You Lucky Dog

by Julia London

* * *

  Later, when she was back in her apartment, staring at the piece of paper with the songwriter’s name on it, he texted her.

  Sorry about that. Emotions got the best of me and I really can’t read a room.

  You read the room right. I didn’t have the chance to tell you that I miss you, too. I wish for you all the time too, Max.

  I hope you’ll call me when you’re in town. I promise, no more awkward declarations.

  Twenty-Eight

  Two Months After That

  Austin, Texas

  It was another dull Friday at work. Max had Bonnie the Wonder Dog in the lab today, and the students were working with her while he supposedly entered data. But in truth he was staring out the window at another dreary rainy day.

  It seemed to him like every day felt dreary of late. He’d given his dossier presentation to the campus tenure committee in a torrential rain. That group had enthusiastically recommended him forward and now his application was with the university provost. According to O’Malley, it was a done deal.

  On a day that was bitterly cold, O’Malley told Max about the endowment that would allow him to significantly increase the scope of his work. Not to mention give him a fat pay raise. And on a day where the clouds hung low over campus, he got word that some German scientists planned to visit in a month, intrigued by what he was doing.

  Everything was working out in spite of weather doldrums. So why did he feel so glum?

  When the lab was over, and the ACC volunteer had picked up Bonnie, and the students wandered out talking excitedly about the work they were doing, Max gathered up his things and headed home.

  Baxter and Hazel were waiting for him at the door. They always seemed to know just when to position themselves there. Max sighed at the sight of their bright brown eyes and tails wagging in perfect unison. Today was not a Fabian day, and they were eager to go out. He supposed he ought to be grateful they would make him walk. Otherwise, he suspected he’d end up on his couch with a couple of beers and a bag of chips. Again.

  The thing was, Max had ended relationships before, and after a couple of weeks, he generally bounced back from them. He’d even bounced back from Flavia fairly quickly. But he couldn’t seem to bounce back from Carly. It had been what, three or four months? And with the exception of his outburst in New York, he’d worked hard to put it behind him. From a scientist’s perspective, he thought his emotional state was weird—they hadn’t been together that long. But they had connected in every way and in some dusty corner of his mind, he knew that she was the one who got away. He couldn’t explain it. His brain was a bunch of sluggish neurons, whatever. It could be the unscientific, indescribable broken heart. But he lacked all motivation to figure it out.

  He stuffed a knit cap on his head, leashed up the dogs, and said, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  They didn’t care if he was happy or sad. They eagerly pulled him down the street to the entrance to the path along the creek.

  Everyone’s life was rolling along, but Max was stuck in a rut. He’d lost his footing and had slid off into this ditch and now he couldn’t get out. He thought about Carly too much. He’d finally logged on Instagram just to see what she was doing. She posted a lot. She looked happy and beautiful and living her best life in New York. He saw pictures of her at a party. Pictures of her with her friends, always laughing, always out and about. There were pictures of her workspace and the food she ate. As much as he hated to admit it, she looked like she belonged there.

  Not here. Not with him.

  He had to figure out how to accept that.

  He’d done a complete circuit with his hounds and was letting them lead him home. They were nearing the entrance to the street where the trees cast a long shadow in the gray light. There was a park bench there, next to a posted warning about entering the greenbelt during a flood. Someone was sitting on the park bench, tying a shoe. One of the dogs started to whimper as they walked past.

  “Well, hel-lo, Handsome.”

  Max’s heart seized. He stopped walking. He turned back to the woman on the park bench. She was not speaking to him, but to Baxter. Both dogs leapt up at her, and she leaned over them, laughing with delight and accepting their kisses.

  “Carly?”

  She stood up. Her eyes sparkling. She had on a knit cap, too, and her hair spilled around her face, and she looked . . . she looked glorious. His heart began to thud in his chest. He had trouble finding his tongue.

  “Oh! Did I catch you coming back from your mountain hibernation?” She touched the beard he had now because he couldn’t be bothered to shave. “Nice. Full and fluffy and may I say, very sexy.”

  “What are you doing here?” he managed to ask.

  She held out an arm and pushed her way through two excited bassets to hug him. “Hi, Max. It is so good to see you.” She put her arms around him and held him tight.

  He stiffened at first, but then he smelled her perfume, and he felt her hair on his face, and her warmth, and he closed his eyes and hoped this wasn’t a dream.

  She let go and took a step back.

  Something in Max, which had been moored and had sprouted barnacles and had grown into a reef, broke free and began to drift. “You should have let me know you’d be in town. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “I had to come. You have my dog, and I’m going to need him.”

  Max’s heart fell. “You’ve come for Baxter?”

  “Sort of,” she said cheerfully. She slipped her hand into his and pulled him until he had to walk beside her. “Hey, remember that singer we heard at the Yard Bar?”

  “What?”

  “She had such a pretty voice and her music was so haunting.”

  “I mean . . . yes, but—”

  “Well, she has a horrible online presence. I’m talking caveman level social media.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I couldn’t get her out of my mind! I mean, can you imagine having that kind of talent and no one knowing about it? Her name is Suzanna Harper, by the way. Anyway, I called her up and told her that her publicity sucks, and at first, she was not appreciative of my frank assessment, but after we talked, she agreed that she could use some help. So I’m here. Helping her.”

  “Wait, are you—”

  “And Deja Brew,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Have you heard of them? They are opening six new stores in Austin with a flagship on Congress, and they put out a request for bids for a publicity campaign because they know they are going to need help to compete with Starbucks, right? Well, they thought my ideas were great, which they totally are, and I told them, the great thing about me, is that I never give up. I told them what Megan Monroe says, that if you want something, you need to ask for it, and I was asking for it, and they were, like, yeah, no, you’re pretty annoying in this—I’m paraphrasing of course—and I was, like, right, so think how effective I would be getting the word out. Oh! I almost forgot! I’m even doing some work for Victor. I’m doing all of his social media. He’s sworn it off. Finally, oh my God.”

  Max stopped walking and made her look at him. “What’s going on? What are you telling me?”

  “That I have two new clients!” she said happily. “The pay is not great—actually, it’s pretty awful, so I will not be able to drape you in diamonds. But for now, it’s enough to get by.”

  Max became aware of a reverberation around him. It was the sound of his heart, thrumming away in his ears. “You may move back to Austin?”

  She laughed. “Am moving back to Austin. Just as soon as you help me get out of New York. Will you help me? I’m going to live in my dad’s house for a couple of months while he gets it ready to put it on the market. Because, you know . . . he’s living with Mom. Oh! And I should definitely stress that I will be completely broke for a few weeks because I figure it’s going to cost me everything I
have left in the bank to break my lease if I can’t sublet it. And, trust me, it is going to be tough to sublet because, man, is it a tiny little hellhole. There is not enough Megan Monroe in the world to get me to see that place as having any potential.”

  All the things Max thought he’d lost were cropping up like rain lilies all around him. Little rain lily possibilities—he and Carly, their dogs. Their lives. “What about your job? It was the one you wanted.”

  “Funny, it turns out that I didn’t want it. I mean, Ramona will never speak to me again, but I figured out that what I like is solving problems. I don’t like sitting at a desk. And between you and me, living in Jersey was not what it was cracked up to be. Plus, I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Too crowded?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t breathe because I didn’t have you, Max. Have you ever felt that way? Like something is weighing on you and you aren’t sure what, you only know that you can’t breathe? I can’t breathe without you.”

  Baxter barked to gain her attention.

  “I know! I’m coming home for you, too, you lucky dog. Look at you, living here with treats and Hazel and mac and cheese!”

  Max was stunned. After all the hours he’d spent thinking about her, wishing for her, and here she was, appearing out of thin air to save him from himself.

  She squeezed his hand, brought it to her mouth, and kissed his knuckles. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And maybe you’ve finally moved on, and maybe there is a new Carly coming over later. But if there is, I am ready to fight her for you. Except that I’m not a fighter, so it will be ugly, and I’ll probably hurt myself, but, Max, you are the best thing. You are. You are worth fighting for, and I have missed you so much. And if there isn’t another Carly, I am here to tell you that I love you, and I’ve loved you from the moment you got me out of that skirt. And I am never going to love anyone like I love you, so if you still love me, I thought—”

  “There is no other Carly. There could never be another Carly—are you crazy?”

  “Are you sure? Because—”

  “Carly. Stop talking,” he said, and grabbed her up and kissed her. He kissed her with all the despair and desire and the longing he’d felt in the several months, wishing for something he thought could never be. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve been wrecked since you left. But . . . but I don’t want you to give up what you’ve worked for.”

  “But that’s the best part, Max—I’m not giving up anything. There is more than one way to achieve what I want, and, trust me, I’ve worked just as hard for this, because this is what I want. So do you think . . .”

  “Yes,” he said instantly. “I need you here. I love you.”

  “And it’s not like a histamine thing?”

  He laughed. He took her head in his hands. “There is no scientific explanation for how much I love you and I don’t care. I don’t even want to know. I’ve missed you madly, Carly, you have no idea.” He kissed her again and kept kissing her until one of the dogs tried to crawl in between them and the other barked at someone passing by.

  “We’re causing a scene,” Carly muttered.

  “Don’t care. But, yeah, maybe the house would be a better place for you to tell me why I am just finding out about this.” He wrapped an arm tightly around Carly and took her home.

  * * *

  Later, when he and Carly had exhausted everything they wanted to say, and had reconnected in his bed in a way that he would be corny enough to describe as transcendental, he would feel his happiness mushrooming in him, and his relief and his anticipation, and he would muse that Baxter was indeed a lucky dog—but for Max. He was the luckiest charm Max had ever come across, because he had brought Carly into his life.

  He would be forever grateful to Baxter and a pothead named Brant.

  Epilogue

  It was an early spring day when Suzanna Harper played in the expansive backyard garden of the brand-new Deja Brew Coffeehouse on South Congress Avenue. Carly, Max, and Jamie and Duke were guests of honor, as Carly had arranged the event for her new client, Suzanna Harper.

  In the window of the Deja Brew was a fancy, artistic poster proclaiming Suzanna Harper would be playing by special engagement. The fine print informed guests that she had also secured a spot in the annual South by Southwest Music Festival, and a list of dates for her appearances at the festival. Suzanna had a new website, too, done for a song by one of Max’s undergraduates looking for extra money.

  In the window on the other side of the door was a smaller poster:

  KING MUTT!

  COMING IN JUNE

  VOTE WITH YOUR DOLLARS FOR YOUR FAVORITE DOG

  AT ALL PARTICIPATING LOCATIONS!

  ALL PROCEEDS WILL GO TO BENEFIT THE

  AUSTIN CANINE COALITION

  KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD!

  Carly’s other new client, the Deja Brew coffeehouses, had agreed to participate in the annual fundraiser. “Nothing will get people in the door faster than a cute baby or a dog,” she’d said confidently.

  Carly and Max and Jamie and Duke made their way through the coffee shop, pausing to admire Jamie’s three paintings hung on the walls, all for purchase. Originally, there had been four. One had sold for enough that Jamie was able to buy a state-of-the-art doghouse for Duke. Jamie was Carly’s newest client. He didn’t pay her anything, and sometimes, she didn’t know if he understood his work was selling. He just wanted to paint.

  “Isn’t it cool, Jamie?” Carly asked. “People love your work.”

  “Busy work for busy hands,” Jamie said.

  In the back garden, beneath glittering bulbs and Chinese lanterns that hung from the live oaks, Suzanna was already on stage, tuning her guitar. The place was packed because, Carly whispered to Max, “of excellent publicity.”

  He squeezed her hand.

  They chose a table in the back so that Jamie and Duke were not in the middle of all the people going in and out of the shop.

  Mia and Will were to join them, and as they watched the door for them, a man stepped out. He had a rotund figure and wore a thick black sweater over a white T-shirt and tiny wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Wow, I feel like I know him,” Carly said. “He looks so familiar.” She studied him a moment as he picked his way through the crowd, then gasped. She turned to Max. “I’ve got it!”

  “The Penguin,” Max said.

  Carly laughed, and they high-fived each other. They hadn’t missed a Batman reference yet.

  Carly was crazy happy in her new life—crazy, crazy happy.

  She and Max were in love, and that’s all she needed to know. They had not talked about the future, not yet—neither of them were ready to do anything that would necessitate parental involvement, like a wedding. That was definitely going to require some finessing. But it didn’t matter right now. They knew where they were going, and it was into the future together.

  “There they are,” Max said.

  The kids were out first, the three of them running into the garden setting as if they lived there. Millie pulled up to one table and stared at the grown-ups. That table thought the little girl was cute. For the moment.

  “Too much noise,” Jamie said as Finn and Bo raced toward them.

  Duke pressed his head against Jamie’s thigh and licked his hand. Jamie looked down, put his hand on Duke’s head. “Too much noise,” he said again, but he didn’t seem overly agitated.

  “You brought the kids?” Carly asked as Mia waddled over in her eighth month of pregnancy and fell into a chair. Will and Max greeted each other, and Will said hello to Jamie and told Finn to stop staring at him.

  “Was I supposed to abandon them?” Mia snapped.

  “Not abandon them, but maybe a sitter? Where is your nanny?”

  “Quit! Got a job in West Lake Hills. Those people pay some bucks, Carly. I’m so glad you’re back. I�
��m going to need all the help I can get. Millie! Millie, come here!” she hissed loudly.

  “Thanks everyone for coming,” Suzanna said into her mic. She strummed her guitar. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? This first song is one I wrote for all the lovers out there. You know who you are.” She started to play.

  Carly glanced at Max. He smiled at her. He put his arm around her and drew her into his side as Mia admonished Millie for running off and Jamie muttered under his breath and Will pretended not to hear the fight that had broken out between his sons. “Well, this has disaster written all over it. Any regrets?” he whispered.

  She didn’t know if he was asking about this outing in particular or life in general. But she had not a single regret about anything. Certainly not about leaving New York. She loved what she was doing now. And just as Megan Monroe had promised, when one door closed, you pulled on your big girl panties and walked through the next open door.

  Carly looked forward to each day, and amazingly, it just got better and better.

  She was one lucky dog.

  Acknowledgments

  I’ve written several books now, and sometimes I forget to say out loud how thankful I am to all the people who bring my books into the world. My part is the easy part—I tell myself a story and write it down. Getting it into your hands takes an army with skills I could never possess. That army has my undying gratitude, even if I haven’t said it. Let me say it now:

  First and foremost, I have to thank my agent, Jenny Bent. We’ve been together a long time and she is still my biggest cheerleader, sounding board, and reality check. I adore her. To Kate Seaver, who brought me to Berkley Publishing, and who has a very keen editorial eye. Plus, she’s so bloody charming that you realize you’ve done a big dose of revisions and forgot to get mad about it. Thanks to Mary, Brittanie, and Jessica, and probably a host of others whose names I don’t know, who make sure my books get to production and then get noticed in this crazy, noisy world. It’s a superhuman feat. To whoever designed this cover, you are a genius and I love you. Thanks to my copy editor, the nameless, faceless person who pulls at all the loose threads until the manuscript is spic and span.