Page 42 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

As we drive home, Lucky snoozing contentedly in the backseat, Sean reaches across the console to take my hand, entwining our fingers together.

"I was thinking," he says casually, though there's a slight tension in his voice that catches my attention, "maybe it's time we discussed making this arrangement more... permanent."

My heart skips a beat. "What kind of arrangement are we talking about, exactly?"

"The living arrangement," he clarifies, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You're at my place five nights a week already. It would be more efficient if you just... stayed."

"Efficient," I repeat, biting back a smile. "How romantic."

He glances over, a hint of uncertainty in his expression. "Is that a no?"

"It's a 'you can do better than 'efficient', Ferguson,'" I say, squeezing his hand.

He sighs, but there's amusement there. "Fine. Jessica Wright, would you consider moving in with me, not because it's efficient, but because I love having you in my space and in my life, and I want to wake up beside you every morning?"

"Now that," I say, warmth blooming in my chest, "is much better. And yes, I would consider it. In fact, I'm considering it very favorably. ”

And as we drive home, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, I realize it's true. I love all of it, his need for structure, his attention to detail, even his color-coded spreadsheets. Because they're part of him, and somehow, against all odds, Sean Ferguson has become an essential part of me.

Lucky stirs in the backseat, lifting his head to look between us with what I swear is canine satisfaction. He's brought us together, this golden bundle of chaos, and now he's witnessing the beginning of our next chapter.

I catch Sean's eye, finding my own happiness reflected there, and think: Lucky indeed.

EPILOGUE

Six months later

"Clover, no!" I lunge for the half-chewed throw pillow, but our newest family member, a three-month-old golden retriever puppy with more energy than sense, has already darted away, trailing stuffing behind her.

Lucky, now a dignified eighteen-month-old, watches from his bed with what I swear is judgmental disdain.

Puppies, his expression seems to say.So uncivilized.

"A little help here?" I call to Sean, who's in the kitchen preparing our lunch for today's outing.

He appears in the doorway, dish towel in hand, and immediately assesses the situation. "Clover, come," he commands, voice firm but not harsh.

To my eternal frustration, the puppy immediately drops the pillow and trots over to Sean, tail wagging like she hasn't just committed textile murder.

"Traitor," I mutter as Sean scoops her up.

"She's not a traitor," he corrects, hiding a smile. "She's just recognizing the alpha in the household… she, like another girl, loves her Daddy."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Careful, Ferguson. Remember who trained the alpha."

His laugh is warm and low, the sound still sending little thrills through me even after months of living together. "How could I forget?" He deposits Clover in my arms. "Here, you take the delinquent. I'll finish packing lunch."

I nuzzle the puppy's soft fur, unable to stay annoyed at her puppy antics. "You're lucky you're cute," I inform her. She responds by licking my chin enthusiastically. She might be my hardest case to date.

We hadn't planned on getting a second dog so soon. But one of my clients had a litter of golden retriever puppies, and the moment I saw them, I knew one was coming home with us. It took surprisingly little convincing to get Sean on board, just one look at those tiny balls of fluff, and Mr. Structure and Order was putty in my hands.

"She's like Lucky's little sister," I'd argued, though we both knew I was already sold. "Think how happy they'll make each other."

And they do, mostly. Lucky has taken his role as big brother seriously, teaching Clover the house rules with gentle nudges and occasional warning growls when she gets too rambunctious. Sean jokes that Lucky is the "good cop" to Clover's "chaos agent"—a dynamic that mirrors our own relationship in ways we both find amusing.

"We should leave in ten minutes if we want to be on time," Sean calls from the kitchen.

I check my watch—11:20 AM. Our appointment at Charlotte Children's Hospital is at noon. "We'll be ready," I call back, setting Clover down to gather her training supplies.

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