything else even though he looks like he wants to.

Say something, Laney! Just say something!

I try out a couple of sentences in my brain. How do you feel about the evolution of disco and funk music in the seventies? Did you know Elton John had a cocker spaniel named Arthur? But before I can make any of the words actually come out of my mouth, Adam turns and pulls his wagon full of puppies toward the door.

"I'll see you next time, then," he says.

I nod, wishing, not for the first time, that I had the courage to say something witty and bold. Something like, Or maybe I could see you sooner? But then the moment passes, and Adam is in the waiting area, following after Percy.

I groan and head the opposite direction into the back room. Patients are already stacking up, so I don't exactly have time to dwell on what I could have said, but it's hard not to feel irritated with myself.

Comfortable in my own skin? Sure. But these are the moments I wish I could be a little more extroverted. Once, when I was in college, my roommate made a passing comment about my tendency to always play it safe. She didn't say it like it was a bad thing, just that it was the opposite of her. She always said the flirty thing, and I never said the flirty thing. She always chose bold, and I always chose… safe.

Am I truly incapable of taking life by the figurative horns and making something happen?

I grab my iPad and pull up the notes for my next appointment.

" Please tell me you gave him your number and the two of you are getting together this weekend," Percy says as he pushes into the backroom.

I stare down at the digital chart in my hands and refuse to make eye contact.

"Laney," Percy says.

I don't need to look up to know he's scowling at me, likely with his hands perched on his hips.

"What?" I say. "I'm kind of busy here. I've got another patient to see."

Percy glances at the chart. "Your next patient is still on the scale out front. He isn't ready for you yet, and you know it."

I sigh and look up. "Fine. No. I didn't give Adam my number. But he didn't ask for it, so I don't know why you're acting like it's my fault."

"Laney! He was waiting for me to leave! He was clearly into you. Did you give him any indication you wanted him to ask you out?"

I think of the witty words I didn't say and frown. "I've never been particularly good at that kind of thing."

"But you had the perfect opportunity! And you two were seriously vibing!"

I sigh. I'm plenty irritated with myself. I don't need Percy to make me feel stupid on top of my own self-recrimination. "Why do you care so much anyway? He's just a random guy."

"He is not just a random guy. He's a guy I know you like. And for the first time, he seemed like he might like you back." Percy reaches forward and takes the chart out of my hands, forcing me to look at him. "Laney, you haven't dated anyone in months . I'm bored on your behalf, and that man is probably the most eligible bachelor in all of Lawson Cove. Can you blame me for wanting you to shoot your shot?"

"What are we shooting?" Dad says as he comes up behind us. "Am I invited?"

"We're just talking about Laney's dating life," Percy says.

Honestly. Does the man have no respect for my privacy?

"Dating? I suppose shooting could be fun on a date. Has someone invited you to go hunting?" Dad asks. "Bear or deer? I hear bear permits were hard to get this year."

"Nobody invited me to go hunting, Dad. Shooting your shot…it's just an expression. Like, taking a chance. Going for it."

"Ah. Not literal shooting, then. I think I'm following. Is there anyone in particular you're thinking about dating?" He lifts his eyebrows suggestively, and I suddenly wonder if he knows something, if he's somehow observed my slight preoccupation with Adam. But that would be ridiculous. My father is a brilliant veterinarian and kind to his very core. But he lives almost entirely inside his own head. He's not observant about things like this.

When I was young, I thought it was indifference. Mom definitely thought it was indifference—something that led to their divorce and Dad's move to Lawson Cove halfway through my freshman year of high school.

But now, working with Dad, getting to know him as an adult, I understand more about how his brain works. He cares deeply. He's just not very good at picking up on nuance. At reading emotions. He claims it's why he works so well with animals. Because animals are so much simpler than humans.

I clear my throat and shrug. "No one in particular."

Percy huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, which only makes Dad grin.

He leans over and kisses the side of my head. "Why don't you take off for the afternoon?" he says. "I've run out of patients myself, so I can take care of the rest of yours."

I look at Dad. "But you always leave early on Fridays."

"True. But I don't have anywhere to be right now. Besides, there's a young man in the parking lot who looks like he could use some help. I could be wrong, but I think he might enjoy getting it from you more than me."

Percy's eyes widen, and he hurries across the room, peering through the door that leads out into the lobby where the mostly glass wall of the office gives a clear view of the parking lot. "It's Adam!" he says, his voice low. "Why is he still here? "

"Why are you whispering?" I ask. "It's not like he can hear you."

"What was it you said earlier about shooting your shot?" Dad asks. He tilts his head toward the parking lot. "Now is as good a time as any."

I narrow my eyes. "How long have you known? Did Percy tell you?"

Dad only shrugs. "Tell me what? You should probably hurry, Elena. Adam and his puppies might not be in the parking lot for long."