Page 29 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

I chuckle. “You sound like my mom.”

“Your mom was pretty chill?”

“The most.” I pause. Think about it. “In a good way.”

She leans against the kitchen counter. It’s darker in here, with fewer candles, and that makes it feel more intimate. “Were you close?”

“Up until she passed, yeah. What about…” I trail off.

She shakes her head. “I haven’t really talked to my parents in years.”

“That’s right.” I want to kick myself for not remembering. She already told me she’s not close with her parents — but she didn’t tell me why.

“They’re both alcoholics,” she supplies, much to my surprise. “They were more interested in themselves than raising me, so…” She rakes her fingers through her loose hair.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

“It’s okay, but thank you. I appreciate it.”

“What about siblings?” I ask, changing the subject from her parents.

She shakes her head. “Only child, much to my dismay.”

“I get it,” I say, quietly reminiscing my childhood years without a sibling. “Growing up, I wished for a younger brother.”

Emily laughs softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling beautifully. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” I retort with a smirk playing on my lips. “Someone to take the blame and do all my chores.”

She throws me an amused look. “You’re terrible!”

Our laughter reverberates in the half-lit room and sends Baxter into a frenzy of barking.

“Seriously, though.” I wipe down the counter, merely looking for something to do with my nervous energy. “I hate that you had to grow up that way, but I hope you don’t mind my saying that you seem wonderfully well-adjusted.”

She blinks slowly, absorbing my words. A soft sigh escapes her lips before she responds, fingers tracing patterns on the marble counter. “You’d be surprised what someone can adjust to, when it’s all they’ve ever known.”

There’s a depth of sadness in her eyes that steals away my breath. The moment stretches out, heavy and somber. I wish to lift it, but don’t know how.

“I wish things were different for you,” I say sincerely.

Emily smiles, and there’s a strange warmth in it. “They are. They’re very different now.”

I raise an eyebrow, curiosity digging into my heart. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she says, her fingers absentmindedly reaching out to pet Baxter, who has settled at our feet. “Then, I didn’t really have much to look forward to. Now I do. Things are going really well. In big part thanks to you.”

My chest swells at her words. I open my mouth to respond, but words evade me. I simply look at her, her hands wandering on Baxter’s fur, the dim light painting ethereal shadows on her face. I’ve known loss, experienced it in a way that forever altered the course of my life, but Emily’s resilience is something of an enigma.

“You’re strong, Emily,” I hesitantly say. She stops petting Baxter and looks up at me, eyes reflecting the half-light of the room.

“Not really,” she shrugs, an odd smile playing on her lips.

I shake my head adamantly. “No, you are.”

She holds my gaze, and for a moment I think she might step forward and kiss me — until she abruptly looks away. “Anyway, dogs have helped me a lot. They’re easier than humans. Easier to read. So giving in their love. Forgiving.”

“Hmm.” I look at my dog, the one I never asked for but that I’ve come to accept. Emily’s perspective is one I never considered.

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