You didn’t expect to fall in love twice that day.

Once was a given—JJ Maybank had that effect on you without even trying. The other came in the form of a squirmy, floppy-eared puppy with a black spot on her nose and more personality than should fit in something that small.

“Look at her!” JJ said, eyes wide as he cradled the tiny thing against his chest. His messy blond hair flopped as he looked down at her, dimples cutting into his cheeks when she gave the softest, squeakiest yawn you’d ever heard. “She’s literally got your eyes. This is fate.”

“You mean my puppy dog eyes when I beg for Chick-fil-A?” you teased, inching closer, heart already spiraling.

JJ nodded seriously. “Exactly. You both know how to get what you want.”

The animal shelter was supposed to be a quick stop. A drive-by kind of plan, where you’d “just look.” But JJ had seen her the second you walked in—a little pup in the corner cage with big eyes, a waggy tail, and a bark that sounded like someone had just tickled her soul.

“She’s coming home with us,” he declared instantly, holding her like she was something fragile and made of gold.

“JJ, we don’t even have a food bowl.”

He looked at you like you had just spoken in another language. “So? We’ll get one. We’ll get ten. We’ll get her a tiny sweater and a bed that costs more than mine.”

You laughed, but deep down, the thought settled soft and warm in your chest. A little chaos. A little family. A little something that looked like forever.

—

Later that night, the three of you were curled up on the couch. JJ’s head was on your shoulder, his arms wrapped loosely around you both, the puppy—newly named Pickles after a ten-minute debate that involved a coin toss, three vetoes, and JJ yelling “SHE LOOKS LIKE A PICKLES”—was tucked into his hoodie, dead asleep.

“She loves me more than you,” JJ whispered with a smug smile.

“She literally fell asleep on my chest earlier.”

“Yeah, well, she’s sleeping on my heart now,” he said dramatically, squeezing you both. “Which is dangerous because you already own most of it. She’s just renting space.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks pink, but you didn’t argue.

Because it was true.

JJ Maybank, wild and reckless, was finally building a home—with you and the tiny heartbeat curled against him. And maybe it didn’t look like everyone else’s version of perfect, but to you? It was paradise.

And Pickles snored like a chainsaw.