“Oh, and the dog situation seems to be settling in nicely,” Maggie added, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “Apparently half the building is already in love. The other half is pretending to be annoyed but secretly taking photos.”
Evelyn felt a flutter of something in her chest—anticipation, maybe, or curiosity about how the partnership was progressing. She thought about Bug, about Alyssa, about the apology she’d accepted yesterday.
“Good,” Evelyn said, trying to sound professional and not at all like someone who’d spent last night thinking about a certain sanctuary owner. “That’s…good.”
Maggie gave her a look that suggested she wasn’t fooled for a second, but mercifully said nothing.
The morning passed in a blur of spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails. Evelyn powered through the budget review on autopilot, nodding in the right places and making the occasional comment that sounded vaguely intelligent. By eleven, her headache had downgraded from “cheese grater” to “mild concussion,” which she considered a win.
She was halfway through the marketing presentation—something about social media engagement and influencer partnerships that made her want to lie down in a dark room—when there was a soft scratching at her door.
Evelyn ignored it. Probably someone from accounts, or a delivery, or the ghost of corporate ambition past.
The scratching continued, patient and persistent.
“Come in,” she called, not looking up from her laptop.
The door didn’t open. The scratching intensified.
Evelyn sighed, stood, and crossed the office. She pulled the door open, fully prepared to deliver a withering comment about the importance of opposable thumbs in a professional environment.
Bug sat in the corridor, looking up at her with an expression of mild reproach, as if she’d kept him waiting an unreasonable amount of time.
“Oh,” Evelyn said.
Bug tilted his head, one ear flopping forward in a way that should not have been as devastating as it was.
“You’re…here,” Evelyn continued, feeling foolish. “Again.”
Bug stood, trotted past her into the office, and made a beeline for the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows. He sat directly in the patch of sunlight streaming through the glass, his black and white fur catching the light, and settled down with a soft sigh.
Evelyn stared at him. Then she stared at the open door. Then she stared at Bug again.
“Right,” she said to no one in particular. “This is happening.”
She closed the door—gently, so as not to disturb him—and returned to her desk. Bug didn’t move. He just lay there, a small black-and-white comma of contentment, soaking up the November sun like it was his job.
Evelyn tried to focus on her laptop. She really did. But her eyes kept drifting to the window, to the dog, to the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.
It was…peaceful. Absurdly so. It’s why she’d thought about bringing him to her office again last night as she pondered life whilst trying to capture the perpetually elusive sleep she so desperately needed.
Lasting ten minutes before giving up entirely. Evelyn stood, walked over to the window, and sat on the floor beside Bug. He opened one eye, regarded her with what might have been approval, and went back to sleep.
Evelyn leaned her head against the wall and let herself just…stop. No emails. No meetings. No expectations. Just her, a dog, and the city sprawling out below them.
“You’re a terrible influence,” she told Bug.
Bug’s stubby tail thumped once against the floor.
Evelyn smiled.
By the end of the week, Bug’s visits had become routine.
He arrived every morning around ten, scratched at her door with the patience of a saint, and let himself in the moment she opened it. He always went straight to the window, alwaysclaimed the same patch of sunlight, and always stayed for exactly two hours before trotting back out again.
Evelyn had no idea how he knew when two hours were up. She suspected he had an internal clock more accurate than anything Swiss engineering could produce.
On Tuesday, she’d tried to work through his visit. She’d lasted forty-five minutes before abandoning her laptop and joining him on the floor. They’d sat together in companionable silence, watching the city move below them, and Evelyn had felt something in her chest loosen—a knot she hadn’t realized, or at least admitted, was there.
