Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Laney

I am in awe of the process Adam has in place to feed the dogs. Not because the wheeled cart he rolls down the center aisle of the barn is anything fancy. Most of the dogs eat the same thing, and he measures it out, paying attention to whiteboards hooked on the front of each kennel that specify how much each dog gets. The amazing part is how responsive the dogs are. They sit when he needs them to sit, they wait until food is actually in their bowls and Adam has invited them to eat before they approach their kibble. They even seem to wag their tails in happy gratitude. This man is definitely some kind of magic dog whisperer.

"So…you train, too," I say when we finally reach the end of the row.

He shrugs. "Only the basics. But honestly, it's pretty easy with most rescues. They're usually so happy to be safe and fed, once they decide to trust me, they're pretty eager to please." He rubs his hands together. "Ready for the best part?"

It's hard to imagine anything better than just hanging out with him. Being here like this. But I nod anyway. "Absolutely."

Adam walks to the opposite end of the barn and opens a second sliding door identical to the one we came through, then he walks back through the center aisle to where I'm standing next to the food cart. In every kennel, the dogs are waiting by their doors, tails wagging, like they know what's coming next and they are ready for it.

Adam touches a control panel mounted on the wall next to the supply room. It lights up, and he presses a series of buttons, then, with one final tap, opens all the kennel doors at once. Taylor and Aretha and her puppies stay safely inside their enclosures, but everyone else darts into the aisle and heads toward the open door on the opposite side of the barn.

I follow Adam to the end of the aisle where we step out into the late afternoon sunshine.

"Three acres, fully fenced," he says. "They get this three times a day for at least a half-hour, depending on what my schedule allows. They also get leash walks a few times a week—I have volunteers who come out for that—and they get twice weekly visits to the house so we can work on inside behavior and potty training."

I watch as the two dozen dogs in Adam's care romp around the field, some chasing each other, some walking lazily, some rolling around in the grass.

These dogs are the luckiest dogs in the world.

Adam looks over and catches my eye, a smile brightening his face. He loves this. It's written all over his expression.

I look away, forcing my gaze to the tree-covered mountains climbing into the sky. Based on our time together, if I keep staring directly at his very handsome face, the odds of me saying something stupid are enormously high.

The thing is, Adam has built a life for himself that mirrors almost exactly what I would want for myself. Despite my grumbling about my nonexistent dating life in Lawson Cove, I really love living here. I love the mountains, I love being close to my dad, I love running into cousins and aunts and uncles who have known me since I was a kid. And I would love to have property like this—to have all this land. I've always done better when there's room to breathe.

Of course, in all my imaginings, I'm living with someone. Raising a family. Building a life. And Lawson Cove really is tough in that regard. It's hard to meet new people when you already know everyone in town.

But then, I already knew Adam, and I'd never even considered the possibility something could happen between us until today. Not that I'm counting any chickens before they hatch. Maybe this is nothing. Maybe I'm just a ride to get a spare key, and he's only showing me his rescue because I'm his vet and he's proud of his work.

He does keep making and holding eye contact though. And he sniffed my hair—which, I may not have a ton of dating experience, but he wouldn't do that with just anybody, would he?

I can't fight the tiny flower of hope that blooms in my chest. Maybe finding the right guy is less about location and more about timing.

A breeze lifts the hair at the nape of my neck, and I close my eyes as it brushes over my face. It's still a warm breeze, but there's a hint of cool at the end that reminds me of fall. It won't be long now—just another few weeks or so. I bet this place is gorgeous when the leaves change color.

"I could live out here," I say, eyes still closed, more to myself than to Adam.

But he answers me anyway. "It's not too far away from Target?"

I let out a little laugh and open my eyes. "I may grumble sometimes, but I wouldn't give up living in Lawson Cove for Target."

He nods, like this answer doesn't really surprise him, then he drops his gaze, looking up at me through his lashes, his expression suddenly coy. "And a more active dating scene? Would you give up Lawson Cove for that?"

A weird sense of déjà vu washes over me, and I give my head a little shake. There is an intensity to Adam's gaze that feels familiar, but I can't quite figure out why. Whatever it is, it makes my heart pound in my throat and emboldens me to answer his very pointed question.

"I don't really need a whole scene," I say. "One man would do just fine for me."

He studies me for a long moment, and I get the sense that he's filing this information away. Like he isn't just hearing my words, he's thinking about what they mean, what they say about me.

I look away first, because if I don't, I will either explode or possibly ask Adam to marry me, both things that would unequivocally ruin the rest of my day, and train my gaze on the hazy blue-green of the mountains blending into the sky. "So, how much of this belongs to the rescue?"

Thankfully, Adam runs with the subject change. "Most everything you can see from here," he says. "The property line extends to the top of the ridge. Over there, at the edge of the field, there's a trail that skirts the tree line and comes out on the other side of the house. We use that for leash walks."

He talks for a few more minutes about his volunteer staff and his adoption rates and how hard he works to focus on temperament and family dynamics before matching his dogs with new owners.

He's clearly passionate, his face animated as he tells me about a family who brought their kids out every Saturday for a month until they'd spent time with every single dog, then details an email he recently received from a woman who became engaged to a man she met at the dog park—all thanks to the goldendoodle she adopted last summer.

The longer that Adam talks, the more certain I am that he reminds me of someone. I just can't figure out who.

Despite that one tiny distraction, when he finally finishes, I'm fully convinced he is entirely perfect, and I would very much like for him to be the just one man I need.

"Adam, this whole thing is unbelievable," I say. "All of it. The land, the way you take care of the dogs. It's amazing."

Adam's cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink, just visible at the top of his beard. "Thanks," he says. "Your dad helped a lot. He must have answered a million questions."

"That sounds like Dad. Has he been out here?"

"Quite a few times," Adam says. "Though, mostly right at first when I was trying to set everything up. I hadn't really worked with dogs before I started the rescue, so I had a lot to learn."

"Really?" I ask. "What were you doing before this?"

Adam immediately looks away, his change in body language so dramatic that I can practically see the wall he's thrown up between us. "Not much," he says, eyes looking out at the horizon. "This was…a new start for me."

Okay. Adam does not like to talk about his past. Noted.

"When did you get Goldie?" I ask, hoping that at least his dog won't be off limits. "Was she a rescue?"

His expression warms the slightest bit, but there's still a distance in his eyes. "She was my mom's dog, actually. I've had her for…going on eight years now?"

Was his mom's dog. I bite my lip. "You lost your mom?"

His eyes briefly meet mine before darting away. "Cancer," he says gruffly.

"I'm sorry."

He's quiet for a beat before he says, "Thanks."

He clears his throat once, then turns and walks toward the barn.

At the door, he lifts his fingers to his lips and lets out a loud whistle. Slowly, the dogs head inside, and Adam makes quick work of ushering them into their respective kennels. Together, we check to make sure everyone has plenty of water and looks settled for the evening, then we're back outside and climbing onto the Gator.

Adam hasn't said anything else since we talked about his mom, and the silence is starting to feel awkward, but I'm afraid to say anything for fear of making things more awkward.

It's only going to get worse, though, so I finally blurt, "Did I make it weird by asking about your mom? I'm sorry if I did."

Adam sighs and his expression softens. "If anything, I made it weird. There's no reason you shouldn't have asked. I'm just…not very good at talking about her. "

"I get that," I say. "I don't understand exactly what it must feel like. But I can imagine."

He pulls up in front of the house and cuts the ignition. "I keep waiting for it to get easier. Eight years should feel like a long time, but sometimes, it feels like it just happened." He shakes his head as he climbs out of the Gator. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make things so heavy."

"Don't apologize. I asked, and I'm glad you told me."

I wait outside while Adam runs in to grab his spare key, then we're back in my car heading down the Hope Acres driveway. I worry it might be hard to talk again after the serious turn in our conversation, but Adam starts telling me a story about a stray pit bull he found at the end of his driveway who refused to leave with him until he followed her a quarter mile down the road to her litter of puppies.

That story leads to another, then another, and we talk easily, any lingering awkwardness between us dissipating completely.

My only complaint is the curvy mountain road we're driving on, because it keeps me from looking over at Adam while he talks.

Learning to drive in Hendersonville—much larger, far less remote—was hard enough. But Lawson Cove takes things to a completely new level. There are no shoulders and no curbs, at least not outside of the two square miles that make up downtown. There are often steep grades going up or down the side of the mountain on either side of the road—sometimes both. There are blind curves, random driveways, not to mention a magnitude of squirrels and turtles and bears and deer that love to cross the road seconds before you approach .

I grip the steering wheel, eyes on the road as Adam asks me question after question. About my family, my hobbies, my friendship with Percy, what it's like working with my dad. He even asks about karaoke night at Shady Pines.

Somehow, Adam makes me forget that I don't actually like talking about myself. Or even talking in general. He makes me want to open up—at least when it comes to him—and that's not a compliment I give lightly.

I'm just finishing a story about my little sister Sophie and her social media following—she plays covers of popular songs on her violin and has built a decent fan base—when I pull into the parking lot of my office. "So basically, my little sister is the exact opposite of me, " I say.

"Not looking to be a star, huh?"

"Are you kidding? There are very few things I wouldn't choose to do over intentionally putting myself in front of an audience. Dental surgery. Pap smear."

"Fifi's anal gland expression?" Adam says through a grin.

I shift the car into park and suck in a breath. "Ohhh, now you're making it hard on me. Can it be a very small audience?"

He laughs. "Thanks again for your help today, Laney. Is it weird that I'm really glad I locked my keys in my car?"

I smile. "I hope not, because I'm glad you did too. Really glad. And thanks for showing me around Hope Acres. It was fun to finally see it."

Seized by a sudden idea, I reach into my center console and grab one of my business cards, then retrieve a pen from my purse. "Listen. I don't normally do this, but if you ever need anything after hours, especially when it comes to Taylor and her puppies, please don't hesitate to call me." I scribble my cell number onto the back of the card. "This is my personal number, so it'll come right to me. For real. Anytime, day or night. Even if it's not dog related."

I freeze the moment the words are out of my mouth, the card still in my hand. Did I just tell Adam he can call me in the middle of the night for non-dog-related reasons?

Adam quirks an eyebrow. "That's a generous offer. So you're saying next time I find a mouse in the kitchen at two a.m., I can call you instead of freaking out?"

"Are you admitting you freak out over mice?"

"Like a tiny fearful child," he says without cracking a smile.

I laugh. "In that case, I hope you do call me. Sounds like something I'd like to see."

I hold out the card, and Adam wraps his big hand around mine, squeezing it for a moment before tucking the paper into his palm.

My skin warms from his touch, my heart responding in that same erratic way it did when he helped me stand inside Taylor's kennel. But the reaction also fills me with courage.

Adam has to feel this too—the zing of electricity every time we touch. It makes me wonder how we managed to have so many normal interactions before now without figuring this out.

He slides my card into the front pocket of his shirt. "I'm going to remember this conversation," he says. "I've officially got you down for middle-of-the-night pest control. But I can't promise I won't also call you when I need someone to talk to about music stuff that no one else cares about."

"Yeah? Like what?"

He furrows his brow. "How about…Max Martin's melodic math?"

Listen. I'm absolutely a music nerd. I know this about myself. My obsession with Midnight Rush was just the beginning of a truly satisfying relationship with music of all different kinds. Most people can talk to me about the basics. They know recording artists. Their favorite songs. But most people aren't bringing up songwriters and their approach to creation in casual conversation. He has no idea what he's doing to me.

"I'm hooked already," I say. "I know of Max Martin, but I've never heard of melodic math."

"It's a songwriting technique," Adam explains. "His hits are not accidental—it's pretty interesting when you really look at the science behind the choices he makes."

"Love it. We can definitely talk about that at two a.m." I turn sideways to face him and pull one leg into my seat, wrapping my arms around my knee. "Though I'm beginning to think I deserve something in return for my willingness to be available at all hours."

"I'm open to negotiations," Adam says.

I grin. "I think I should get to name Taylor's puppies."

"Let me guess. Freddie, Leo, Deke, and Jace?"

I gasp. "You know their names! You really are a Midnight Rush fan."

He chuckles. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Yes, but don't worry. It's a good thing. Makes up for your fear of mice."

He winces dramatically. "Don't talk about them."

"About cute little harmless creatures? With tiny pink noses and big brown eyes?"

He holds up a finger, his expression serious, and I suddenly wonder if Adam is afraid of mice for real. "Stop or I'm cutting your naming privileges by half."

I let out a little giggle because I literally can't help myself. I haven't had this much fun in ages. "You would make me pick my favorite two? That's cruel."

"Who would you pick if I did?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "If Taylor only has one boy, what would you name him?"

"Deke," I say without hesitation. "That's easy. He was always my favorite."

Adam's eyes sparkle. "Not Freddie? Isn't he the famous one?"

"Pretty sure they all still count as famous," I say. "Freddie's solo career is the biggest, but I still stand by my answer. Deke, then Leo, then Freddie, and finally Jace. But only because Jace is blond, and I'm not into blonds."

I honestly have no idea why I'm telling Adam all this. I haven't thought about Midnight Rush this much in years, much less talked about them with a guy I'm only just getting to know.

But then, maybe it's because I've never met anyone who knows as much about music as I do.

Adam smiles at my admission, then makes a show of pulling down the visor and looking into the mirror. He pulls off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. "Brown," he says with an adorable smirk, and my stomach swoops down to my toes.

"A very nice shade of brown," I say. I bite my bottom lip as heat climbs my cheeks.

We're sitting here talking, flirting, and I'm actually holding my own. Putting myself out there. And somehow, it feels easy. Natural.

Adam reaches for his door handle but pauses before getting out of the car. "So I'm definitely going to call you," he says. "In case that wasn't obvious. "

I let out a little laugh. "I'm already looking forward to it."

He studies me for a long moment, his blue eyes fixed on mine. "Why haven't we done this before now?"

"Timing?" I say, with a shrug.

He nods. "Well, I'm glad we're doing it now."