Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~8 min read
Everything was going perfectly.
The shop expansion was underway. Jo had started moving her work setup to the new space. Logan had surprised her with a custom desk built to her exact specifications.
Life was good.
Which meant, naturally, something had to go catastrophically wrong.
It started on a Saturday morning. Jo woke up to find Logan already awake, scrolling through his phone.
“Morning,” she mumbled.
“Morning.” Logan kissed her forehead. “I have to run to the shop for a few hours. Delivery coming that needs to be signed for. Want to come?”
“Can’t. Client call at ten. But I’ll see you for lunch?”
“It’s a date.”
After Logan left, Jo got ready for her call. Made coffee. Reviewed her notes. Set up her laptop in the living room.
“Olive?” she called. “Come here, girl.”
No response.
“Olive?”
Jo checked the bedroom. The bathroom. The kitchen.
No dog.
Heart starting to race, Jo checked the apartment more thoroughly. Under beds, in closets, behind furniture.
Olive wasn’t there.
The front door was closed. Locked from the inside, the way Logan had left it.
So how—
The window.
Jo ran to her bedroom window. It was open about six inches—enough for air circulation on the warm morning.
Not enough for a person.
But maybe enough for a determined golden retriever.
“No no no no—”
Jo looked out the window. They were on the fourth floor. There was no way Olive could have—
Except there was a fire escape. Accessible from this window if you squeezed through the gap.
“Oh my god. Olive!”
Jo yanked on shoes and ran out of the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door behind her.
Outside, she searched frantically. Called Olive’s name until her voice was hoarse. Asked every person she passed if they’d seen a golden retriever.
Nothing.
Olive was gone.
Really, truly gone.
Jo called Logan with shaking hands.
“Hey, I’m in the middle of—”
“Olive’s missing.”
Silence. Then: “What?”
“She got out through the window. The fire escape. I’ve been looking for thirty minutes. I can’t find her. Logan, I can’t find her.”
“I’m coming. Stay where you are.”
“I can’t just wait—”
“Jo. Take a breath. Where are you right now?”
“Outside the building.”
“Go back inside. Make flyers. I’ll be there in ten minutes. We’ll find her together.”
Logan arrived in seven minutes, bringing Carlie and two other artists from the shop.
“We’re going to search in a grid,” Logan said, pulling out his phone to show a map. “Carlie, you take north. Tyler, west. Kaylin, east. Jo and I will go south.”
They split up, each taking printed flyers Jo had hastily made on her laptop.
“She has to be close,” Jo said, voice shaking. “She doesn’t know the area that well. She’ll be scared. What if she’s hurt? What if someone took her? What if—”
“Focus on finding her. We can deal with what-ifs later.”
They searched for two hours. Checked parks, alleys, parking lots. Asked at every shop. Posted flyers on every available surface.
Nothing.
Jo was past panic now. She was numb. Operating on autopilot.
“We should call animal control,” she said. “And check shelters. Oh god, what if she’s at a shelter and they—”
“They won’t do anything. She’s microchipped. They’ll scan her and call you.”
“But what if she’s hurt first? What if she got hit by a car? What if—”
Logan pulled her into a hug. “Stop. We’re going to find her.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do know that. Because Olive is smart and stubborn and she survived being returned twice before you got her. She’s a survivor.”
Jo wanted to believe him. But the fear was overwhelming.
They regrouped with the others. No one had found anything.
“I’ll check the shelters,” Carlie offered. “Call around, see if anyone’s brought in a golden.”
“I’ll post on social media,” Tyler said. “Local groups, lost pet pages, all of it.”
“I’ll make more flyers,” Kaylin added. “Cover more ground.”
They were amazing. Logan’s entire crew had dropped everything to help search for a dog they barely knew.
Because Jo mattered to Logan. And Olive mattered to Jo.
“Thank you,” Jo managed. “All of you. Thank you so much.”
“We’ll find her,” Carlie said with certainty. “She’s out there. We just have to look harder.”
Hour three. Still nothing.
Jo’s phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jolene Abbott? Owner of a golden retriever named Olive?”
Jo’s heart stopped. “Yes! Did you find her?”
“Sort of. She’s at Inkwell Tattoo Studio. Been here for about an hour. Wouldn’t leave the front door.”
“She’s WHERE?”
“The tattoo shop on Westfield? She’s just been sitting outside. Finally convinced her to come in. She’s wearing a collar with this number.”
“That’s—that’s Logan’s shop. We were just there. How did she—”
Understanding dawned.
Olive had escaped. And gone to the one place she knew Logan would be.
“We’re on our way. Ten minutes. Please keep her there.”
Jo hung up and turned to Logan. “She’s at your shop.”
“What?”
“Inkwell. She’s been sitting outside for an hour. Somehow found her way there.”
They ran.
Actually ran the six blocks to the shop, both of them breathless by the time they arrived.
Inside, Olive was sprawled on the waiting room couch, tail wagging, looking extremely pleased with herself.
A young man—maybe early twenties, clearly a client—was giving her belly rubs.
“Olive!” Jo collapsed next to the couch, pulling the dog into a hug. “You ridiculous, brilliant, terrifying animal. Don’t ever do that again.”
Olive licked her face enthusiastically.
Logan crouched beside them, checking Olive over for injuries. “She looks fine. No cuts, no limping.”
“How did she even get here?” Jo asked. “It’s six blocks. Through busy streets. How did she navigate that?”
The client laughed. “Dogs are wild, man. My childhood dog once walked fifteen miles back to our old house after we moved.”
“She came here because she knew Logan would be here,” Jo realized. “She was looking for you.”
Logan scratched behind Olive’s ears, expression soft. “Smart dog.”
“Too smart. And too adventurous. We’re installing window locks. All the window locks.”
They thanked the client profusely, called the search team to let them know Olive was found, and finally headed home.
In Jo’s apartment, they settled on the couch. Olive immediately wedged herself between them, looking smug.
“You,” Jo told the dog, “are grounded. For life.”
Olive wagged her tail.
“She doesn’t care,” Logan observed.
“She never cares. She does whatever she wants and charms her way out of consequences.”
“Wonder where she learned that.”
“I do not charm my way out of consequences.”
“Abbott, you flooded my bathroom and brought me poisoned muffins and I still fell in love with you. That’s peak charming.”
Jo laughed, slightly hysterical. “I thought we lost her.”
“I know.”
“I was so scared.”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
Logan pulled her closer, Olive squished contentedly between them. “Really. That dog is family now. Losing her would have been—” He stopped. “I’m glad we didn’t have to find out.”
They sat in silence, both processing the fear and relief.
“She went to your shop,” Jo said quietly. “She was looking for you.”
“Or she just remembered it was where I work. Dogs recognize patterns.”
“No. She was looking for you specifically. Because you’re important to her. Because you’re pack.”
Logan’s arm tightened around her. “She’s pack too.”
“We’re all pack.”
“Yeah. We are.”
That evening, they installed window locks on every window in Jo’s apartment. Logan insisted on checking them three times.
“We’re never leaving a window open again,” Jo declared.
“Or we get screens that latch properly.”
“Both. We’re doing both.”
Erika: I saw your lost dog posts. Is Olive okay???
Jo: Found her. She was at Logan’s shop. Somehow navigated six blocks through the city to find him.
Erika: That dog is a genius.
Jo: That dog is grounded.
Erika: But also a genius.
Jo: Also that.
Erika: You okay? That must have been terrifying.
Jo: The worst three hours of my life. But Logan was amazing. Organized a whole search party. Kept me calm. Didn’t let me spiral too badly.
Erika: He’s perfect.
Jo: He really is.
Erika: So when’s the wedding?
Jo: ERIKA.
Erika: What! He said he’s going to marry you! You have a dog who knows where his shop is! You’re basically already a family!
Jo looked at Logan, who was currently on the floor letting Olive give him aggressive thank-you licks for rescuing her (even though technically she’d rescued herself).
A family.
They were a family.
The three of them.
Chaotic and imperfect and absolutely ridiculous.
But family nonetheless.
“I love you,” Jo said.
Logan looked up from Olive’s assault. “Love you too.”
“I mean it. I love you so much. Even though you let my dog lick your face knowing where that mouth has been.”
“She just had an adventure. She’s earned face licks.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
That night, Jo fell asleep with Logan’s arm around her waist and Olive pressed against her legs, taking up more than her share of the bed.
They’d survived another crisis.
Another disaster.
Another near-heart-attack.
Because that’s what life was with Olive and Logan.
Beautiful chaos.
Perfect disasters.
And Jo wouldn’t change a single thing.
Well, maybe she’d change the window situation.
But everything else?
Absolutely perfect.
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