Page 69 of Click of Fate

I’m still watching her, how she absentmindedly scratches behind the puppy’s ear, her other hand trailing along the cart handle, when she catches me.

“What?” she says, eyes narrowing, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

“Nothing,” I say, too fast.

“You’re looking at me like I adopted you.”

I grin. “You do kind of have that effect on strays.”

She laughs, but the color rises in her cheeks, and she doesn’t look away.

We leave with a bag of food, food and water dishes, a cage, more toys than one pup needs, a bone, a bed that Stella insists she won’t be the one fluffing, and a puppy who’s still asleep in my arms like she already knows she hit the jackpot.

When we walk through the front door, Harper’s in the kitchen, elbow-deep in what looks like some sort of cake mix, and Lilly is at the table with markers scattered across every inch of the space.

“Hey,” Stella calls casually, but there’s a little edge in her voice. The kind that says she’s either excited… or terrified.

Harper looks up and freezes. “What’s that in your arms?”

Lilly twists around. Her jaw drops. “PUPPY?!”

I lower the squirming pup to the floor just as she wakes up and stretches her front paws like a sleepy cartoon character. Then she lets out a tiny yawn that’s more squeak than bark.

Stella crouches beside her. “Lilly, this is your puppy.”

Lilly gasps so hard she hiccups. “Mine? Like mine, mine?”

“Yours,” Stella says, laughing. “She needs a name, a bed, and someone who’s not afraid of a little puppy pee.”

Lilly is already on the floor, hugging the puppy gently while she babbles a string of name suggestions.

“Wiggles! No—Cookie! Or maybe Maple! Or… Sunflower! We’re learning about plants in school, and we’re supposed to pick one that represents growth and change and?—”

“Maple’s got potential,” Harper says, grinning as she walks over to crouch beside them.

“Take her out back!” Stella says. “Let her get used to the yard.”

Lilly’s already scooping the pup up awkwardly—like she’s both precious cargo and the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.

“I’ll unload the truck,” I say, slipping past the squeals of puppy delight and heading back out with the rest of the gear.

As I drop the new crate and a stack of supplies in the entryway, I pause.

There’s laughter coming from the yard, the kind that makes you stop mid-step because it’s too pure to ignore. Lilly’s giggling, shouting something about “petal paws,” and Stella’s voice floats in behind it, soft and amused. Harper chimes in with one of those mom laughs, half-proud, half-exasperated.

I take a second, just standing there. This isn't my house. It’s not my family. But it doesn’t feel like I’m intruding.

It feels… good.

Comfortable in a way I didn’t realize I missed.

And damn if I don’t love this version of Stella—loose, barefoot in the grass, half-heartedly trying to stop Lilly from feeding the dog a cracker.

I head out back, stepping into that bubble for a moment, and set the crate down near the patio. No one notices me right away. That’s fine. I’m happy just being here. Watching.

But Stella lingers.

The leash is still in her hand, loose but present, like she’s not sure if she’s leading the dog… or if the dog’s already got a grip on her.

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