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I nod but don’t shake the uneasy feeling curling at the back of my neck. Something feels off.
But I push it aside, turning back toward the yard just in time to see Emma brush a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile soft as she listens to Max chatter about his latest school project.
My chest tightens. Nate nudges me with his elbow, voice low. “You keep saying it’s nothing. But you and I both know it’s not.”
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “Doesn’t matter.”
Nate huffs out a laugh. “You sure about that? Because the way you’re clenching that beer bottle says otherwise.”
I force my grip to loosen, but my pulse thrums in my ears and I don’t want this to be something.
I throw back the last of my beer, avoiding Nate’s knowing stare.
“Drop it,” I mutter, turning toward the grill. “I’m here for the food, not the speculation.”
Nate smirks but lets it go. But as I watch Emma from the corner of my eye, the way she tosses her head back in laughter, the way the wind plays with the strands of her hair…
Nate might be right. And worse, I know I’m lying to myself.
Chapter eleven
Emma
The break room at the animal shelter smells like cheap coffee and disinfectant, the kind of scent that lingers in places that run on tired volunteers and love for animals. The chipped table wobbles when I set my cup down, my other hand smoothing out the sketches in front of me. Lines of ink forming my dream, the reception area, the exam rooms, the cozy kennel space. My future.
I roll my shoulders back, exhaling through my nose. This is what matters, not the words I can’t unhear. And it’s not the way Bryan’s voice, cool and dismissive, had sent a knife through me at the barbeque. Calling me a mistake. I squeeze my fingers tighter around the pen.
Stella drops into the chair across from me with her usual flair, a donut in one hand, a file in the other. She takes one look at my scattered papers and grins. “Tell me this means you’re finally making moves.”
I nod, tapping the sketchpad. “Yeah. Been working through logistics, seeing where I can cut costs. I figured I’d start small, basic facilities, a few staff members, focus on pet care and emergency services first.”
She takes a long sip of her coffee, eyes sharp. “And funding?”
I hesitate. “That’s where I hit a wall. Grants aren’t coming through fast enough. I’m thinking of reaching out to the community like you suggested. Small fundraiser, maybe. A pet-wash event, bake sale, something to get people involved.”
Stella snaps her fingers. “I love that! Ocean Bay’s big on local business. If we pitch it right, we could get sponsors too, small ones at first, then work up to bigger investors. Maybe even get businesses to donate supplies instead of cash.”
I nod, excitement stirring. This could work. I could build this from the ground up, the way I always dreamed. On my own.
Then Stella smirks. “And you do know who’d be a great investor.”
I look up warily. “No.”
She leans in, wiggling her eyebrows. “Bryan.”
The name slams into me like a sucker punch. My stomach twists, grip tightening around my pen until my knuckles ache. “No.” The word comes out too sharp, too fast. Stella blinks. “Whoa. Just a thought.”
I swallow hard, looking back down at my sketches. I don’t need his help. I don’t need his money, his influence, or his pity. I hear his voice, the words that cut deep, history he won’t repeat. A flush creeps up my neck, shame and something raw curling in my chest.
Stella watches me for a long moment, chewing her lip. Then, as if reading my mind, she shrugs. “Fine. We’ll do it without him.”
I force a nod, ignoring the knot in my throat. “Yeah. We will.”
She studies me for another beat, then changes the subject, launching into plans about flyers and pitching the fundraiser tothe shelter crew. I nod along, letting her voice drown out the ache still lodged deep inside.
The door creaks open, and in walk volunteers Claire and Pearl, both carrying brown paper bags. Claire is a vet tech while Pearl simply loves animals. I glance up, offering a faint smile.
“Thought you might be hungry,” Claire says, setting one of the bags on the table. Pearl, ever the quiet one, simply nods, her kind eyes soft as she places the other on the counter.