JJ sits on the porch steps, fidgeting with the tiny velvet box in his hand. He flips it open, stares at the ring inside. Simple, golden, chosen because you once said, “I don’t need a big diamond. Just something that feels like us.”
Waffles trots out of the house, tail wagging like a weapon of mass destruction.
JJ doesn’t notice.
“Okay,” he mutters, rehearsing, “so I’ll say something like… you’re the only home I’ve ever known, and—OW—WAFFLES—”
Waffles tackles him. Full-force dog-pile. JJ crashes onto his back with a grunt.
The box goes flying.
“NO NO NO NO—”
Waffles’ ears perk up. He snatches the box mid-air like it’s a tennis ball and bolts across the yard.
“WAFFLES, NO! That’s not a snack, you chaos goblin!”
JJ scrambles up, sprinting barefoot across the grass. The box is now in Waffles’ slobbery jaws as the dog joyfully does zoomies in celebration of his newfound chew toy.
Pope and Kiara pull up just in time to see JJ chase a dog in frantic circles, screaming, “DROP IT. BAD DOG. I WILL PUT YOU IN THERAPY.”
Pope squints. “Is that…?”
Kiara gasps. “Oh my god. Is that the ring?!”
JJ skids to a stop in front of them, panting, hair wild. “I was gonna propose! Today! Right now! But the furry little bastard went full grand theft auto!”