We pull up to a stone building near what seems like the outskirts of downtown. I get out of the car, remembering to look right before I’m run over by a car and stare up at the sign above the dark wood door.

“Ruff Love Animal Shelter?” I repeat. I look at him in awe. “That is absolutely adorable.”

“Aye. It is. People were surprised how saccharine it was, considering it came from me. But most of these animals can use a sweet bit of PR. Having people view them as cute and adorable is what helps get them adopted.”

Agh. Once again, this man has found another way to sweep me off my feet. I look down the building, back up at the sign, then over to him, standing there on the street in black boots, black jeans, and a grey t-shirt, looking about as rough and rowdy as they come, and yet from the goodness of his heart he’s managed to do all of this.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.

I eagerly latch on to it and let him lead me inside.

It’s not as chaotic as I would have thought. There’s a reception area where I spot Amara on the phone, giving us a quick wave, then a small row of prison-like cells. I know Lachlan is doing a wonderful thing, but I can’t help but cringe painfully, knowing how many animals spend their lives here.

“It’s all right,” he whispers to me, grabbing my hand and squeezing hard. “The dogs here are the dogs with a fighting chance. Most of them get adopted and go on to live full and happy lives.”

He takes me down the aisle, and even though my heart is breaking a little bit at the sight, he points out the good things the dogs have going for them. For one, they all get dog beds and toys in their kennel so they don’t have to sleep on concrete. They have more room than most shelter dogs do and the ones that are social can easily share with another. He tells me that thanks to their volunteers, and Amara, all the dogs are walked three times a day, four times for the high energy, and one of those walks is an hour long excursion to a nearby park. Sometimes they go in packs, sometimes they go alone where training is implemented.

We stop by an older pit bull named Jo, who loves to give sloppy kisses through the bars. She’s been there the longest because a lot of people don’t like to adopt senior dogs, even though she’s in good health and is easy going. He’s hopeful that she’ll be adopted soon.

“Sometimes I sneak her home,” he admits to me, while Jo stares adoringly up at him, tail swishing on the floor. “She’s spent a lot of weekends with me and Lionel, watching TV.”

“So why don’t you adopt her?” I ask him.

“If she doesn’t go at some point, I will do just that,” he says. “But the point of all this is to share the love. If someone adopts her and then discovers what a joy she is as a banned breed and as a senior dog, the odds of them doing it again, or at least encouraging others to do so, is very high. We have repeat customers here, you know, who adopt one dog and then realize how easy it is to make a difference. So they adopt another. Or they donate.” He pulls a dog treat out of his pocket and gives it to Jo, smiling at her as she happily eats. “Once people realize how easy it is to make a difference, they’re forever changed.”

He takes me past the rest of the dogs and I have a hard time keeping up with their names, though I’m falling in love with their beautiful faces. One dog, steel grey with a wide white chest, cowers in the corner until Lachlan crouches near the bars, casting the occasional glance his way. He speaks in low, furtive tones until, eventually, the dog comes over. He shies away when Lachlan reaches out to put a treat through the bars, but then hunger gets the best of him and he quickly gobbles it up.

“That’s Bubsy,” he says. “I found him, abused, beaten, hanging by a thread in a London alley. Someone had bashed his head in, his fur halfway gone from who knows what. I didn’t think he’d make it, but he pulled through. He’s terrified of people, obviously. The fuckers who did this to him ruined his trust in humans. And they say he’s a dangerous dog, just because of his breed. It’s those kind of people who should be banned, not the breed. People are cruel, so sick, far worse than any animal.” He sighs angrily, running his hand over his face. “To be honest, we didn’t think Bubsy would ever be integrated or adopted. We’ve had a few dogs that we’ve put our bloody hearts into and just…” He rubs his lips together, shaking his head. “It’s a fucking shame. But Bubsy is getting better, with time. With the right owner, someone patient and kind and strong, he’ll have a chance.”

My eyes are hot with tears that I’m managing to hold back. “I don’t know how you do it,” I tell him. “How can you be around all of this, all the time, and not be fucking gutted?”

He tilts his head, eyes wide in consideration. “To be honest, I am fucking gutted most of the time. But I understand these dogs. I know what it’s like to be cast aside, to feel unwanted, to believe you have no one to fight for you. I’ve been there. Time and time again. It hurts like hell, but if I don’t fight for them, who will?”

I stare into his eyes, completely enveloped by everything he is, and…shit.

This man.

I am so fucking in love with this man.

Then I’m hit with an aftershock, because holy shit.

Did I just admit that to myself? Did I just think that?

I did.

Luckily he’s looking back at Bubsy, that wonderful, reckless kind of hope in his eyes, another look that does me in, while I’m feeling lightheaded, breathless, unruly with the realization of my feelings.

Maybe it’s just that he’s this manly man standing in front of you, talking about how much he loves rescuing dogs, I think.

But of course it’s that. It’s many things. It’s everything.

And I’m completely head over heels in love with him.

His eyes flit to me and he frowns slightly. “There is almost always a happily ever after,” he says, and I have to blink at him to get back on track and understand what he means. “And unless we take the risk and bring them in, even if failure will break our bloody hearts, it’s worth it.”

Oh god, please don’t let him be talking in a metaphor for our own hearts.

He smiles at me and I have to look away because I can’t stand to lose my footing.

“Want to take a few for a walk? I’ll get Amara to join us.”

I nod, my tongue feeling thick, my brain stupid. Meanwhile my heart is fucking breakdancing in my chest because it’s finally discovered what love is.

The most wonderful, most terrifying feeling that life has ever had to offer.

I’m kind of in a daze when we go and get Amara. I hope I’m speaking to her correctly and making sense, because all I can really think about is Lachlan and love and that dire hope that maybe, somehow, love is something that you can turn off like a switch. Maybe this is just all lust wrapped up in a very sexy, soulful tatted bow. Maybe this is just adrenaline, the thrill of being overseas for the first time, the excitement of taking risks. Maybe it’s a lot of things.

But it doesn’t stop that feeling.

It’s a feeling you can’t even question.

Because it’s real, and it’s beating in a rhythm you never knew you could dance to, and it’s there. It is so fucking there and present and taking up every cell in my body.

I have to talk to Steph and Nicola. I have to get their advice. Coming to Scotland for hot passionate sex is one thing, but coming here and realizing you’re in love, on day one, is something else. It’s dangerous and futile and one more risk I have to take.

I can’t even snap out of it, so lost in my own thoughts, until Lachlan realizes he should head off to practice sooner rather than later. He tells me that Amara will take care of me and drop me off at his flat later. I have his spare key in my purse, just in case I’m home before him.