Page 16 of Forever & Always You

If Austin’s successful career wasn’t enough to make me feel like I’m ten steps behind in life, then his house certainly is.

I followed him across the city and into the northern suburbs where I gawked in awe at the gorgeous Tudor-style homes, with their flawless brickwork and overlapping gables, like something out of a fairytale.

It’s the kind of neighborhood my mother would approve of, and as I parked my well-loved Prius on the drive next to Austin’s sporty coupé, I had, for the first time in my life, an odd feeling of not belonging.

And maybe that’s how Austin felt his entire childhood, growing up in a neighborhood of homes owned by families with long histories of generational wealth.

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck?” I say in disbelief as Austin lets me step inside the house.

“What?”

I don’t even have to go on a grand tour of the two-story house to figure out that it’s full of gadgets and expensive paintwork.

Much like his office, it’s clear Austin has a contemporary minimalist taste, because his home has the same monochrome color palette and even the same fucking coffee table.

The one I reduced to a pile of glass shards.

I spin toward him, almost accusatory. “I’m not doubting your abilities as a businessman, but seriously?

How have you achieved so much so young? Three years out from graduating, and you have a successful career and your own house?

And not some crappy house, either. This house.

Aren’t you supposed to spend your twenties climbing the corporate ladder before you see any real returns?

You skipped a hundred steps ahead— how? ”

Austin watches me in amusement out of the corner of his eye as he crosses to the kitchen, all black countertops and gloss white cabinets with a center island to match. Clearly, a recent renovation. “Suspicious? So you think there’s something unethical about me?”

I join him in the kitchen and rest my elbows on the island, leaning forward and wiggling my brows at him. “I won’t judge if there is.”

“No, Gabby. All above board,” Austin answers. He presses his hands to the other side of the island, furrowing his eyebrows back at me in a stare-off. “Wanna see the guest room? It’s yours for the weekend.”

“No glass tables?”

Austin grins. “No glass tables.”

He leads the way upstairs, pointing out the bathroom and his home office, warning me to stay out of there for confidentiality reasons, and then presents the guest bedroom to me.

“I’m not a huge decorator,” he says sheepishly, hovering by the door.

There’s a fluffy carpet that seems almost untouched, an inviting king-sized bed with a stack of pillows, and two nightstands either side of the bed. The room has an en suite, too.

“This is perfect,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed and immediately sinking into the foam mattress that contours around my body. “You’re doing me a huge favor, Austin. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

Now he’s extra sheepish. “You’re welcome. Gets a little boring around here on my own anyway, so I’ll enjoy you running that sarcastic mouth of yours.”

“Sarcastic, but not mean,” I say. We made that deal to be nice to each other.

“You’ll be kicked out of here so fucking fast if you’re mean.”

I pout. Sarcastically, of course. “But I’ve already claimed my new bed,” I groan, stretching out my arms and falling backward into the stack of luxurious pillows.

“Don’t get too comfy,” Austin says, reaching for my hands and pulling me upright, “because we have stuff to do today.”

“We do?”

“Important stuff.”

“Important stuff that you need me for?”

“I don’t need you,” he says, “but I want you to come. I’d ask if you’re allergic to dogs, but if I remember right, it’s only cats.”

“You’re right,” I say, a smile stretching across my face, because he really does remember everything.

“Remember that stray we found once? We carried it from door to door, asking if it belonged to anyone, and my eyes swelled up so badly I couldn’t see.

My dad ended up taking me to the emergency room for a rabies shot, and you left me candy in the front yard. ”

“ And you named it Hannah the Homeless Cat.”

I laugh, because of course I named it. “I don’t even know if it was female. Didn’t your parents end up taking it to the shelter?”

“Funny you mention the shelter,” he says, “because that’s where we’re heading now. Only it’s the dog shelter, obviously. I promise, no cats.” He holds out his hand, palm up, offering to help me to my feet. Warily, I place my hand in his and let him pull me up from the bed.

“Are you .?.?. Are you adopting a dog?”

“Would you stick around if there was a resident dog at the office?”

“Yes, because you’ll obviously hire me as its primary caretaker, and I’ll feed it biscuits and teach it to play dead and it’ll love me more than it loves you.” I glance down and suddenly don’t feel so playful when I realize my hand is still in his. I lift my gaze. “Are you really adopting a dog?”

“I hate to break your heart, Gabby, but no,” Austin says.

I snatch my hand back from his with a scowl. “Boring. Why are we going to the shelter, then?”

“Because it’s sponsored by none other than Pierce Wealth Management.” Austin grins, those perfectly straight teeth catching me off guard again. “Looks good for business, I get to hang out with some dogs every weekend, and it’s tax deductible.”

I press my hands to my hips. “So why are we still here and not there? C’mon! I wanna see the dogs.”

We head downstairs and hop into Austin’s car together, and I quite enjoy being the passenger princess as we head downtown.

I control the music and the AC, and Austin complains that my music taste is disappointing and my AC preference too dramatic, and I simply ignore his whining.

We stop by the pet store en route to the shelter and fill a cart with monstrous bags of kibble that Austin somehow manages to stack in his tiny front trunk, and we pick out some toys together, too.

Lots of squeaky ones. As we drive to the shelter, I rip off all the tags.

“You do this every weekend?” I ask Austin as the pile of toys accumulates at my feet.

“I try.”

“Which dog is your favorite? I’m sensing .?.?.” I drum my fingertips against my forehead and close my eyes, pretending to think. When I open them again, I say, “Some three-legged mutt with one eye and missing patches of fur. Correct?”

Austin reaches for a toy on my lap, squeaks it, then throws it gently at my face. “I don’t pick favorites.”

“Liar. Of course you have a favorite.”

“I don’t.”

“I’ll figure out which one you have a soft spot for,” I say confidently.

“Good luck, because there isn’t one.”

We pull up outside the shelter, Saving Paws Animal Rescue, and immediately a woman named Fiona races outside to greet us.

Austin introduces me as his friend, which is a lot more than he introduced me as to his receptionist at the office yesterday, so I’ll take it.

I bundle all of the toys back into a carrier bag while Austin and Fiona grab all the kibble from the trunk.

I’ve never been to a dog shelter before, but by the time we sign in at the front desk and dump the kibble in the storeroom, I’ve adjusted to the constant barking punctuated by the odd howl.

I carry the bag of toys in my arms with nervous excitement, following Austin around like I’m a lost puppy myself, as he catches up with Fiona on which dogs were adopted this week and any new arrivals.

And then finally, finally .?.?. “Ready to hand out those toys?”

“Yes!”

Fiona unlocks a door for us, revealing a long corridor with kennels either side of the walkway, and the barking kicks up a notch as lots of paws and noses poke excitedly through the kennel doors. She tells us to hang out for as long as we want, then leaves us to it.

“Let’s just work our way down,” Austin suggests, reaching into the bag to pluck out a toy.

He crouches in front of the first kennel to our left, waving the fox plushie at the Akita whose tail is wagging so fast, I’m surprised the whole damn dog doesn’t propel through the air.

“Hi, Nelly. How’s it going this week? Look what I’ve got! ”

Austin passes Nelly the toy, and the poor pup may as well collapse in excitement. She circles her kennel, squeaking the toy in her mouth, her entire body wiggling with joy.

“Hi, Nelly,” I say gently, holding my hand through the door, but she’s too excited to care.

We switch over to the first kennel on the right-hand side now.

“Bruno’s a grump,” Austin says, slipping a toy through the door while we get glowered at by the German shepherd curled up in the back corner.

We work our way down the corridor, going from side-to-side and showing each dog some attention as we hand out the toys.

Some are nervous, some a little growly, some too tongue-friendly.

Each has a sign on their door with their name and their story, and as we near the end of the corridor, I feel a lot sadder than I did at the start.

Some of these dogs have been here for a long time, some have been abused and neglected, some were found as strays.

“I thought this was going to be fun,” I say gravely, “but I was mistaken.”

“They’ll find their homes eventually,” Austin reassures me.

“But what about Teddy over there?” I point to the elderly Lab mix, and I think I may actually cry as he nips gently on the plushie donut we gave him.

He doesn’t have many teeth left. “His sign says he’s been here for nine hundred and thirty-two days.

Do the math on that, Austin. That’s over two years! ”

Austin looks back at me over his shoulder from his crouched position on the floor, the nervous Chihuahua he’s been trying to win over still growling fiercely at him. “Are you crying?”

“The more important question is why aren’t you crying?” I sniff.