The Match (It Happened in Charleston 1)

“But I still let her invite them over,” I say, and there’s definitely a defensive edge to my tone.

“But you’re a single dad, so I’m guessing that the other moms haven’t been too excited about that prospect.”

Okay, who is this woman? Does she have a crystal ball shoved in her purse somewhere?

I lean forward. “Do you think that’s why none of her friends have come over?” I don’t like how insecure my voice sounds right now.

Miss Jones smiles, but I don’t feel patronized by it. More like, I feel as if she sees me and understands something. Something that I don’t even know yet. She leans forward again, and I resist the urge to lean closer too.

Nope. I’m gluing my butt to this seat.

“You’re not doing anything wrong, and everything about your daughter’s actions is normal.” Her words help me breathe for the first time in six months. “Samantha has just had life as she knew it ripped out from under her. Her freedom is gone. Her friendships are gone. The small amount of independence she had probably gained from growing older is gone.”

Her mom is gone.

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” she continues. “I am a perfect example. Charlie has given me the ability to live alone with confidence that if I have a seizure, I’m going to be taken care of. And I know that thought sounds daunting to you right now, and you’d probably like to shrink your daughter and put her in your pocket so you can always watch over her, but believe me, you won’t be doing her any favors. She needs freedom. She’s not broken, and she can live a full, independent life just like her peers with the help of a dog just like Charlie. Help give your daughter her independence back, and I guarantee you will see your old Samantha again.”

Shoot. Just like that, Miss Jones moves to Evie in my mind.

Chapter Six

EVIE

I’ve only seen Jacob and Samantha twice since the day, three weeks ago, that he filled out an application to purchase one of our service dogs. And both times were to introduce Samantha to one of our dogs and see if they were a good fit.

The first dog, Max, I could tell straight away was not right for Sam. He’s an amazing dog and very gentle, but he was more interested in watching me than Sam. She was excited and engaging with Max, but he looked as if he had a show recording on his DVR that he couldn’t wait to get home to.

I think Sam and Jacob both started to get a little nervous at that point that a service dog wouldn’t work out for her like they had hoped. But I assured them it was normal to not match with a dog right away and that choosing the right service dog is a lot like choosing your soulmate. You don’t always find Mr. Forever on the first date.

Or in my case, the second, third, or eighteenth. But I’m getting off topic.

The next option was Daisy. She’s basically Charlie’s twin, just a little smaller. When I brought her to visit Sam, it was an instant connection. I let Daisy off the leash, and she went straight to Sam and laid her head in her lap. It was that magical moment when I saw both human and animal sigh with relief that they had found each other.

It’s hard for people who don’t need the hope that a service dog can provide for them to understand the bond that forms between a dog and a person. But as someone who knows firsthand what that sigh of relief feels like, it brings tears to my eyes every time.

Today is the official start of what we call “training camp.” It’s a week-long program where I help Sam and Daisy bond and show Sam exactly how to work with and utilize her dog.

I’ve instructed at least twenty of these training camps over the past three years, but never have I been as nervous as I am now, standing outside of Jacob Broaden’s front door.

He and I have not interacted at all outside of updates concerning Sam’s application and scheduling days to meet the dogs. No texts. No phone calls. And he’s been all business when we correspond through email.

I thought that he had been flirting with me that night he texted (and a few times over our coffee meeting), but I guess I was wrong about whatever I thought I was picking up on. My antenna must be busted. And now, I’m staring down the black front door of his gorgeous house, and I can see just how wrong I was.

I knew from Jacob asking me to meet him and Sam at his office for the last two visits that he is an architect. But this home is the physical representation of just how out of my league this man is. Like, he’s playing for the major leagues, and I’m not even on the farm team. I’m eating a box of candy that I snuck into the game up in the very last row of the nosebleeds, just happy to have scored a free ticket from one of my friends.

I may come from a prestigious family with a fortune that could solve the nation's debt deficiency, but I’m always acutely aware that it is not my money or the future I want to have. I’m just Evie. A girl floating from cereal box to cereal box, trying to figure out exactly what it is I want out of life (and also trying to collect all of the prizes in those cereal boxes to get that free MP3 download).

I wipe my sweaty palms on the side of my dress and then ring the doorbell. I’m armed with a service dog on either side of me (Charlie and Daisy), and I’m eager to get going on this day of training. I’m also interested to see if Jacob purchased any pastries for our day of training. My stomach rumbled loudly on the way over, making my Uber driver look even more uncomfortable than he did when I first got in his car with not one, but two service dogs.

Why does this woman need two of them?! Is she going to drop dead in my car or something???

While I wait, I assess the large modern swing on the front porch. My mind takes a speedy nosedive, and suddenly, I’m making out with Jacob on that swing as the sun is setting behind us.

The door opens, and I jump as if Jacob might have just caught me kissing him in my imagination.

Dang it. He looks good. Too good. He’s wearing a black t-shirt (it fits him so well I’m skeptical that he didn’t pay $50 to have a $10 shirt tailored), brown chinos, and a leather watch around his wrist. How does this man manage to make wrists look sexy? It’s not fair, and I’m worried that I might be drooling.

Nothing about Jacob Broaden screams money. At least not in the way Tyler’s ridiculous suits do. But he has this air of confidence that says he should be taken seriously, and it leaves me feeling a little shaky legged.