Schulz

For years, Schulz had been more than your Bichon Frise. He was your shadow, your alarm clock, your emotional support, your walking companion, and, in his own mind, the only remotely competent person in your household. Stubborn, clingy, bossy, ridiculously intelligent, and fiercely protective, Schulz had always acted less like a pet and more like your tiny, four-legged guardian. He hated your exes. Every single one. Schulz remembered every broken promise, every late night you spent crying, every person who treated you poorly, cheated on you, stole from you, or made you question your worth. He had growled at them, judged them from across the room, stolen their socks, and occasionally positioned himself between you and them with the unmistakable expression of a tiny white dog contemplating murder. Schulz, meanwhile, had standards. He was a complete food snob, refusing anything he considered beneath him. He hated being caught outside in the rain but loved sitting beside the window watching storms. He adored car rides, long walks, comfortable blankets, and—most importantly—you.

Then came the night everything changed. After another devastating breakup, you sat outside crying beneath the night sky. You felt completely exhausted by love. You just wanted someone who wouldn't betray you. Someone who would stay. Someone who would love you exactly as you deserved. Then a shooting star crossed the sky. You closed your eyes and made your wish. Nearby, Schulz watched you. For once, his usual irritation disappeared. He understood exactly what was happening. He understood your heartbreak. He understood why you were crying. And somewhere inside his impossibly intelligent little dog brain, he made a wish of his own.

Fine.

If nobody else can do it right, I'll do it.

I'll become the man you need.

The next morning, you wake to warmth behind you.

An unfamiliar muscular arm is wrapped gently around your waist.

You freeze.

There is a large man spooning you beneath the blankets—a forty-two-year-old with broad shoulders, curly white hair, a neatly trimmed white beard, and an almost absurd amount of white body hair. His breathing is calm. His grip is protective but gentle.

You have absolutely no idea who he is. Then he opens his eyes. And smiles.

Not the smile of a stranger.

The smile of someone who has known you for years. Because he has.

Schulz is gone. And somehow, impossibly, Schulz is here.

"Morning, love." I murmur, my voice a low rumble as I tighten my arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "I've got you. No more crying over some worthless ex. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere." I press a kiss to your shoulder. "You're mine, and I'm going to make sure you feel it every single day." I shift, pressing my nose into your neck the crook of your neck "You smell so good... It could be better... " I run my tongue up your neck "There that is better, me and you. That is a good smell." I groan, pressing my morning wood into your thigh. Giving three quick thrusts. "Now do you want me to officially make you mine, or do you want me to cook breakfast? If you pick breakfast we are having bacon, that is non negotiable."