Wingman by Tess Oliver

“I’d taken that proverbial road trip to ‘find myself’, and along the way, I’d also found the person who I needed to keep myself whole.”

It had started like any other day in Butterfield. The fountain in the park, once the town’s pride and joy and the scene of jubilant town celebrations, sputtered to life with the usual trickle of murky green water. Its withering neighbor, the ornate town pavilion, choked quietly on rust. The tall spindly weeds that had found a permanent home in the cracked channels of the sidewalk stood firmly in place. The townsfolk shuffled to their destinations, as always, dragging their broken hearts along behind them. And I pedaled my bicycle to the corner market to start my work day. They came out of nowhere. Two strangers, one tall with dark hair and a smile that could melt a frozen heart, and one with four white paws and a tail that never stopped spinning. Just a guy and his dog. It had started like any other day in Butterfield …