10. Bryce #2
He lets me pull him over to the sofa while I grab my phone and quickly cue up “All That.” The slow synths and dreamy melody mix with rain tapping against the window.
When Carly’s voice joins the music, Bobo jumps up and tries to crawl into my lap, but even though my thighs might resemble tree trunks, there’s just not enough room for him.
When I release him to turn up the music a bit more, he rushes to the door like the world is about to end and resumes scratching.
I sigh, and before I can think of what song to try next, the door opens and Emerson stumbles out, half-awake, shirtless and in those damn navy sweatpants.
A huff escapes me as I raise an eyebrow. “Emerson … Rule Number One. You know, the one about being fully dressed in front of each other?”
He looks at me, blinking, and yawns as he puts his glasses on. “Excuse me, I was sleeping. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Bobo’s usually fine with storms, but for some reason he’s terrified of this one.”
Emerson sits next to me on the couch and pats the space next to him. Bobo, as if on cue, scrambles up, immediately laying his head in Emerson’s lap. I watch the big guy sigh in contentment, like the world just shifted into a much softer place. The storm doesn’t seem so bad anymore.
“All That” plays on repeat, soft and gentle, and Emerson pets Bobo, his fingers moving slowly through his thick fur. I sit back, watch for a moment, and then the power flickers off. The lamp cuts out, leaving the room in darkness as Carly sings about keeping her lights on.
As Emerson reaches up to adjust his hearing aid, he mumbles under his breath. “Do you have a flashlight?”
“No, but I have something better.”
A moment later, the room is bathed in the warm glow of my Tutti-Frutti Fresh and Fruity candle. The living room transforms under the soft light and sweet aroma. It’s peaceful, almost making the storm outside seem miles away.
“Bobo should sleep in the bed with me,” Emerson says, glancing over at me. “Just for tonight. Only because of the storm, though.”
I smirk at him. “You’re letting him break the ‘no dogs in the bed’ rule?”
He shrugs. “He’s scared.”
I look down at Bobo, who has practically melted into Emerson’s lap, and I can’t say no to that teddy bear face. “I’ll help him get settled, then. Come on, boy.”
I stand and head into the bedroom, and when Emerson follows, so does Bobo. I don’t think either of them needs my help, but it feels right.
Emerson slides under the covers, and just as he settles, Bobo leaps in, eager to be right there beside him. I can’t say I blame him.
“Now,” Emerson says, “let’s all try to get some sleep.”
He removes his glasses and pulls Bobo close.
“Thanks, Em.” I step back, watching my dog snuggle with the professor.
Who am I kidding? The hot professor.
As I move to return to the couch, a flash of lightning illuminates the room, and I notice a framed picture on the nightstand.
I haven’t really been in here since Emerson arrived, and this is the first time I’m seeing it.
A young woman, smiling and perhaps in her late teens, stands in a field.
It’s one of those photos where the carefree energy of the subject shines through space and time.
“Is that your girlfriend?” I ask, even though I already know it’s not.
But I want to be sure.
Emerson wraps his arm around Bobo then glances over, his eyes softening as he looks at the picture .
“That’s Melanie. My sister,” he says with a soft smile. “She’s the reason I got into classical music. I was about ten years old. Stubborn and only interested in video games.”
“You? Stubborn?”
He smiles, not taking the bait.
“Melanie was always patient and calm. She was seven years older than me, but always took time for her little brother. One afternoon, I was helping her sort through some old records, and she pulled out an album of Beethoven’s symphonies.
‘You should give this a listen,’ she said.
‘I bet you’d love it.’ I rolled my eyes, but, not wanting to disappoint her, I reluctantly put the record on.
The moment the first notes filled the room, something shifted.
The music was powerful, sweeping, and full of energy in a way I hadn’t expected.
I was hooked—each crescendo and delicate piano passage drew me in deeper.
Melanie sat next to me, smiling knowingly as we listened together. ”
Emerson pauses. Bobo’s burrowed into his chest, and his faint snores join the rain.
“From that moment forward, classical music became the soundtrack of my life—a gift from my sister. Whenever I seek comfort or clarity, I turn to those symphonies, recalling how Melanie opened my ears—and my heart—to a whole new world of sound.”
I listen carefully, processing his words. “Your sister sounds amazing. When is she coming to visit?”
He looks down at Bobo, whose snoring has transformed into a low rumble. Emerson’s fingers gently brush through the dog’s fur again.
“She … she died when I was twelve.”
I blink, processing the weight of what he just said. The silence between us feels heavier than the storm outside.
I look at Emerson for a moment, unsure of what to say. The lights flicker again, and I find myself just standing there, unsure of how to fill the space between us.
I want to do something to console him. A hug. Wrap him in my arms and tell him how proud Melanie would be of him. But that wouldn’t be wise. So, instead, I simply say, “I’m sorry.”
He looks up at me, his eyes tired, but there’s a small, quiet smile on his face. “It was a long time ago. I’m fine. Really.”
But I can tell he’s not as he removes his hearing aid and pulls Bobo close. I don’t know what else to say, so I let Carly Rae’s soft voice, drifting from the sofa, fill the quiet space between us as it joins the raging storm outside.