A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 104: CHAPTER HUNDRED & FOUR

ASHLEY

Out of all the ways I’d planned on spending my weekend, being dragged out of my apartment by Kyle Blackwood and shoved into the passenger seat of his overpriced, ego-on-wheels luxury car was not one of them.

No warning. No explanation. Just him showing up at my door, black t-shirt, dark jeans, and a half-smirk like that was all the context I needed.

“It’s a surprise,” he’d said.

And that was it.

Now I sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, side-eyeing him like he’d just confessed to a crime. Which, honestly, this felt like.

“I swear to God, Kyle, if this is a trap—”

“Relax,” he said, too calm. “You’re not being kidnapped.”

“You didn’t even let me bring Mochii!”

“She’s a cat. Not a co-pilot.”

“She’s emotional support.”

He gave me a flat look. “She hisses at me every time I breathe.”

“That’s because she has excellent instincts.”

He smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Cute.”

“Still waiting for you to tell me where we’re going.”

“I already told you—it’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“You hate not being in control.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You gonna psychoanalyze me the whole way there?”

“Only if you keep glaring at me like I just deleted your favorite playlist.”

I leaned back in the seat, huffing. “Okay. Fine. I’ll guess.”

He sighed. “Please don’t.”

“Is it brunch?”

“No.”

“A gallery? A museum? Ooh—a graveyard picnic?”

He glanced at me. “Do you think that’s something I’d plan?”

“With you? Anything’s possible.”

He chuckled, tapping the steering wheel. “Alright, you want a clue?”

I leaned in. “Yes.”

“It has fur.”

I blinked. “…You’re taking me to a squirrel convention?”

Kyle bit back a grin. “Tempting.”

“Okay—wait, is it a farm? Am I going to have to milk something? Because I didn’t dress for livestock.”

He snorted. “You’re not milking anything.”

“Is it a zoo?”

“Nope.”

“A petting zoo?”

“Warmer.”

I gasped. “Are you getting me a llama?”

He laughed—actually laughed, head tilting just slightly like he couldn’t believe he was enjoying this. “Do you want a llama?”

“Yes! I’d name her Cinnamon and take her to the farmer’s market.”

“She’d spit on everyone.”

“She’d be expressing boundaries.”

He shook his head, smiling. “No llamas.”

“Then tell me!”

I gave him a side-eye glare, then looked out the window. City turned to quieter streets. I caught glimpses of familiar buildings, but nothing solid enough to guess our destination.

I turned back to him. “Tell me where we’re going or I start singing off-key.”

His jaw tightened just slightly. “You wouldn’t.”

I cleared my throat. “IIIIIIII will always looooove—”

“Jesus Christ, Ashley,” he groaned, one hand leaving the wheel to make a vague gesture like he could physically swat my voice out of the air.

“Okay, okay,” I said, grinning now. “You asked for it.” I took a deep breath, ready for round two.

He reached for the volume knob and cranked up the radio before I could hit the high note. “This is exactly why I don’t do surprises.”

“You brought this on yourself,” I shouted over the sudden beat of some synth-heavy pop song.

He rolled his eyes and turned the volume down again. 

“I’m just trying to prepare myself. Emotionally. Financially. Mentally.” I said with an eye roll 

“You don’t need to prepare for anything,” he said, glancing at me briefly. “You just need to… show up.”

That gave me pause.

Because he wasn’t smirking now. Wasn’t teasing. He looked weirdly serious. Almost nervous.

I tilted my head, my voice softening. “Kyle, what is this?”

He shook his head. “Just wait. We’re almost there.”

I let the silence fall between us, my heart drumming a little faster than it should’ve.

So I did the only thing I could—I turned my face back toward the window and tried to calm the sudden flutter in my chest. Maybe it was the way he said just show up. Like he meant more than today. Like this wasn’t just about where we were going, but something bigger. Something quieter.

A few minutes passed in relative silence, except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. Then Kyle made a left onto a quieter street lined with red-brick buildings and leafy trees that swayed in the wind like they knew something I didn’t.

He slowed the car.

I blinked.

The mural was the first thing I saw—bright and familiar. A golden retriever with its tongue hanging out, painted across the wall like it was welcoming every single soul who passed.

Then the sign.

Midtown Animal Shelter.

I straightened in my seat.

“Kyle,” I breathed.

He pulled into a spot right in front of the building but didn’t say anything. Just shifted the gear to park and waited.

“You brought me to the shelter?” I asked, glancing between him and the building. “Why?”

He finally looked at me. And his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

“Because it matters to you.”

I blinked again, stunned.

“I remembered what you said,” he continued, like it was no big deal, like this wasn’t slowly cracking something open in me. “About Mochii. About this place. So… I donated. Quietly. No press, no logos. Just what they needed. And I thought maybe you’d want to see it.”

I just stared.

“You did all that?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

He nodded once. “Didn’t tell them who I was. Didn’t want them to know. But I figured… you might.”

Something lodged in my throat. Like a lump made of all the words I didn’t know how to say.

He got out first, walking around to open my door before I could even move.

Still a little stunned, I stepped out of the car. The wind caught my hair as I stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the place that had once been my safe haven during the loneliest days. The same place where I’d first found Mochii curled in a basket like a secret meant just for me.

Now there were new baskets. New food bowls stacked behind the glass. New signs on the windows that read “Thank You to Our Anonymous Donor” in big block letters with little paw prints sketched around the edges.

Kyle stood next to me in silence, like he didn’t want to rush the moment.

I turned to him slowly. “You really remembered all that?”

He gave a small shrug, not quite meeting my eyes. “I remember a lot of things, Ash.”

And just like that, my heart did something reckless.

Something dangerous.

Something that felt an awful lot like hope.

stepped off the curb, my shoes crunching on the gravelled walkway leading to the shelter’s double doors. Kyle lingered a pace behind me, hands in his pockets, giving me the space to take it all in.

Through the glass, I could see:

Fresh paint on the walls, the tired beige replaced with warm cream and sky-blue accents.

Rows of sturdy metal cages, each now sporting a bright name tag and smiling photo of the animal inside.

A large bulletin board covered in thank-you notes, drawings, and a printed sign: “Thanks to Our Anonymous Champion—You Saved Us!”

I swallowed, the lump in my throat growing.

“Come on,” Kyle said softly, stepping forward and nudging the door open for me.

Inside, the familiar mix of puppy yips and cat meows washed over me like a wave of memory. A volunteer in a blue polo shirt greeted us from behind a low counter.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes flicking to Kyle as if trying to place him.

I glanced at him. He offered a small, polite nod.

“We came to… see,” I said, voice catching. “Is the event set up? Are people coming?”

She smiled—soft, genuine. “Yes, Ma’am. We start early, but we’ve already got volunteers arranging supplies. And…” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Someone just dropped off a truckload of food and blankets this morning. Never saw it coming.”

My chest tightened. That had to be Kyle’s doing.

I turned to find him watching the board of thank-you notes. His reflection blended with a child’s crayon drawing of a puppy, and for the first time all day, he looked… vulnerable.

I reached out, tapping the board lightly. “You did this,” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me. Instead, he traced a note in small, neat handwriting: “For giving me a second chance—Whiskers.”

I followed his finger to the signature: “From J. Westbrook.”

My breath caught.

He finally met my eyes. “I wanted you to have this,” he said. His voice was low, earnest. “Not for me. For you.”

I swallowed. “Kyle… I—”

A sudden chorus of excited barking from a nearby room distracted us. A lanky golden retriever burst through the doorway, tail wagging so hard it looked like it might fly off. Volunteers chased after it, laughter trailing in their wake.

I stepped forward, drawn by the warmth of fur and happy chaos. Kyle stayed at the threshold, watching me with that small, hopeful expression.

I knelt beside the dog, gently stroking its head. It leaned into my hand, eyes bright and trusting.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I murmured. “You’re safe here.”

When I looked up, Kyle was right beside me, offering a handful of treats he’d dug from his jacket pocket. He looked awkward—out of place in this world of shelter blues and animal fur—but determined.

I took the treats, my fingers brushing his. “Thank you,” I said, so quietly he had to lean in.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “For the record, I’ve decided that I hate glitter, but I really like this.”

I laughed, the sound echoing through the room. The dog barked again, and Kyle joined in, genuine and full.

And in that moment, surrounded by second chances and new beginnings, I realized that this—messy, unplanned, puppy-filled—was exactly the kind of surprise that mattered.