Page 55 of One More Kiss

A weathered, cracked board with Old Mist Falls painted in white came into view over the top of the hill.

“Woof! Woof!” Tucker barked as he twitched in his seat.

“What’s that boy, you want an ice cream?”

“Woof!” Tucker barked deep this time.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s do it.”

Old Mist Falls General store came into view, a dusty, red building with a sagging roof line that had been a part of the town since as far back as 1837.

A “Dogs Welcome” sign hung cockeyed from a kinked wire draped over a rusty nail on the door partially covering the open sign.

Thick plank floors rough with age and centuries of foot traffic creaked with every step.

Tucker stayed pressed to his side as they made their way to the back where a postage stamp sized kitchen had been opened up with a tall counter and a few round tables scattered about.

The teenage girl working there smiled, her ponytail swinging behind her. “What can I get for you?”

“I’d like a mocha brownie in a waffle cone. And this guy right here,” he said dropping his hand to Tucker’s head, “He’d like a vanilla in a waffle cone with sprinkles.”

She leaned up on the counter and peered over the edge. “Well, aren’t you just a handsome devil?”

“Woof!”

“Wow, and it’s like he understands me too,” she said.

“He’s a shameless flirt who runs on compliments and belly scratches.” Or he did. No amount of belly scratches could fix the arthritis that had been taking over his body.

Like a punch in the teeth it hit him. This would be the last time he ever walked Tucker into this store for an ice cream. They’d be forced to decide next week, and he already knew what it was.

They’d already agreed before they’d broken up, the first time the vet had talked to them about Tucker’s condition. They wouldn’t let him suffer.

Being humane to the furry friend they both loved so much was the one subject they didn’t argue about.

A new ache formed in his heart to take residence next to the one already churning there.

He swallowed, forced a smile down at Tucker, and carried their treats out the door.

Tucker, usually astute when it came to the mood of his humans, hopped around on surprisingly agile feet waiting as patiently as possible for Jack to get settled on the wooden bench at the far end of the wooden porch out front.

His rapt attention on the glistening vanilla before him obliterated all else so Jack put his feelings away, something he’d had to do countless times over the past few years, and held out the treat for his main man.

Tucker licked away at the hard scoop. As it softened, the splatters of ice cream coated his muzzle and he started to take small nips.

Before long he crunched through the cone, dragging the last bit out of Jack’s hand and dropping to his belly. In seconds the treat vanished and Tucker lay there, licking the wood porch getting every bit he could.

Jack slid his pack off his back and took out a small plastic bowl and a bottle of water. Tucker began lapping away as Jack poured.

Drinking his fill, he sighed and rested his head on his paws while Jack finished his cone.

Jack looked him over as his eyes drifted shut, noting the gray around his muzzle he’d swear wasn’t there the day before. When had Tucker gotten old? In Jack’s mind, Tucker was not much older than a pup, frozen at about the age of three.

When he met Meg.

The years had changed things. It was a thief taking a piece at a time with every sunset.

And Jack had been so busy with work, fighting with Meg, with avoiding the truth of his crumbling marriage, that it had all flown by making him wish he could go back and do it all again.

This time, he’d do it better.

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