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“Gary!” I shout again, this time louder. “Don’t you want your dinner?”

“Does Gary happen to be a black-and-white spotted dog?” a voice calls out.

I whirl around, my breath catching as my eyes lock with Joshua’s.

It’s one thing to stare at him from a distance.

To admire the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders.

To watch his muscles flex as he works.

It’s another thing entirely to stand a few feet from him.

To look into his dark eyes.

To hear his voice.

It’s nothing like the voice I remember from the boy who once begged me to let him stay up an extra fifteen minutes.

Now it’s deep. Low. A little rough.

“Wynter?”

It takes me a moment to snap out of it. Then I remind myself why I came home.

And it’s not to drool over the next-door neighbor I once babysat, no matter how attractive he’s grown up to be.

“Y-yes,” I finally manage, moving toward the fence. “Have you seen him?”

Joshua’s lips turn up in a slow smile that sends a warm flutter low in my belly. Then he steps to the side, revealing my dog sprawled on his back porch.

“You could say that.”

CHAPTER THREE

JOSHUA

The Christmas lights blink to life one strand at a time as I hang them along the porch railing. I almost didn’t decorate this year. It seems a bit much for just one person. But my mom loved this time of year. Loved seeing the house all lit up for the holidays. Loved decorating the tree. Loved baking cookies.

Even last Christmas, when she could barely summon the strength to get out of bed for more than a few minutes, she dragged herself onto the back porch just to enjoy the lights.

I guess this is my way of keeping her memory alive. If she were still here, she’d never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t decorate the house or put up a tree.

So I’m acting as if this is just another Christmas, and not the first one without my mom.

Wood scrapes against wood, and I look toward the fence as a black-and-white spotted dog noses through a loose board.

“Where did you come from?” I ask, setting the strand down as the dog trots straight toward me like we’ve known each other forever, its tail wagging so hard its entire back end wiggles. “You must belong to someone if you’re this friendly.”

I hold out my hand and let the dog sniff before it leans against my legs without an ounce of hesitation. I take that as a hint and scratch behind its ears, its tail thumping harder.

“Gary!” a voice calls out, and I straighten, looking into the yard next to mine as a tall brunette rushes down the steps of the back deck. I freeze, blinking repeatedly as I stare at Wynter Hayes frantically calling for someone named Gary.

Or I suppose it’s Wynter Patterson now.

When I finished my run earlier and noticed a car in the driveway, I didn’t think anything of it, since Coach Hayes has the football team over every Thursday night.

But then I saw a girl behind the wheel.