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sian22redux · 7 years ago

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He followed me home, chap. 4

Title: Hew followed me home,,

Rating: T

Summary : The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name. .

This chapter: Chris and reader navigate some unexpected twists. Fluff and some angst, a teensy bit of social anxiety and a little making out.

Happy Birthday @theycallmebecca!! We’re finally at the end! Thanks so much to @arizonapoppy for her awesome and timely help. Oenethera5 is the one who came up with the winning name. Hope you all like it. Because I rushed to get this up for Becca’s big day it is not beta’d. If y’all spot anything too heinous let me know :)

You can find Chapter 1 etc. here: He Followed Me Home, .tags for folks below the cut

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Two weeks after puppy comes home Chris goes back to work.

There’s a whirlwind of press to do for Red Sea Diving and Avengers 3, and with the rave reviews for both (and his Broadway debut) your giant, bouncing labrador of a boyfriend is on a high.

This night his assignment is Jimmy Kimmel Live.

The Town car pulls up in front of the old masonic lodge that hosts Kimmel’s studio and you’re thinking ‘Wow”. Already the crush of tourists and fans outside the doors snakes past El Capitan’s classic art deco theatre to Ghirardelli’s chocolate shop, held back by a line of security and police. The walk of fame with its stars outfront has a red carpet laid on top. The facade looks elegant; all stone columns and ionic capitals, banners and bright lights.

Flashbulbs are already popping before Chris finishes his call with Susan, his long time publicist.

“Fine. Yeah. I know. I know. I’m good. Breathe. Yup, I’m breathing. See you at 10 for dinner.” He swipes his phone shut and smiles weakly across at you, leg going a million miles an hour. The nerves never get any easier. They do this before almost every show—Susan, the pro, talking him down, getting the noisy brain in gear, but this time with the Avengers hype off the dial, they decide it might help if you came along.

(Officially you are representing Getaway and reporting back on audience response. Unofficially you are there to stand in the wings and wish calming vibes his way.)

The evening mercifully starts out light and easy.

Jimmy loves Chris as an interview: they always have fun and joke around, but he knows his subject well enough to go a little slow while his guest gets in the groove.

“What is new with you?” he asks, smiling broadly, clapping Chris on the shoulder as he sits on the soft grey wool of the couch, bobbing his head at the wild applause and nervously smoothing his tie in place.

“Not much. Filming. Hanging out.” Chris huffs a breath and smiles, trying to act nonchalant, adjusting his cuffs and surreptitiously wiping his sweaty palms on his dark suit pants. “A ten city press tour.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows head for the ceiling. “Not much? Other than being everywhere on screen and nearly breaking the internet tweeting about your dog?”

Chris laughs and Jimmy explains whole missing Dodger thing to the audience. “For the few folks who spent this year underneath a rock—this is Dodger. And this is where we all thought he died!��

Pictures of Dodger show up on the big screen backdrop; the pining tweets that were misinterpreted; the amazing video shot by Carly of their reunion. The audience is oohing and awwing and clapping loudly.

“I know, I know. What can I say?” Chris shrugs. “Dodger’s a pure soul. It was hard. It was hard. I was in South Africa and I missed him. For months. He took it hard but I wasn’t gonna put him in quarantine.”

Jimmy smiles. “Nah. I get it. It’s rough. But next just time warn us ok?” He turns to the camera, all mock serious. “And Twitter? Jack you listening? Give this guy 280 characters right now—cuz jeez I don’t think our hearts can handle too short Evans tweets.”

Chris throws back his head and laughs, grabs his pec for a sec, shaking his head, full on going for it as the whole studio cracks up. “Suuure that’ll work. I get to word vomit more.” He mimes grabbing for a barf bag and waves the idea away. You’re smiling, watching him relax. Thank heaven. So far it’s going great. “No Twitter.. please. Do not.” He shakes his head and settles back into his seat, beaming a sunshine smile. “But seriously—it’s all good. When I have to be away, we’ve got a solution for it now.”

Kimmel raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“We adopted a puppy.”

The whole audience in unison goes ‘Awww” and suddenly Chris is pulling out his phone, flipping through his pictures to show Jimmy one of the two amigos on the lawn, Dodger sitting tall and puppy flopped at his feet.

He holds the screen facing out toward the seats. The camera zooms in and out, trying to focus and Jimmy turns to ask the stage manager: “Can we get that up? The little fluffball is pretty cute.”

Magically, the picture is caught and appears on the backdrop: puppy and Dodger beyond life size and so adorable the audience is cooing. Jimmy nods at the screen. Chris nods, smiling like the proudest papa at the two of them but then suddenly, laser like, Jimmy turns back to Chris and picks up on what was said.

“We?”

Chris blushes bright red as a tomato then pales to an unhealthy shade of white.

Standing in the wings, you think “oh shit.” He’s probably in panic mode; brain berating him for slipping up, worrying all at once what Susan’ll say, and how to talk his way out, and if he’ll fuck up more.

You heart goes out to him. This is exactly the type of nightmare scenario guaranteed to bring out his anxiety. You watch him awkwardly cross and recross his legs, stroking his tie down again and stalling for more time.

“A friend” That’s all he has to say, he doesn’t need to give any more but for some reason he’s biting his lip, fingers tapping on his slacks, agonizing. This is his least favourite part of the biz but surely Jimmy won’t give him too hard a time?

The silence is getting a little long. Come on Chris. You’re an actor. Just fudge an answer. You’re pleading in your head and then it comes.

And you almost drop your notes in shock.

“My girlfriend and I.”

An instant giant collective groan emanates from the audience. Cieto, Jimmy’s band leader, right on cue leads the house band in a mournful dirge. You’re frozen, thinking that at least no one there knows it’s you, as your phone buzzes in your hand.

It’s Susan. Of course it is. She watches all his events and you just know she’s madly texting “wtf???”

Jimmy can barely speak for chuckling.

“Folks. Folks,” he pleads, palms up, getting the hooting of the audience to calm down. “Oh my god, you heard it here first. The scoop of the year. Chris Evans is no longer single and the internet is about to break again.”

You’re dying. Just dying, trying to keep your face straight, head whirling at the implications. What??!! Fuck, Chris. How long before someone finds out it’s you? Days if you’re lucky and that thought makes your stomach knot. What will Anthony and Joe say? How will you handle all the crazies? You’re picturing shit-tons of hate mail, a posse of paparazzi at the gate when you get home and wonder if you can scale the cliff at the bottom of the lawn to drop into Christina Applegate’s backyard next time you have to leave.

Maybe you should leave right now? Maybe you should get a taxi to your apartment? Not be seen going back to Laurel Canyon but then what would puppy and Dodger do?

You’re just picturing never dining out again, never jogging on Mulholland, when you notice that Chris, the shit, is grinning like a loon.

What?!

The noise finally subsides. Jimmy leans over and asks: “How long has it been?”

Chris takes a breath, licks his lips, slouches a little lower and weirdly almost looks relaxed. Some colour has come back into his cheeks. “Four months.”

“Four months? So new!”

“Yeah. Yeah. New but feels so right. It’s like she’s always been there, you know?”

Jimmy’s nodding, says something about that was how it was for him and a shy smile creases Chris’s face. You’re melting; a little dizzy at the heartfelt words.

It is? What did he just say?

Your brain has gone from panicked to short circuited: replaying that sentence over and over. You ignore your phone’s frantic buzzing, miss most of Jimmy’s saying until he asks, curious as a cat. “How did you keep this secret?”

Chris grins. “She’s Anthony Russo’s right hand. Goes almost everywhere that I do with the Avengers movies being made.”

Ok that’s good. Good. He’s brought it back to the reason that he’s there—press for Infinity War—you think that Jimmy will move on to the debut but then Chris does the unthinkable.

Perhaps he’s still a little flustered or maybe his brain invaded for a moment by the God of Mischief.

He waves his big strong hand toward the right stage wings. “She’s here.”

Oh my fucking god.

A studio camera whips right ‘round but you’re in shock. You can’t believe it. Your carefully protected secret. Held for months. Friends and family have sworn a pact. Every little move carefully choreographed and this impetuous goofball has just outed you to the world!

There’s a producer in headset tapping you on the shoulder but you’re shaking your head; turning away and bending over. Hiding your face in your hands and clutching your clipboard hard, thanking every god you know that you’ve worn a business suit.

(Out of the corner of your eye you can see the feed. Oh great. Your ass is on national television. Hastily you straighten up.)

Over on set Jimmy’s hand is waving lazily at you to come out. The audience is clapping, louder and louder but still you mutely shake your head.

No. Way. This is Chris’s thing. You are not stepping into his limelight. Marvel’s limelight. Fuck, Kevin Feige is gonna have an aneurysm.

Jimmy, the heartless bastard, is still laughing. “She’s kinda shy.

“Not really…but,” Chris stutters. He’s wide-eyed and worrying. Trying to apologize. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He didn’t mean to what? Implode your world? Live? The buzzing in your pocket has gone nuclear. Your hear Anthony’s dedicated tone and Joe’s. A few others with no alert and you wonder if it’s his agent Josh and manager Brad, on top of Susan. Oh god. You’re almost hyperventilating. Will you get fired? Will you still have a job on Monday morning? Will your friend Lena who you haven’t told ever speak to you again??

Jimmy looks over anxiously at you and, bless his sensitive soul, gets that this might be a little much. They cut the feed away and like a pro, he starts to dial it back

“Ok… What’s her name?”

“Y/N.”

“And where did you meet?”

“On the set of Avengers 4.” Suddenly you’re thinking of Frank Grillo. Another excitable Marvel guy with Italian parents. Talks with his hands as if he’s conducting an orchestra but that moment he had nothing on Chris. The hands you love are almost dancing as he relays Bautista’s accident, excitedly talks about your mutual love of baseball. It’s adorable and overwhelming.

But still not what Chris is being paid to do.

You think you are about to be in the clear when Jimmy launches his next question.

“And what’s the puppy’s name?”

Chris chuckles and shakes his head. “About that….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two events happen in the immediate aftermath.

Puppy’s nameless state becomes a thing. And your previously 250 follower-Twitter feed explodes.

By the time you make it back into his dressing room your name is trending. Chris holds you anxiously in his arms, apologizing over and over until you have to put your hands across his mouth.

“It’s ok.”

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t.” He frowns, runs his hands up and down your arms. He smells of aftershave and the heavy sweet lilies stuffed into a giant crystal vase. You normally hate their smell but weirdly not in that moment.

“Well I do, but shit. Y/N, I love you. I just couldn’t hold it in.”

A giant bloom of hope and happiness races through your chest. “And I love you.” You’re crying and laughing all at once. “Chris Evans, you are such a fucking meatball.”

“Yeah. Well I’m your meatball.”

The searing kiss lasts until a panicked Susan, come down in person, knocks upon the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turns out Chris Evans trending for any reason short of murder is good for Marvel too.

The next day you a get bazillion texts from friends, get grilled by Susan and Chris’s agent Josh about your past until Chris is forced to growl, and learn all about block chains out of necessity. While you and Chris were lying in (naked, oblivious and very occupied) that morning some enterprising hack went to work with Getaway’s employee list and guessed your twitter handle.

Shit. Lesson learned.

The afternoon is spent fielding calls and messages. The most precious text you get is from Tara, Chris’s best best friend. You’ve only met her once, overwhelmed in the giant Evans-Capuano New Years party where you first met his family. She was lovely but you haven’t really talked.

Wow. Deep breath. Guess this means it’s real.

And kind of overwhelming. Chris is off again in days for the long-planned European opening of Infinity War and you’re at home, doing your job (the long lead in for Avengers 4 post production) and holding down the fort. This includes taking Dodger and puppy out, and at first you’re nervous, knowing you will be followed, Josh arranges for guards to enforce a breathable perimeter away from the vile, scum-sucking paps. It works. Folks get the hint mostly and eventually leave off.

But the fuss over puppy’s nameless state? That keeps on going….

Chris tweets about the new member family: a hundred thousand responses in the first two minutes. He mentions that puppy has learned to sit and stay and it goes viral. Your twitter and his are literally inundated with puppy names—yours from friends and his from fans. Even random peeps on the street get in on the act.

Instead of Miles’ ‘I don’t wike it” being called out to him, people now shout puppy names.

He laughs, and like Steve Rogers, pulls out a small notebook and writes them down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This state of ridiculousness lasts for the whole time that he is gone.

Thank heaven you can telework. Chris’s normally immaculate office is a riot of your stuff but it sure helps. Puppy is growing so fast, he needs constant supervision. First he jumps up and gets the car keys off the island; chews them until the car alarm goes off. Then he slides across the kitchen floor and accidentally knocks the cupboard kick plate out. A priceless Himalayan poppy is shredded into tiny, forlorn blue bits. A rather more mundane knitted sock winds up, unraveled, strung between lounging chairs.

You amuse Chris by texting pictures of the contraband.

Puppy’s personality grows just like his paws. He’s smart and biddable, if anything almost more of a sap than Dodger. You work on leash training, and sit and stay, endure the inevitable hilarious tabloid pictures of puppy looking confused at the walking park. He loves to snuggle at your feet but also is more skittish, less confident than Dodger-- easily spooked-- and you suppose this is because the wide world is so big and new. Dodger was a rescue but grew up in a home. Puppy has spent all his days inside a cage.

It comes out, sometimes, in hilarious and unexpected ways.

One day he shies away from, but then furiously demolishes, an ‘indestructable’ Ovis frisbee. Another he barks manically at barbeque sauce. Once he cowers at the sigh of just one trash can. (the other is ok??). The escape artist comes out when one morning he bolts through the closing electric gate. A startled photog thinks quick grabs him by the collar (That is a puppy? What is he? Cerebus?)

All this fills your time but still you miss Chris something fierce. He’s in Rome and Bucharest and Berlin. Running from event to event. Tired, stressed, and you wish you could be there.

All throughout the puppy name ideas keep coming in. After Renner instagrams ”Evans can’t name a dog” the suggestions come flying thick and fast and then the sneaky snarky shit goes to town—Jeremy puts it in a poll on his private app. The one he does for fans to interact with him. Of course you need to follow just to see what’s trending, to tease Chris with the top rated latest idea, and that is how you wind up in your pj’s, enveloped by twenty pounds of puppy and more of Dodger in the middle of the day when IW has its London premiere. Chris looks amazing in a silvered, deep indigo and mauve silk suit by Ferragamo. It’s edgy and fun—Mackie’s teases him about it but clothes horse Sebastian approves.

After the red carpet and introductions to the Prince and Princess (only you know how many times he’d practised that perfect bow) they take their seats and you shoot him a text with the latest names.

“Bruno?>

<Blah>

<He’s not a St Bernard>

There’s a pause. You wait patiently until the little dots start up again.

<Sry. Chris put popcorn down my shirt>

They are such kids. Pratt or Hemsworth. Either could be the culprit.

<Those Renner’s top rated stars?> This is followed by a barfing face.

You laugh. <Least it’s not doggymcdogface>

You’re pretty sure his answer counts as sexting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Chris gets back he and Susan hatch what they think is a brilliant plan for your proper coming out.

You hate it.

You are terrified.

Ten of days of complicated, exhausting back and forth between the CGI guys and studio pass in a whirl and before you know it the day arrives. May 3rd.

Infinity War’s New York Premiere.

You both fly out, leave Scott to sit at the house and start down the incredible set that lines the huge red carpet. Photographers, literally a hundred of them, have come from all over the world for this night. You are shaking like a leaf, beyond nervous as you’ve never been before. Chris’s stylist had picked out a gorgeous gown; ruched and slim, ice lavender, it’s right on with the latest trend and shows off your height. (The funky diamond and fluorite necklet Chris surprised you with is worth more than your monthly salary but he insisted.)

“You look beautiful.” Chris whispers in your ear, surreptitiously brushing his fingers across your ass. It makes you flush right as you both walk slowly past the waiting phalanx.

“Chris! Y/N! Here. Look here.”

“Chris! Chris! Here!”

“How’s puppy?” someone shouts and he answers right away.

“Great! He’s with my little brother.”

“Got a name yet?”

“Nope.”

There’s a ripple of laughter at that. You stand a little dazed. Chris holds your hand and strokes a warm palm across your lower-back and you aren’t sure which of you it calms the most. You keep expecting Susan’s assistant Joan to touch your elbow, the pre-approved signal to break away, but Chris keeps you there, shakes his head at her and holds you hard.

When Elizabeth and Scarlet sweep up and join him you step quickly back; let them flirt and laugh and answer questions; have a great time joking about how weird it was to work with bearded Cap. They seem lovely; you know them just a little from the set but you don’t ‘know them’ know them. Maybe at the after party you’ll get that chance.

Just when you begin frown and wonder if it’s weird you’re just standing there, a hand pulls at your elbow, drags you back to the centre of the throng.

It’s Robert. Beaming as he wraps you in a hug and plants the biggest kiss on your cheek. Tucks you at his side while you blush furiously. You know him a little more because you’d worked the Siberia unit set.

“Hey,” he smiles. “You good?”

“Trying,” you admit and he hugs you hard just as an overly made up woman in thigh high slit gown and sky high heels stalks forward and sticks a microphone in his face.

“Robert! Robert Downey Junior! Brooke from E! here. What do you think about the rave reviews Infinity War is getting?”

He smiles a little wanly, waits for her to acknowledge you and when she doesn’t ignores her question blithely. “Brooke, great to see you. Have you met Y/N? One of the best damn producers in the biz. She’s one of the reasons for those reviews.”

Oh lord, but RDj is like this. Positive, Lovely. And occasionally full of shit.

You are not a producer, you are a second assistant producer. You want to die but settle for digging an elbow in his ribs (He giggles, but of course Robert has the chutzpah to pull it off).

Miss-self-centred-celebrity-interviewer frowns, plucked brows furrowed into a fairly accurate image of permanent confused surprise. “Great,” she bullshits and gamely ploughs right on. “Robert any predictions you want to make?”

She means about fan response. Folks expect the movie has been hyped but you know, frame by frame, how great it is.

You smile a little proudly, and glance up at Robert, wondering what he’ll say. His eyes are hidden by the trademark coloured glasses but something about the stiff set of his jaw says he’s pissed. By how rude she is.

His answer makes your jaw almost hit the floor.

“Predictions? Sure.” He looks fondly down at you and then over to the big muscled guy to his right. “Y/N here will be the best damn thing that ever happened to Chris Evans.”

Wha..? …?”

Before you can even frame a coherent thought Robert quips “See, look at this. He can’t be away from her for more than a heartbeat.”

It’s true. Chris has hoped back to grab your hand again and now you are sandwiched between your gorgeous boyfriend and one of Hollywood’s true legendary stars. You sneak a peek at them both. They’re happy and grinning and bantering back and forth.

The part of you that isn’t terrified wants to pinch yourself at where you are.

Later, in the theatre’s dark with an epic battle raging overhead, you reflect on how freaky your life has become. Before it was secrecy and haphazard dates; knees touching under table cloths and walking late in the evening with no one about. Now it’s sitting next to this amazing man, in public in the middle of the afternoon, while he squeezes your knee and kisses your palm every chance he gets. Like a pair of giddy teenagers you whisper to each other, touch and flirt, get shushed by a grinning Scarlet.

It’s amazing and crazy and just like a dream but it gets even crazier the next day when E! magazine runs the byline “Is this the one?”. Next to a picture of you, one hand on Chris’s chest, looking up adoringly into his eyes. He has the softest smile and looks so happy he could burst.

Tara texts <I sure hope so>

All you can think is when did they take that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fly back to Los Angeles and Chris does Chicago and D.C. but, finally, mid-May he is back home. Dodger and puppy are overjoyed. You settle into something of a routine. Work, workouts, hanging with friends, keeping up on puppy training. Walking puppy three times a day to keep him happy and just a little less rambunctious. The world has got used to the idea that you’re a thing so a few less paps haunt the gate.

Puppy by default gets called puppy all the time.

One Saturday morning you are both huddled on the couch indulging a second cappuccino when Chris’s phone rings. It’s Susan’s tone. Reluctantly he puts it on speaker phone so he doesn’t have to hold it to his ear.

His lips are kinda occupied, buzzing along your collarbone.

“Hmmm, Suz? What’s up?”

“A new invitation came in for an event I think that you should do.”

Chris frowns, wondering why this has to be handled now. “When?”

“End of June.”

“Kinda busy with Red Sea opening near then.”

“I know. But I think you’ll really want to see this one.” Susan sounds like she is smiling. Intriguing. Normally she’s so straight-faced, looks more like a poker player with a shitty hand.

“Ok.” Chris is shrugging as you mime a question.

“I’ll send the car over with the invite.”

Now? Wow. It obviously is a major deal.

Thirty minutes later the doorbell rings, Dodger and puppy race for the door, stand there with tails wagging while Chris accepts the envelope from Susan’s driver.

He flops back beside you on the couch. You scoop puppy up, give him a scratch behind both silky ears while Chris runs a fingernail under the flap.

“Holy shit!”

You lean over and peer across his muscled shoulder. “What is it?”

“An invitation from the Bosox’s owner John Henry himself.”

“To what?” you ask, thinking of his beer-drenched, football weekends with the guys. This would be a perfect opportunity but you’re the Red Sox’s biggest fan. Maybe Scott could sit again and you both have a weekend to yourselves?

“Their ‘dog day at Fenway’”

“What?!” You squeal. “Yes!” You shake puppy’s paw and his kiss his snout. “Oh my god little guy you get to see the Green Monster for yourself.”

Chris laughs. The Green Monster is Fenway Park’s fabled left field wall. The highest in the MLB. “So long as he doesn’t piddle on it. We’re going to do it then? Says here they need an answer by Monday.”

You shake your head incredulously at Chris. “Are you kidding? Our favourite team? The most famous field in all of baseball! Of course we’re doing it! And besides, our first date was there. It’s awesome.”

It is. Dodger, catching some of your excitement, gets all keyed up. He jumps up and puts his paw on Chris’s knee. His master gives it a grave shake, purses his lips thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Maybe we can take a couple days off. Hang with mom and everyone. Charter a jet to make it easy to fly both these dudes.”

You like that idea. The only thing dampening your enthusiasm was the thought of putting puppy in an airplane hold. Chris reaches down and gives Dodger’s head a pat before looking across at you, a slow smile spreading along his lips. Your soulful boyfriend has saved the best bit for last.

“They want me to throw out the first pitch. With Dodger and puppy there.”

“Woohoo!!” That’s it. Pandemonium breaks out. You’re up and dancing with an excited, yipping ball of fluff in your arms, while Chris grabs Dodger and gets his face washed excitedly.

“We need red ribbons for their collars,” you exclaim, “and to get them groomed and…”

“Whoa. First things first. I need to work on my pitch.”

“Oh I can help with that. I’ve got good hands.”

With a glove you mean, but Chris chuckles mischievously and leans in to catch your lips in his. “I know. Maybe we should go work on ‘signs’.”

Oh god. You laugh through the feather softness of his kiss along your jaw, shiver as it presses harder and finds the hollow of your throat. So good. Your eyes are starting to glaze over while a perfect liquid heat pools low in your core. Several blissful moments are then lost to making out before the ‘kids’ begin to wriggle.

Puppy’s whining in that way that says he needs to pull up a tree

Reluctantly you break apart and make a face. “Parent time.” Chris sets Dodger down and goes over to the French doors, slides them open and lets both dogs out into the yard. It’s warm and a little hazy. You grab your half empty mug and the invitation, sit at the outdoor dining table to read it through.

God this is incredible. They want Chris to throw out the first pitch and join Mr. Henry in his suite. Lead the seventh inning stretch and bring you too. You’re named. Wow. It’s unbelievable. You look up at Chris and smile, shielding your eyes from the climbing sun.

He’s stretching out his shoulders, flexing to get out the kinks. It makes you want to run your hands up underneath his shirt.

Focus Y/N, focus.

You tap your fingernails thoughtfully on the mug. ‘Fenway. I still can’t believe it. Puppy and Dodger going to Fenw… Wait. That’s it!” You sit straight up. It’s perfect. How had you never thought of it before?

“What?” Chris swipes your mug to take a swig, cocks one eyebrow, keeping half an eye on the dogs as they go about their routine.

“Puppyu needs a name. Before we get to the park. Look.” You shake the heavy vellum under Chris’s nose. The Red Sox’s address is in big green lettering at the top.

“Fenway. It’s the perfect name.”

Chris looks over at the little guy, chasing after Dodger with his tongue lolling out and ears flapping in the wind. It’s been two whole months since you brought him home. Two months that feel more like two days and have been an amazing ride.

“Fenway. Dodger and Fenway. I love it. It so works.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue.

From Boston’s NESN-TV feed. June 27, 2018. Jerry Remy and Steve Lyons announcing.

“Well folks look at that. It’s a high looping curve ball, right over the plate and Vasquez nabs it easily. He jogs out to the mound. Hands it straight to tonight’s special first pitch guest: Chris Evans. Captain America himself has just thrown out the ball on tonight’s Sox-Tribe game. A long anticipated matchup that is sure to be a slug fest.”

“You’re right about that Jerry. The fans, and their pooches, are keyed up for this game on ‘dog day at Fenway’, brought to you by Nutrisource and the Sox’s great management. 37,000 here tonight. Almost capacity.”

“How many dogs?”

“No official stat on that…but the two cutest gotta be out on there right now. Dodger and Fenway. Chris Evans’ and his girlfriend Y/N’s pups.”

“No doubt about it Steve. They’re both being very good dogs there, standing with Miss Y/N. Now Mr. Henry and tonight’s managers, Alex Cora and Tito Francona, and the plate umpire come forward to shake Mr Evans’ and Miss Y/N’s hands. Starting pitcher Drew Pomeranz tips his cap. We’re just waiting for Mr. Henry to say a few words.”

“Hmm. There seems to be a bit of a delay. Can you tell what’s going on? The big wigs have all stepped back.”

“Not sure. Wait. Oh lordy. Mr. Evans has gone down on one knee.”

“Yup. No doubt about it. Folks we are witnessing history here. Mr. Evans is holding Miss Y/N’s hand and pulling something out of his pocket. It’s looks sparkly and suspiciously like a ring. Miss Y/N is nodding her head and those are definitely tears upon her face.”

“What an amazing moment. The crowd is on its feet. The whole stadium is pounding from the cheering. Mr. Evans has now stood up and wow that kiss might just bust our rating.”

“Dang it, Jer, there’s something in my eye.”

“Mine too. What a phenomenal way to start this series. The organist has struck up ‘It’s a Wonderful World’ and there’s one heck of powerful hug going on down there.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

“And gal.”

“Absolutely. They’re slowly starting to walk off, hand in hand, waving to the crowd and the dogs are trotting along. A storybook start to a new life. We wish them every happiness.”

“We sure do. Look at that. Both dugouts have emptied to salute them. Nice touch. Class acts both teams.”

“For sure. And while the happy couple take a few last waves the infield has filed back to their spots. Pomeranz is scuffing his cleats on the spike cleaner, getting ready for his set up.”

“It’s a beautiful and special night Boston. Let’s play ball.”

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@sweet-empowerment @miss-cap21 @brooklyn-to-battlefields @inkwellsandmagicspells @maggieskeleton @imagine-cats96 @mewsiex @yourtropegirl @its-forevermore @dirajunara @s0eul @our-sharona @avaalons @lumelgy @mycapt-ohcapt @mypatronusismrpricklepants @3dsaunt @mrchristopherrobert @our-jasmine-universe @rayleyanns @s8sense @tinaferaldo @callamint @emilyevanston @interstateofmind @lilnerdy @666themarkofthebitch @thestarlighthotel @doloreschanel @pegasusdragontiger @zkkn

#He followed me home #finally #sian22redux #writes #@theycallmebecca #chris evans #dodger #reader #puppy

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