Page 105 of Long Shot

“M-merry Christmas.” I peer at him over Jack’s head, Jack still wildly licking my face. I draw back to avoid his tongue getting in my mouth. “What’s going on?”

“I have something to tell you. And I brought you your Christmas present. Er, presents.”

My gaze falls to the bag at his feet on the sidewalk, a bright, glossy Christmas bag.

I swallow, staring at him. “Okay.” I have a present for him, too, just a small thing, that I bought a couple of weeks ago, which sadly I accepted I wouldn’t be able to give to him. “Come in.”

He picks up the bag and I rise, shooing Jack into the house. He barks and runs a lap around the living room—up onto the couch, down, around the coffee table, back up onto the couch. He pauses, panting, barks again, then jumps down and does another lap.

“Oh, my God.” I laugh, pressing a hand to my fluttering heart. “He’s happy to be here.”’

“Of course he is. This is his home.”

I turn to him, wide-eyed. “How do you have him? I don’t understand.”

He smiles, his eyes warm as his gaze moves from Jack to me. “I adopted him.”

I gape at him. “You . . . did? How?”

“I called the shelter and told them I wanted to adopt him.”

“It can’t happen that fast. They have to screen people.”

“I made it happen.”

I don’t question him. I fully believed he can make anything happen.

“It’s Christmas,” he adds. “He’s your Christmas present.”

“Oh, my God.” I blink. “You’re giving him to me?”

“If you want him. If you can take him to Los Angeles with you. If you can’t . . . I’ll have him. And maybe . . . you can visit us.”

“Oh, God.” I sniff in a shaky breath and brush my fingers over the corner of my eye. “Oh, Cade.” I press my fingers to my lips. Our eyes meet and a lovely warmth swells around me. “Thank you.”

“I need to tell you some things. It might not change anything, and that’s okay, because I . . . I just want the best for you.”

“D-do you want to sit?” I gesture at the couch.

“Sure.” He sets the gift bag on the coffee table.

Embarrassed, I whisk away the plate and the glass and carry them to the kitchen, then return to sit also. He’s draped his jacket over the arm of the couch. I face him, my insides both hot and shivery, my hands shaking. My heart is going crazy, beating out an erratic rhythm.

Cade’s beautiful, sculpted lips lift at the corners in a slight smile. “First, I want to apologize. Because I wasn’t honest with you.” He clasps his hands loosely together and looks down at them. “When you told me about Superdouche’s job offer, I should have told you how I really felt.”

I nod slowly.

“Part of it was that I didn’t want to hold you back. And that’s the truth.” He meets my eyes. “You’re an amazing, talented chef and you should be working in some big, fancy place in Los Angeles, and probably have your own TV show someday.”

I choke out a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

One corner of his mouth lifts higher. “I want you to be successful and have the career you’ve always wanted.” He reaches for the big gift bag on the table and pulls out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot with a red ribbon tied in a bow around the neck. “This is another part of your present. Because a job offer like the one you got is something to be celebrated. It’s a testament to how good you are at what you do. I feel like shit that I didn’t even congratulate you about it.”

My bottom lip quivers as I stare at the champagne. “Oh, God. Th-thank you.”

“But . . .” He pauses. “In all honesty . . . I don’t want you to go.”

My breath catches in my throat.

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