Jim Hopper Novels & Stories

Sera Jim Harrison. Tall, blond hair, big baby blue eyes. And dimples that showed off every time he flashed his dashing white smile. Everything about him screamed American Dream—broad shoulders and a finely defined jaw, well-fitting Levi jeans, and the kind of face that made me envision a life where we got married, bought a condo in Jersey, and adopted a Golden Retriever named Buddy. Jim would train him to heel, sit, and stay. I’d let him sleep at the foot of the bed. We’d argue about it, but Jim would eventually forfeit and lose a quarter of his half of the bed. Buddy deserved the best.