Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Like life in general. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

* * *

I saw Marco two days later at his clinic. Butch hurt his foot. He was limping. He chased after a squirrel, and the squirrel won. Marco got him all bandaged up. Butch licked him when he was done.

We had long moments of gazing into each other’s eyes. I saw in his eyes . . . attraction, I thought. Interest. Confusion. Sadness. And questions. Lots of questions. I had the answers but couldn’t share them with him. I had shut him down many times when he gently asked to go on a hike or lunch or dinner . . .

Afterward I went and bought an ice-cream cone. Peppermint and chocolate chip are so good next to each other.

Then I went to my beach and cried my eyes out.

I stopped crying when Mr. Bob and Trixie Goat appeared.

“How did you two get out of your pen again?”

Mr. Bob kicked his legs up, taunting me. Trixie head butted him. I swear she smiled at me.

* * *

“I can hardly breathe, Evie.”

“Yes, you can. Sit down, Jules.” It was late, I was in bed, and I put aside two books I was reading, a memoir and historical fiction, while I balanced my phone in my hand. Sometimes I like to mix and blend my books. When I placed the books down on top of a stack of books, the stack fell over. Dang it. That had happened in my kitchen nook today, too, next to the library filing cabinet. A whole stack toppled over.

“I can’t breathe, Evie. I’m pacing.”

I heard Jules trying to get her breath. “Everything’s going to be okay, Jules. It is.”

“But I’m getting married. M.A.R.I.E.D. Did I leave out an R? I think I did.”

“Do you want to get married?”

“Yes, I do. I would give up my motorcycles, my house, and all my tattoos to marry Mack.”

“So you’re worried about the day of the wedding?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I heard her gasp. “I’m going to have a panic attack. I hate panic attacks. Oh no. Here it comes. It’s like a wave, you know? A tsunami of fear and breathlessness and you have to fight back the tsunami. Oh no. Oh no.”

I thought about what I could do to get her to calm down. Panic attacks are the worst. You feel like you’re dying or losing your mind. I don’t know which is worse. “Tell me why you love Mack.”

“He’s acrobatic in bed,” Jules gushed, her breathing still short. “I mean, that’s not the only thing. But look at him. Lots to cuddle.” She took a deep breath. “Lots to love. I love how big he is. Everywhere big, if you know what I mean. But I can handle it! He thinks he’s fat, but I think he’s a huggable bear.”

“What else?”

“He’s romantic.” She wasn’t panting anymore. “When we’re in bed, he takes his time, you know? Sometimes I’m, like, let’s do a quickie because I have to go to work and paint a bike, but he’s like, no, baby, let’s have some fun. And pretty soon I’m late to work.”