Although Spencer had promised to start taking more of his brother’s advice, there was no way he was going to run away now. Not when every cell in his body was suddenly soaring. She was here. She’d come. She wasn’t giving up on—

“Fuck me.” Spencer echoed Caleb’s words almost perfectly, though his mouth had grown so dry there was no way he could even pretend to whistle. There, at the threshold to a high school gymnasium filled with dogs, stood the most beautiful woman in the world.

She was also the most out of place. Although plenty of people dressed up for the event—some even coordinated their outfits to match their dog’s—no one could boast a long, blue-green gown that dazzled in the light and skin that glowed with ethereal incandescence. Or, you know, a literal crown upon their head.

Despite how much she stood out, Ruby didn’t bat a single false eyelash. She swept into the gym as though she owned it, unaware or uncaring of anything but the movement of her own feet.

At the sight of it—of her—Spencer’s breath caught in his throat and almost choked him. Not because of how she looked but because of what that confident, unerring stride signified. That was the Ruby Taylor who competed to win. That was the Ruby Taylor who could conquer the world.

That was the Ruby Taylor he loved.

Spencer had no idea how long he might have stood there gawking, but the murmuring of the crowd was broken by a loud bark and the sudden scuffle of claws on hardwood. He barely had time to register the sight of a gawky, poorly groomed golden retriever headed his way before he was knocked flat on his back.

Wheezy was on top of him before he hit the floor, the dog’s paws pushing at his face and his tongue working its way into places Spencer would have preferred to keep dry. Instead of feeling embarrassed at being caught in this state—making a fool out of himself in front of not just Ruby but a hundred people he considered his peers—he gave in and let the dog say hello.

“I’ve missed you, too, buddy,” he said, running his hands over those golden curls, shorn too short but still like silk between his fingers. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your overdose, but I don’t know that I approve of the new look. Yes, yes, I know. It’ll grow back. There’s no need to bite me.”