Page 85 of When Hearts Surrender

Riiiing.

The loud ringtone of my phone startles me and I drop my pencil before snatching up the offending piece of technology.

Bronx Shelter for Unwanted Animals.

Ireallyhate this name.

Frowning, I stare at the ringing phone, wondering why the shelter is calling me after I “resigned.”

Pressing a button, I answer, “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Annabelle Law-McKenzie Anderson?” an unfamiliar woman’s voice sounds across the line. I startle at my new last name—despite being married for a while, I haven’t had anyone call me an Anderson until now. Then I remember what a bastard my husband is and I scowl.

“Yes, this is she. Who is this?”

“Hi! I’m Dr. Naomi Wong from BSUA. You don’t know me because I just started last week, but I want to personally call you and thank you.” Her voice is excited—a warm, audible hug.

“You’re welcome? Um… What is this about?”

“Your generous donation! This is the largest donation the shelter has ever received since it opened its doors sixty years ago. We have enough funding to last us for the next five years and also to complete some much need renovations here.”

“Donation?” My mouth drops open and I stare at the phone in bewilderment.

“Thank you so much for your generosity. As per your terms, we are now a no-kill shelter, and any animals with us can stay permanently even if we can’t find their forever homes. The board has hired me on as the director to revamp this place. I assure you, I have plenty of experience working with animals and shelters as I’m a veterinarian at…”

Shock sears me and I barely pay attention as she chatters about how Bob has mysteriously left his position. She walks me through her resume, which includes working at some of the largest animal rights organizations and shelters in the world, and about the plans she has to shine more awareness to the cause. Her goal is to eradicate kill shelters too.

My heart sprints around my rib cage, her words echoing in my ears, and all I manage to do is to utter “you’re welcome,” and “of course” when she invites me to a luncheon next week.

“Thank you again, Belle, for your generosity and kind heart. We’ll talk soon,” she says and we hang up.

My pulse rings in my ears as I sit there, stupefied, wondering what just happened and who could’ve done this when my eyes snag on the masculine scribbles on my drawing again.

Maxwell.

He must have done this.

My heart jolts into a sprint, running toward an unknown destination, and I stand up, a sizzling current rushing through my body.

I need to see him, to ask him if this is all him.

Laughing under my breath from all the good news, my mood climbing back to an all-time high on this insane rollercoaster ride I find myself on, I run through the passageway, pass the mistress’s bedroom, then out on to the quiet corridors of the house.

Morris strolls by with Agnes. His eyebrow is cocked high, and I grin at him but don’t slow down. Agnes shakes her head as she mutters something under her breath, but I don’t pay her any attention.

Exhilaration floods my body—no one can ruin my day now.

Dashing to his study, I heave out a breath before throwing open the door, but the room is empty. He must be in his studio then. Running past the staircase, I make a turn at the end of the corridor, barely noticing that Silas isn’t around to bark after me as he usually does when he sees me sprinting down the halls, no doubt thinking I want to play with him.

I slow my footsteps as I approach the studio, my breaths sawing in and out of my lungs in rapid pants.Act cool, Belle. Act cool.Wetting my lips, I wipe my damp hands on my pants and knock on the door.

No one answers, but I hear the beautiful strains of “Nessun Dorma” streaming in from inside and I smile.

Our song. The music that’ll forever remind me of him.

Turning the doorknob, I gently push open the door and swallow a gasp.

Maxwell is laughing, his deep chuckles sounding more beautiful than the tenor’s voice, a paintbrush tucked behind his ear. He’s kneeling in front of an easel, his fingers scratching Silas’s belly.

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