Page 27

M att stood in his empty kitchen, still wearing the same clothes he’d worn to dinner.

The silence inside his home seemed to press against the walls.

Stephanie had driven back home twenty minutes ago, and the house felt cavernous without the conversation and laughter that had filled his truck on the ride home.

The evening had been perfect—better than perfect.

Watching Stephanie and Amy connect so naturally, and seeing Lynda’s face light up as their daughters made plans for the grandchildren to meet, felt like they were building something real and lasting together.

It should have left him content, peaceful, and ready for a good night’s sleep.

Instead, restlessness crawled under his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Matt loosened his collar and wandered into the living room, switching on the lamp beside his reading chair.

A veterinary journal lay open on the side table where he’d left it that morning, an article about wildlife rehabilitation techniques half-finished.

He picked it up, trying to focus on the words, but his mind kept drifting back to the dinner.

The look on Amy’s face when she thanked him for making her mother smile again was special.

The easy warmth in Stephanie’s voice when she’d said her mom would like Lynda had affected him deeply.

And when both daughters were organizing when their children could meet, it made him think that having a blended family was already a foregone conclusion.

He set the journal aside and rubbed his temples. Everything was falling into place so smoothly that it felt almost surreal. After fifteen years of careful solitude, of keeping his heart safely locked away, life was suddenly offering him everything he hadn’t dared to want.

So why did he feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff?

Matt got up and paced to the window that overlooked the lake.

Moonlight silvered the water’s surface, and he could see the faint lights of houses scattered along the far shore.

Somewhere out there, Lynda was probably getting ready for bed, maybe talking to Amy about the evening.

The thought made him smile despite feeling uneasy.

He tried to work out what was bothering him.

Was he afraid of moving too fast? They’d been careful about that, taking their time and letting their relationship develop naturally.

Was he worried about disappointing Lynda in some way?

That seemed unlikely after tonight. The connection between their families had been immediate and genuine.

It could be the magnitude of what was happening.

For so long, his life had been predictable, contained, and manageable.

He’d had his work, Stephanie, and the occasional fishing trip or dinner with friends.

It was safe and predictable. And now everything was expanding, becoming complex and wonderful and terrifying all at once.

Matt walked to his workshop, a converted spare bedroom where he kept his carving tools and wood supplies. For the last few days, he’d been working on a new piece. It was a mother deer and her fawn. He’d spotted them near the clinic last week and had quickly taken some photos with his phone.

The partially carved basswood sat on his workbench, waiting for him to define the delicate features of the fawn’s face.

Picking up his smallest knife, he settled onto his stool, trying to lose himself in the familiar rhythm of shaping the wood.

But his hands felt clumsy. After a few minutes, he set the knife down, frustrated.

Even this refuge, this quiet practice that usually calmed his mind, couldn’t touch whatever was churning inside him.

The house felt too small and too empty at the same time.

Matt glanced at the clock on the workshop wall.

It was nearly midnight. It was too late to call anyone, too early to give up on sleep entirely.

He considered making a cup of coffee, taking a shower, and reading in bed. None of those options appealed to him.

What he really wanted was to talk to Lynda, to hear her voice, and share this strange feeling of standing on the threshold of something immense. But Amy was staying with her, and they wouldn’t appreciate being woken by his late phone call.

Instead, he thought about the wolfdog puppies. They’d be sleeping now, curled together in their warm enclosure at the shelter. The thought of them growing into healthy, thriving animals usually made him happy.

Tonight, it left him feeling worried.

Matt changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed his keys and medical bag from the kitchen counter, and headed out.

Carol had mentioned that Baker had been favoring his left front paw yesterday, and it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.

The drive would clear his head, and maybe by the time he got home, this restless energy would have settled into something manageable.

The streets of Sapphire Bay were deserted.

The streetlights created pools of yellow light in the darkness.

Matt drove slowly, windows down, letting the cool night air wash over him.

The familiar route to the shelter was soothing—past the general store, the elementary school, and the park where the farmers market set up every Saturday.

He’d made this drive hundreds of times over the years in all kinds of weather and circumstances.

Emergency calls in the middle of winter storms, routine visits on sunny spring mornings, and late-night checks when animals were sick or injured.

The shelter had become a second home, a place where his skills mattered, and his presence could make a difference.

As he turned onto Maple Street, Matt realized that’s what he needed tonight—to feel useful, to connect with the work that had brought meaning to his life and, more recently, had brought Lynda into it.

The puppies represented everything good that had happened in the past few weeks.

Their survival, their growth, the community support they’d generated, and his relationship with Lynda were all wrapped around five rapidly growing wolfdogs.

The animal shelter came into view, and Matt stopped his truck in the parking lot. He sat for a moment, breathing in the night air. Already, he felt calmer, more centered. This had been the right choice.

But as he stepped out of his vehicle, something made him pause. The air smelled wrong—acrid, sharp, like burning plastic. And there was something else, something that made his stomach clench with sudden dread.

A faint orange glow was visible through the trees that bordered the shelter’s back lot.

Matt’s medical bag hit the gravel as he ran toward the building, his heart hammering against his ribs. The smell grew stronger with each step, and now he could hear it too—the sinister crackle of flames consuming everything in their path.

The shelter was on fire.

Matt’s hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, dialing 911 while calculating how much time he might have, how many animals were inside, and what equipment he’d need to get them out safely.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Fire at the Sapphire Bay Animal Shelter on Maple Street,” Matt said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos in his chest. “I’m going in to get the animals out.”

“Sir, please wait for the fire department?—”

But Matt was already running toward the building, toward the sounds of terrified animals and the glow that was growing brighter by the second. The restless energy that had worried him changed into fierce determination.

Whatever was about to be lost, he wouldn’t let it happen without a fight.