Chapter 1

Three weeks after our breakup, Stanley Crane, my ex-boyfriend, who never posts anything on social media, had unexpectedly begun sharing a series of heartwarming golden retriever pictures every day for the past few days.

I stared at the round little furball on my screen. I almost crushed my phone.

That puppy was the one Stanley's nephew gave him. We called it Sunny. I'd practically begged for it when we split, but no luck.

My precious little Sunny, the one I'd coddled like a baby, had been turned into a tool for Stanley to impress his new crush less than a month after we broke up.

Down in the comments, his first love was liking and spamming away. She texted: [So cute! Post more.] It made me mad.

He broke up with me and immediately used Sunny to win over someone new? No way!

The more I thought about it, the madder I got. Right t[1]hen and there, I made a decision. There was no way my Sunny was going to be reduced to some pick-up prop. I had to steal him back.

I timed it perfectly. He had a two-hour class every Wednesday afternoon. I bundled up with a hat, mask, and sunglasses.

Crouching like a total creep outside his door, I held up Sunny's favorite chicken treats and tried every trick in the book to get him to crack the door open for me.

To my surprise, while I was squatting by the door, barking and waving treats to engage with the Sunny retriever inside, the door clicked open from the inside.

Standing in the doorway was Stanley, the guy who was supposed to be standing in front of a lecture hall right now, teaching a class.

Leaning against the doorframe, he looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly seeing every bit of my embarrassed and frazzled state.

"Stealing my dog?" His voice had that usual lazy drawl. "Need help?"

*****

Embarrassed and furious, I shot up and bolted for the elevator. Stanley raised his voice after me, "Why don't you write me an application? Maybe I'll let him crash at your place for a couple of days."

Of course, I wasn't about to let him push me around. I shot him a glare over my shoulder, only to see Sunny, leash in his mouth, staring at me with big pitiful eyes.

He was dying to come over but too scared of Stanley's iron fist, so he spun in place like a maniac, frantic.

Fine, maybe I could let him have his way this time. It was all for Sunny.

As soon as I walked in, I secretly scoped out the place where I'd spent half a year. Nothing had changed since I left, no random girl's things lying around. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

I looked up and locked eyes with Stanley. He raised an eyebrow. "What are you looking for?"

I blurted, "Checking for signs of a side chick."

While Stanley was still trying to keep up with my weird logic, Sunny barreled over and knocked me flat. Three weeks without seeing him, and he'd gotten chunkier, weighing me down with his pudgy body.

His tongue was all over my face, and his tail was wagging so fast it was a blur.

"I missed you so much." I crouched down, hugging his round little body and burying my face in his thick fur. My voice went all soft and mushy.

Sunny whimpered and burrowed into my arms, his paws scrabbling at my sleeve like he was scared I'd vanish again.

Stanley leaned against the shoe cabinet in the entryway, hands shoved in his pockets, watching me and Sunny put on our melodramatic reunion.

He wore a gray long-sleeve tee, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, showing off strong, well-shaped wrists. His hair was a little longer than when we'd broken up, with stray pieces falling over his brow.

Altogether, he looked even more laid-back than the polished, buttoned-up act he put on in class.

"Application," he said, holding out his hand with a bored tone.

I looked up at him, Sunny still in my arms, and from this angle. I could see the curve of his jawline and that teasing, almost-smile at the corner of his lips, still as infuriating as ever.

"I didn't bring a pen or paper." I gritted out.

He turned and walked into his study, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from a drawer, and slapped them down in front of me. He moved so smoothly, like he'd been waiting for this moment.

I stared at the paper, then looked down at the dog wagging its tail by my feet. I cursed Stanley inwardly.

But the moment Sunny hit me with those big, pitiful puppy eyes, I completely surrendered. 'Fine, I'll write it,' I grumbled to myself.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, spread the paper out on the coffee table, and gritted my teeth as I wrote the application in huge block letters.

Stanley was lounging on the couch across from me, legs crossed, a cup of coffee in his hand. He sipped it slowly, his eyes fixed on me with that slow, deliberate scrutiny that made my skin crawl.

I knew I looked like a total mess. Hat, mask, sunglasses, the whole burglar getup, I'd been squatting outside for almost twenty minutes, my knees still dusted with grime.

With all the drama of a grade school poetry recital, I declared, "Dear Mr. Crane, since I've raised Sunny with my own hands..."

"He's only four months old," Stanley interrupted.

"Even if it's four months, I raised him. I fed him his first meal, took him for his first shot, and gave him his first bath," I retorted.

"I bought the dog food," he replied lazily. "I paid for the vaccines, and I was the one who found the pet groomer."

My hand holding the pen trembled slightly.

He set down his coffee cup, leaning in a little, that mischievous glint in his eyes, "And that first bottle of milk you mentioned? That was bought with my bank card."

"Stanley!"

"Right here," he drawled, leaning back on the couch, sounding way too pleased with himself, like he was loving every second of watching me lose my cool.

I took a deep breath, telling myself to calm down. I lowered my head and started writing again: [Given the deep bond between Sunny and me, our separation has left me unable to eat, sleep, or think straight...]

"So that was you crashing your shopping cart into the shelves at the supermarket the other day?" he suddenly asked.

I was caught off guard and looked up at him. His expression was as calm as ever, but there was something off in his eyes, like he was barely holding back a laugh.

"Wednesday afternoon, in the supermarket, someone in sunglasses was barreling through the snack aisle, knocking over a whole row of chips," Stanley said.

My face instantly went red.

I really had gone to the supermarket that day. After the breakup, I'd picked up this bad habit of wandering around the supermarkets, restaurants, and parks we used to go to together.

Like some kind of creep, I hoped to run into a memory, or maybe even him. But that time, I was totally distracted thinking about Sunny's favorite chicken jerky and didn't notice the shelf in front of me.

"Wasn't me," I denied.

Stanley gave a noncommittal "hmm," his tone rising at the end, clearly not buying it.

I tuned him out and threw myself into the application, pouring out nearly eight hundred words. I rambled on about Sunny's favorite treats, his bathroom routine, and even the exact spot he loves getting scratched.

I wrapped it up with a dramatic [Please, Mr. Crane, grant your approval] and shoved the paper over to him.

He took it, glanced at it for two seconds, and deadpanned, "Not enough words."

"I counted. It's over eight hundred," I protested.

"I meant it's not heartfelt enough," he said, folding the paper in half and casually dropping it onto the couch armrest. "Rewrite it."

Sunny was sprawled at my feet, yawning like he had nothing to do with any of this. Suddenly, I started to suspect this guy never intended to let me take Sunny home in the first place.

I hated writing these stupid applications, and I hated Stanley and his whole professor routine.