Page 103 of The Wrong Heart

Blinking, I stare at the animal just standing there a few feet away on wobbly legs. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah. That’s Walden.” Parker tosses his keys and wallet on the side table, then scratches at the base of his neck, stepping forward and following my gaze. “He kind of just sulks around all day and keeps to himself.”

“Like you.”

Glancing at Parker, I don’t miss the twitch of his mouth as he tries to hold back a smile. He ducks his head to hide it, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose there’s a likeness.”

My grin is bright as I look back over to the black and white dog with patchy fur and cloudy, bugged-out eyes. He watches us with interest, although, his tail doesn’t wag, and he doesn’t bark. He just observes. “He’s really cute.”

“He’s fucking ancient.”

“But cute,” I chuckle, approaching the mutt that looks to be some kind of Border Collie mix. The dog’s attention follows me as I close in, crouching down and gliding my fingers between his ears. “You look like a good boy.”

Charlie and I had been thinking about getting a dog. We both worked long hours at the time, so it didn’t seem fair to adopt a pet when we wouldn’t be home very often, but the companionship had always been something I craved. I considered it again after Charlie passed, but then my grief became my companion—and that wasn’t fair either.

There was too much competition.

But now… now might be a good time to consider it again.

Walden doesn’t do much but sniff my outstretched fingers, but I can tell he’s a sweet soul. A loyal friend.

As I rise to my feet, I notice Parker staring at me from the entryway, taking in the scene. I smile at him. “You didn’t strike me as a dog person,” I admit, sweeping a hand through my hair and moving towards him.

“Because I’m such a people person?”

His response pulls another laugh from my lips as I inch my way closer. Parker’s stance seems to stiffen when I’m only a foot away, and I wonder why that is. I wonder why he’s so closed-off and resistant to physical contact, to true intimacy.

Stretching my smile, I reach out to take his hand, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. He glances down at the gesture, frowning, and I feel him try to pull back, so I strengthen my hold. “Can I get a tour?”

“What?” he wonders distractedly, still staring at our joined hands.

“Of your house.”

Parker finally lifts his gaze to mine, brows furrowed together like he’s conflicted or in pain, and then he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah… I guess. Not much to see.”

I release his hand, watching as he tenses his fingers, splaying them apart, then making a fist. “Lead the way.”

Hesitation grips him as he glances around the room, avoiding my eyes. A sigh of resignation follows, and he points behind me. “Living room.” His thumb flicks over his shoulder. “Kitchen.” A beat passes, and he gestures to his right. “Small ass hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. There’s a linen closet somewhere along the way.”

“Wow.” My grin broadens as I crinkle my nose. “Very descriptive.”

That little ghost of a half-smile reappears, spiking my heartrate. I would do anything to freeze the moment, so it never, ever faded.

Pulling my focus off of Parker, I wring my hands together and dip around him, sauntering into the kitchen. Curiosity claims me as my eyes peruse the modest space, clean but cluttered. My fingertips dance along the laminate top of the island while my feet wind around it, taking it all in.

This is Parker’s life. His space. Hishome.

I’m realizing that I know absolutely nothing about this man—this man I gave something of value to. This man who I’m inherently drawn to for reasons I can’t even begin to understand.

There’s not much personality or charm given to the space. No knick-knacks lining the counters, no birthday cards or photographs stuck to the white refrigerator, no color pops or decorations. There’s nothing on his walls either. No canvas prints or family pictures.

It’s sterile. Lonely, even.

Does he have any friends? Close family members?

Is he truly all alone?

The idea grips my heart in a tight fist as I continue to scan over the assortment of cereal boxes, a wooden spice rack, stacks of mail…

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