Page 33 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

What did Isaac think about sending me a picture of his bed? Did he hesitate? Did he overthink it? Was he nervous?

Or did it mean nothing at all, other than he just wanted to share a picture of the dog?

Look at me, overthinking this whole thing. Jenn’s words echo in the back of my mind, her gentle nudge toward the precipice of love. She’s right. Maybe it’s time. Time to let go of past hurts, to embrace the possibility of something new, something good.

Isaac… could he be the one to walk this path with me?

The thought lingers as I dress, pulling on jeans and a comfortable sweater, the image of Baxter still etched in my thoughts. Isaac’s kindness of late, his unexpected gestures — they carve out a space in my cautious heart. It seems that Baxter isn’t the only one who has been growing and changing. Isaac and I have also been discovering new parts of ourselves.

I shake off the remaining threads of sleep, my mood buoyant despite the burden of yesterday’s worries. I don’t have a shift at the coffee shop today, or any appointments with my few clients. Which means I get to do whatever I please.

Which means I’m heading to the shelter.

Today, I make a difference, however small.

The shelter greets me with its familiar smells and sounds — the tang of disinfectant, the babble of barks and whines. My steps carry me forward, and even though there’s so much to repair and heal here, the problems don’t feel as big as they once did.

Taco waits for me, his small frame quivering with energy. The chihuahua mix is a bundle of nerves, quick movements and darting eyes, but beneath the surface lies a heart in need of understanding.

“Hey, little guy,” I murmur, kneeling before his kennel.

He hesitates, his gaze flickering between me and the safety of his bed. Patience is a language all its own, and I speak it fluently. Slowly, gently, I extend my hand, a silent offering.

Minutes pass, an eternity in the currency of trust. Then, a step — a tentative paw reaching out. His nose twitches, exploring the scent of me, the promise of kindness without harm. Another step, and then he’s there, his tiny body pressed against my palm. Connection, fragile as spider silk, weaves its magic.

“Good boy, Taco,” I say softly, my voice barely audible over the barking from the other enclosures.

I put a lead on him and take him into the yard, away from the distraction of the other dogs. We work together, him learning the cues, me reveling in every small triumph. Sit. Stay. Come. Simple commands that build bridges between us.

They’re the commands that he can use when prospective families come in for meet-and-greets. They will show that he is a good dog, eager to bond and please. They will, fingers crossed, help to get him adopted.

Taco’s tail wags, a metronome of growing confidence, and my heart swells with pride. These moments matter. They’re the reason I’m here, why I pour my soul into these creatures others have discarded.

By the time our session ends, Taco is a different dog. While he is still grasping the commands, his spunk is back. I can feel the joy and love emanating from him.

He’s still cautious, yes, but he’s also braver than before. It’s a transformation that never ceases to amaze me, the resilience of these animals, their capacity to heal and to love again.

“See you tomorrow, buddy,” I promise as I put him back in his kennel, though the ache of uncertainty clings to the words. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, not here, not in this life of transience and fleeting connections.

But today, today is good. Today, I’ve made a difference, and that has to be enough.

Checking my phone, I see that it isn’t even ten a.m. yet. With nothing on my schedule, the day stretches on, feeling weirdly empty and hollow. I would love to see Isaac again, but he’s at work, probably with a thousand other things to do that are way more pressing than seeing me.

It’s good, though, I remind myself. I can use this time to work with some more dogs here. Smiling to myself, I head to the office to talk to Ricki about it.

The second I see her, though, the grin drops right off my face. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a stark glare over the cluttered desk where Ricki sits, her face etched with lines of worry.

More bad news?

I almost don’t want to ask, and yet I also can’t stand the anticipation of not knowing what’s going on.

“Hey,” I begin, voice softening as I step closer. “Any updates on the funding?”

Ricki looks up, her eyes reflecting the burden of bad news before her lips even part.

“It’s not good, Em.” She shuffles papers, none of which hold the answers we need.

My chest tightens, air thinning in my lungs. I swallow hard, bracing for the rest. “And?”

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