The Dream Guy Next Door: A Guys Who Got Away Novel

by Lauren Blakely

  That day at IKEA, he asked if I wanted to settle down. I said I was still working up the nerve to adopt a cat.

  He asked if my life was Wednesday and me against the world.

  I said yes, and I liked it that way. I can focus on my business, on my kid. I don’t have to worry about a man.

  On the porch swing, he asked what were the chances of meeting someone who wants the same things you do.

  I said small, and we toasted to the limited odds of it happening.

  But we never really acknowledged that it could be us, that we could want the same thing at the same time.

  I don’t know if he wants what I want, but I know this—I haven’t told him that nearly everything I said to him that day at IKEA has changed.

  I no longer want to be me against the world.

  I no longer want to never settle down.

  I no longer want to avoid love.

  And I haven’t told him, either, that this—us—does feel like the right place at the right time, and with the right person too.

  Maybe I’ve been seeing everything the wrong way.

  Maybe wanting the same things isn’t about more kids.

  Maybe it’s about commitment. About being a family.

  In a burst of clarity, I wonder if I’ve been wrong about what he wants all along.

  If I’ve been guessing.

  And if maybe what he wants is precisely the thing that I can give him.

  A promise that I could be his person.

  28

  Liam

  Ethan wakes me up early on Saturday, like it’s Christmas morning.

  He tugs my shirt. “Can we go now?”

  Yawning, I flip onto my side. “Give a man a Saturday morning lie-in, would you?”

  “You’re zero fun.”

  “That is true.”

  But a cup of English breakfast, a shower, and a shave later, we’re at the animal shelter.

  He’s bouncing, brimming with more energy than I’ve ever seen in him. He checks out nearly every dog. A beagle named Roxy, a golden retriever mix named Gecko, and some kind of white fluffy mutt named Button.

  At the end of the next row of kennels, he stops cold, and in a hushed whisper, he says, “Look!”

  I follow his gesture to see a min pin dachshund at the back of a cage, cowering in the corner, shaking.

  Ethan runs to her. I follow. He beckons me to come even closer, pointing at the brown-and-tan dog with the bat ears and big eyes. “Oh, Dad, look at her. She’s so cute and so scared.”

  “She’s absolutely adorable.”

  He stares at her a little longer, then turns to me. “Can we get her?”

  I blink, surprised. “She doesn’t seem like the type of dog you’d want. She’s not a border collie mix or a shepherd mix like Katrina. I thought that was what you wanted?”

  He shakes his head adamantly, pointing to the pooch in the corner, all ten pounds of her by the looks of it. “I want that dog,” he says, and it’s the most earnest, honest thing anyone has ever said in the history of the world.

  He sweeps his gaze back to me, his eyes big and blue and vulnerable. “She’s just sitting in the corner, and she’s shaking, and she looks sad. Just look at her.”

  She does look sad. She also looks like she needs a home. I take a look at the index card describing her. She’s two and a half.

  The woman who runs the rescue walks by, dreadlocks in her hair. She stops and flashes us a warm smile, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “I see you’ve met Ruby. She’s a sweetheart. She’s an owner surrender. Just came in the other day.”

  Owner surrenders can mean a number of things, from someone who was evicted to someone who didn’t want the dog anymore, from sickness to behavior problems. “Is there any particular reason she was a surrender?”

  The woman’s expression shifts into a sad smile. “The man who had her went into hospice, so we took his dog.”

  My heart winces like someone has just tightened it with a rope, knotting it into the smallest shape possible.

  “Dad. Can we give her a home?”

  I look at the dog again—this sweet, sad animal who no longer has a person, who probably wants a person more than anything, who wants love and a home.

  Isn’t that all anyone wants?

  That’s what I’ve given my son.

  That’s why he’s thrived, why he’s happy.

  And why I am too.

  Just like that, the glass fills up.

  There is no longer a rope around my heart. Everything in it makes sense.

  My eyes well with a sheen of tears. One slides down my cheek. Ethan must notice because he grabs my hand, squeezes it, and sets his head against my side. I wipe away the rebel tear.

  The woman says in a soft voice, “He was very good to her. He loved her very much.”

  That doesn’t do anything to help with the leaking eyeballs. I try to hold back the onslaught of emotions as I think about my son’s mother and how much she must have loved Ethan for him to come to me so full of love already.

  Instead of tightening, my heart grows bigger. It swells like it needs more room, like it needs to run across the room, fling open the window, and let in more sunlight.

  Ethan pleads one more time. “Can we get her, please? She needs us.”

  One more peek at the sweet, scared little min pin dachshund, and I am certain his words are the only ones that matter. “She does need us.”

  The woman steps into the kennel, picks up the nervous dog, and carries her to us as we sit on a bench.

  She hands the dog to Ethan. He wraps his arms around her. Ruby’s still trembling, but she gazes up at him like she’s found her home.

  She licks his face . . .

  And a boy falls in love with a dog.

  He laughs and nuzzles her, then whispers in her big, floppy ear, “I think you were happy before. I think you had steak and played with Frisbees, and you went for swims and you took long walks and you panted when it was hot out and you smiled when you were happy and you slept under the covers.”

  Yes, the windows are open.

  The doors too.

  Because now I know what January was trying to tell me.

  What I wanted to believe but didn’t quite know how.

  You can write your own narrative. You can tell your own story.

  I squeeze his shoulder, emotions flooding me, clogging my throat. “She sounds a lot like you before we met.”

  “That’s why she’s our dog. Right?”

  I haul him and Ruby in for a huge hug, boy and dog. “She’s our dog, and you’re my son.”

  We go home with Ruby, and along the way, Ethan changes her name to Steve Trout.

  It’s the worst possible name for so many reasons, but I don’t care. Once we’re home, we go through the garage so he can hunt for a Frisbee.

  “I’m going to teach her how to catch it,” he says.

  “I can’t wait to see her new skills.”

  But when I pop onto the front porch to check the mail, I’m a bit distracted. I find a Pyrex dish by the door.

  It’s full of pink cupcakes. There’s a note on top. With eager fingers and a wildly beating heart, I reach for the note then unfold it.

  I am a forensic scientist. I am a crime scene investigator. And this handwriting is the only one I want to see.

  It’s the handwriting of the woman I want to be my person.

  * * *

  I made these for you, and I have something to tell you.

  I. Love. You.

  I want to talk to you, and I have things to say to you, and I want to say them before I lose you, because I don’t want to lose you. And I will do just about anything to keep you.

  * * *

  I pop into the backyard and tell Ethan to keep an eye on Steve Trout, but he doesn’t even need me to tell him, since he has yet to take his eyes off her.

  With long, determined strides, I make my way across the yard, and I knock on January’s door.

 
29

  Liam

  She looks gorgeous.

  No surprise.

  She looks hopeful too, but nervous.

  She looks like I feel.

  “Hi,” she says, sounding wobbly.

  “I want to talk to you,” I blurt out.

  Words tumble from her. “Did you get the cupcakes? My note?”

  “Yes, and I loved it. All of it,” I say, and her lips relax into a gorgeous smile. “And I have so much to say too, starting with . . . I got a dog.”

  She clasps her hand to her mouth, excitement lighting up those gorgeous blue eyes. “Tell me all about the dog.”

  “That’s the thing. I want to tell you about the dog. I want to tell you a million things, but I want to tell you something first. And it’s this—I did it all wrong when I told you I was falling in love with you.” I smack my forehead. “Who the hell says, ‘I’m falling in love with you,’ and then breaks it off?”

  She laughs lightly.

  “I’m a daft idiot,” I say.

  “No, you’re not.”

  I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it. “I am in love with you. I love you. I want to be with you.”

  Her eyes go wide, and then tears start to fall from them. “I love you too, and I want that too, but, Liam, I have to tell you something.”

  “Tell me.” But I know that whatever it is, it’ll be fine.

  Because I know what I want.

  And it’s her.

  I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s offering.

  Still, a gentleman should listen.

  She takes a deep breath. “I know you want more kids, and I’ve thought about that a lot, and whether I want them. I want to tell you that if it’s important to you, we can talk more about it, but I’m not sure my feelings about more children will change. But that’s the only thing I’m not sure about. I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’ve never been in love, and then you came into my life, and I am wildly in love. I love you,” she says.

  And my heart does that thing again. It fills. It floods. It expands.

  “I love you so much,” I tell her. It feels so good to say that.

  January isn’t done though. “I’m so afraid that the way I feel won’t be enough for you. But I’m going to tell you anyway. You’re the one.” She grabs my shirt like she needs to be close to me. And I want her close. “I don’t want to be just a woman against the world. I want it to be you and me against the world—you, me, and Wednesday and Ethan. I don’t know if that’s what you want, and it’s scary and crazy to put myself out there, but as I look back on the last month, I think I’ve given you the impression that I don’t want any of that.”

  Her words come in a rush of emotions that I want to cup in my hand, to hold, to keep safe. “But now it’s all I want. You’re all I want. Is that enough for you? If we don’t have more children? Is it enough if it’s you and me and us, and the dog?”

  I laugh, grab her, and wrap her in my arms. “Yes. That’s what I want. And I’m stupid for not having realized it before. I’m incredibly foolish for missing it.”

  I pull back, and she looks up at me, her expression lovely and vulnerable. “Are you sure? How can you say that?”

  I run a hand along her hair. “You are enough for me. You’re so much more than enough for me. It took me adopting this dog to realize that I was looking at everything the wrong way. I thought I needed to have more children. I thought about how I missed seven years of my son’s life, and if I had another kid, I wouldn’t miss a moment. But then you said something to me.” I pause for a breath as the memory rushes back—one that was never far from the surface. “You said to write our own narrative. And that didn’t fully resonate until today when we got this dog, and I realized that writing her story was all we could do, and we did, and it’s a great story. And everything became clear.”

  She grins, like she’s wildly happy too. “What became clear?”

  “What I wanted was not to have missed the first seven years of Ethan's life, but that can’t change, and having another kid won’t make up for it. But I don’t need to make up for it. I have to let it go, and I did. All I want to do is live my life with him and with you and your daughter, and I want to write our story together.”

  “Me too,” she says, her soft words hooking into my heart.

  I take her hands, holding them tight. “That’s all I want now. I want to love my son, and I want to love this amazing woman in front of me, and I want to love this dog we just adopted. I have so much love inside me, and I want to give it to all of you, and honestly, I’d love to give it to your daughter if she’ll let me.”

  “You would? Really?” Her voice trembles like she can’t believe I’m truly saying this.

  But I am, and I mean every word.

  “I am perfectly good with this. With the family we already have. All I want is not to miss a second of what comes our way. I don’t want to miss a minute of what we will have together. Because I know we can have an amazing life. And I know we can have an amazing family. You and me and Ethan and Wednesday and Steve Trout and Ripley.”

  She arches a brow in a question. “Steve Trout?”

  I wave my hand. “He named the dog Steve Trout. It’s a girl. None of it makes any sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. He named the dog after someone he likes.”

  “Like you’re going to do with Ripley. When you’re ready, say the word. You will have free vet care for life, even at-home service. I am a cat whisperer, you know. Saul is living proof of that.”

  She laughs. “That’s a really good promise.”

  “See? That’s what I want. I want to promise you things and deliver on them. I want to promise you my heart and give it to you. I don’t want anything more than what I’m already hoping we can have together. Do you want that?”

  And I wait for her answer, wildly hoping that it’s going to match what I learned today.

  She lifts her hands to my face. “I love you, Liam. I want to be with you. I want to be the person that you came here and found. And I think we could have a great family together with the family we already have. And I want to put my heart on the line for you. So yes, I want that.”

  I draw her against me, looking around at everything that we have, a wonderful embarrassment of riches. “This is all I could ever want.”

  I kiss her. On the scale of kisses, it’s right there at the top. It’s long and soft and slow. It’s passionate and sensual and full of love.

  When we break apart, she gasps.

  The excited kind of gasp, not the sexy kind.

  “What is it?”

  “Wednesday wants to get a cat. Let’s make it a double today. Want to go find Ripley?”

  I grin, and it takes over my whole being. “The four of us?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

  “Such cheek,” I say, shaking my head.

  She grabs my hand, slides it around to her ass, and whispers, “You love my cheeks.”

  Cracking up, I answer, “So very much.”

  Later that day, the five of us squeeze into her truck—Steve Trout on Ethan’s lap, an inseparable pair already—return to the same shelter, and find an adorable black-and-white tuxedo cat.

  January strokes the cat’s chin and says, “You’re Ripley.”

  I look at the cutie and say, “Looks more like a Five O’clock.”

  Ethan suggests Dolphin.

  Wednesday shakes her head. “You’re all wrong. She’s The Hacker.”

  It’s a perfect name. And I think I might have a life that’s pretty damn close to perfect too.

  30

  January

  What’s better than realizing the guy next door is the love of your life?

  What’s better than him feeling the same way about you?

  One thing. One thing only.

  Sex with that guy that night.

  I sneak over, because it’s fun to sneak over.

  After opening the door slowly and ever so qui
etly, he tugs me inside, then brings his finger to his lips.

  Is Ethan awake? I mouth, surprised at the secrecy routine, since his kid is the king of sleeping like a log.

  “Steve Trout does not sleep as soundly as Ethan.”

  “Ah,” I whisper, nodding, and we both tiptoe across the living room to Liam’s bedroom. He shuts the door and jerks me against him.

  He’s not soft and gentle.

  He’s ravenous and demanding. His hands rope into my hair, and he tugs hard on my strands, dropping his fantastic lips to my neck. Kissing me greedily. Kissing me like he’s starving. In seconds, his lips are on my mouth, and he devours me.

  I am liquid in his arms.

  Bliss flows through me.

  Desire surges over my skin, drowns my bones, my cells.

  My hands travel up his chest, grabbing at him just as he grabs at me. And soon, we are two frenzied, fevered creatures.

  Driven mad with longing.

  With lust.

  And now, with love.

  He lifts me up, hooks my legs around his waist, and carries me to the bed. “It’s been too long.”

  “I know. It was a miserable week. I climbed the walls,” I whisper as I tear at his T-shirt, jerking it over his head.

  “That should never happen again,” he says, stripping me in seconds flat.

  “Yes. Don’t ever do that again,” I say, shuddering as his hands roam down my naked body, gliding over my breasts, my belly, my thighs.

  He steps back, undoes his jeans, then returns to me, parting my legs.

  “You have my word. I will always be here to fuck you,” he growls as he moves between my thighs, settling there, then notching the head of his cock against me.

  I arch up, eager, hungry. My hand darts out, grabbing his length, guiding him home.

  “So greedy.”

  “I know what I want,” I say.

  “You do, and I love that about you,” he says, sliding into me, then groaning as he fills me.