DAKOTA

He reached out, his long finger pointing to a picture on the page—a grainy shot of seven-year-old me hugging a scruffy, golden puppy.

"You looked so adorable there," he whispered, his voice dangerously close to my ear. "Look at those pigtails. You were so tiny."

I let out a shaky chuckle, trying to regain my composure. "I remember that summer. Tiffany and I had gone out to get groceries at that little market on Main, and we found her behind the dumpsters. I begged Tiff for two hours to let me keep her."

Conrad chuckled, and the sound was so deep and rich it felt like it vibrated through...