Page 44 of The Billionaire's Pawfect Match

“I hope this is just the beginning of many evenings like this,” I say, as the last course is cleared, not even meaning for the words to escape my lips.

“Me too,” she responds, her voice a whisper.

The check comes, and I settle it swiftly, eager to continue our evening beyond the confines of the restaurant. We rise, and I offer her my arm, which to my relief she accepts.

Outside, the valet brings the car around and opens the door for Emily. While I look forward to the drive together, my heart sinks a little bit at the thought of dropping her off at her apartment and ending the night.

“Thank you, Isaac. For dinner, for the shelter, for… everything,” she says as I drive away from the restaurant.

“It’s the least I can do.”

She laughs. “No, you don’t have to do anything.”

I glance at her. “I like you, Emily.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and she ducks her face as she bites into her bottom lip. It takes all my willpower to tear my gaze away from her mouth and focus on the road instead.

At her apartment, I hurry out of the car and go around to open the door for her. Our eyes meet, sharing silent longings and unspoken attraction. There’s a part of me that wants to rush ahead, to claim this feeling, to brand it as mine forever.

But I won’t. Because this time, it’s about savoring every second, letting the story write itself at its own pace. So, instead, I walk her to her front door then take a step back.

“Good night, Emily,” I murmur.

“Good night,” she replies softly. She opens the door and slips inside, a lovely shadow vanishing from view.

But it’s only temporary. Tomorrow is already on its way, and along with it a multitude of good things. I can feel it deep within my soul, the promise as guaranteed as the rising sun.

CHAPTER 21

ISAAC

My feet press against the rugged trail, Baxter bounding ahead on his extending leash, his coat glistening with droplets from the creek we just crossed — or, for Baxter, plunged through. Emily’s laughter floats on the breeze, her joy as clear and pure as the mountain air around us. It’s a perfect day, a moment suspended in time where the stresses of my world seem to lift.

“Look at him go,” Emily says, her eyes tracking Baxter’s every leap and splash. She’s right beside me, close enough that I can catch the scent of her shampoo.

“He’s having the time of his life,” I reply, my voice more relaxed than it has been in years. Watching the golden retriever frolic makes me wonder when was the last time I allowed myself such unbridled happiness.

We climb higher, the path narrowing as it winds its way up the small mountain. The incline is steep, but it’s nothing compared to the corporate ladder I’ve been scaling my whole life. Here, though, with Emily and Baxter, the ascent feels different — invigorating rather than exhausting.

“Almost there,” I encourage, reaching out a hand to help Emily over a particularly gnarled root. Her fingers brush mine, sending an unexpected jolt through me, one that I welcome and crave more of.

We crest the peak, and the view unfolds before us, a tapestry of nature untouched by skyscrapers or boardroom politics. We settle down on a patch of soft grass, and Baxter, finally tiring, curls up beside us and lets out a big, happy sigh.

Emily and I find a rock next to him, a large and smooth one that’s probably seated thousands of people over the course of humanity.

“Wow, Isaac,” Emily beams, gesturing to the sprawling vista. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Nothing beats the view from the top,” I say, though I’m not really talking about the mountain. From where I sit, I see not only the vastness of the valley but also the potential in the days stretching out before me.

“Speaking of the top.” She shifts her gaze from the scenery to me. “I saw the flyers your team designed; they’re incredible.”

“Thanks. They’re doing their best to get the word out.” I pause, considering how much to share. I’m proud to be helping with the shelter’s dog-wash fundraiser, but I don’t want to gloat. Then again, I want her to know that there is some real money on the way. “Actually, a few of my friends have already pledged donations. Sizeable ones.”

And I will, of course, be writing my own sizeable check. Mentioning that, though, really does feel too much like gloating.

“Really?” Her surprise is genuine, and I feel a warmth in her gratitude. “That’s amazing. God knows the shelter could use every penny.”

“Let’s just say, the day of the wash, they might be in for a bit of a surprise,” I hint, concealing the full extent of my planned contribution. For once, it feels good to hold back details, knowing the reveal will bring a smile to her face.

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