It was the early days of October and the heat of August and September was slowly slipping away. The night held the sounds of a dying summer.

I closed the door to my car, the sound like a gunshot. I don’t know why I ended up here, only that I had nowhere else to go.

And that had been what led me to him all those years ago.

I walked up the worn path that cut through the trees. It looped around by a stream that edged the property. I had traversed these woods many times. I knew exactly where the road would lead me.

I heard him before I saw him, my heart speeding up in my chest.

I edged through the trees until I was at the bottom of his yard. I could make him out in the moonlight. I could hear his laughter and it made me smile.

What was he doing?

A huge figure barreled past me and I almost wet myself.

“Come here, Murphy!” I heard Flynn call out and the furry creature trotted up the yard carrying a stick in his mouth.

I stepped out into the open, barely able to believe what was right in front of me. My dog, my Murphy, was running as fast as his gangly doggie legs could carry him toward Flynn, who slapped his thighs, encouraging him to run faster.

Murphy dropped the stick on the ground at Flynn’s feet. Flynn knelt beside the dog I loved and scratched his head, running his fingers through his fur. I could still hear him laughing, even though I couldn’t see his face in the darkness.

I started walking toward them, barely able to breathe. Barely able to contain the tears that prickled behind my eyelids.

As if sensing my presence, Murphy started running back down the hill, towards me. He jumped up, his paws landing on my stomach, just as he had done when I’d let him out of his cage at the shelter.

He toppled me over backwards and I landed with a whoosh on my backside. Murphy’s tongue lapped my cheek, his hot doggie breath filling my nose.

“Good boy,” I crooned, scratching underneath his chin just how I knew he liked it.

“He likes you.” I looked over my shoulder to find Flynn approaching.

I laughed as Murphy nudged my chin with the top of his head. I thought I’d never see him again. I had spent a better part of my day fixated on what had become of him. And here he was, with the one person I knew would love him as much as I did.

“I can’t believe it was you that adopted him,” I said in between breathless giggles.

“What?” Flynn asked, clearly confused.

I got to my feet, Murphy pressed against my legs.

“You got him from the shelter. I volunteer there. I’ve been taking care of Murphy since he was brought in over the summer,” I explained, still in disbelief that my dog was here. Only he wasn’t my dog anymore. He was Flynn’s dog. And that made me incredibly happy.

“Do you want to play with us?” Flynn asked, smiling shyly. His innocent question was all it took to turn my night around.

I had left Dania’s upset and conflicted.

And I had found my way here.

I had found my way home.

I grabbed the ball from Flynn’s hand and tossed into the air before catching it. Murphy wagged his tail and reared up on his hind legs trying to take it from me.

“Go long, Flynn!” I cried, winding back my arm to throw the bed.

“Where am I going?” Flynn asked, jogging backwards.

I chuckled, pointing to a spot on the other side of the yard that was visible in the spotlight shining from the porch.

“Over there! I’m going to toss this to you. Murphy loves this game. When you catch it throw it right back,” I instructed, feeling an almost indescribable joy.

“Okay. I’ll throw it back to you after I catch it,” Flynn confirmed, repeating back to me the directions I had just given him.

“Right. Throw it back after you catch it.” I knew he needed the repetition to ensure he understood. Patience wasn’t my strong suit, yet with Flynn I found that I had it in spades. Anyone else I would have barked my orders and hurled insults if they didn’t get it. Anyone else and I wouldn’t be bothering to play fetch in the dark.

But this wasn’t anyone else.

And experience had established that my usual just didn’t apply with Flynn.

I threw the ball as fast as I could and watched as Murphy bounded after it. Flynn caught it and then fumbled, dropping it to the ground.

“Get it, Flynn! Hurry!” I yelled, laughing as I watched him wrestle with the dog for the ball. But Murphy was tenacious and he was the one walking away victorious. He trotted up the hill and lay down beneath the old apple tree, gnawing on the ball. If dogs could smile, Murphy was grinning like a fool.

“He’s strong,” Flynn grumbled, wiping canine salvia off his hands in the grass. He made a face and held his palms out away from his body. I pulled a tissue out of my back pocket and took one of his hands gently and slowly wiped his skin clean.

He didn’t pull away. He stayed perfectly still until I was finished and had tucked the tissue back in my pocket.

I was standing so close to him that I could smell the clean tang of his soap. I could see every strand of his thick, dark hair in the moonlight. The sloping curve of his lips and the dip of his neck where it met his shoulders beneath his long sleeved shirt.

Flynn was looking at the ground, his hands now gripped in front of him in a tight knot. His chest was rising and falling rapidly but he wasn’t backing away.

We were only a few inches apart. If I reached out I could wrap my arm around him. If I leaned in, I could kiss him. I could lay my head on his shoulder.