23. Isaac
CHAPTER 23
ISAAC
T he leather steering wheel is cool under my hands, the engine purring as I navigate the familiar roads. Baxter sits beside me, his head occasionally nudging against my arm, his restlessness only slightly annoying.
“We’ll be there soon, buddy,” I tell him. “It’s somewhere you haven’t been, but there’s grass. You’ll like it.”
Emily’s laughter echoes in my mind, a melody that’s become the soundtrack of my days. We’ve been inseparable this past week, her presence sunlight breaking through clouds. It’s new, invigorating, and yet there’s a familiarity in it that tugs at something deep within me. She fits into my life with an ease that both excites and terrifies me.
I turn into the cemetery, the gates looming, iron-wrought and silent. The car rolls to a stop on the gravel, and I cut the engine. Baxter whines softly, sensing the shift in my mood. I pat his head, the coarse hair slipping through my fingers.
“Come on, boy,” I say, my voice subdued.
We step out, the quiet pressing in around us. Gravestones stand like sentinels, their inscriptions holding tales of lives lived and lost. Baxter stays close, his leash slack in my hand as we weave through the markers.
My father’s grave is fresh, the earth still unsettled. I release Baxter’s leash, trusting him to stay nearby. He sits, a silent guardian as I approach the stone. It’s stark, the letters etched deep — a testament to a man who left too soon.
“Hey, Dad,” I start, my throat tight. The words come slowly. “I don’t know why I came here today. I know I haven’t… visited.”
I snort and shake my head. “I don’t even know if you can hear me from wherever you are now. I guess… just in case you can, I wanted you to know that… things have been… good.”
I tell him about Baxter, how he’s learning new commands and listening better to me each day. I can almost hear my father’s gruff approval, see the nod of his head. He was so austere, so uptight, but with Baxter a different side of him came out. A softness that I never understood and often rolled my eyes at. However, after adopting Baxter, I finally get it.
Sure, I have some destroyed furniture to show for our journey here… and there was that time I almost surrendered him to the shelter. But that was me, refusing to see what was really going on. Just like Emily argued, Baxter was grieving the loss of his human. He needed my understanding and patience, not my anger.
“Emily,” I say, her name a sigh on my lips. “She’s Baxter’s trainer, and she’s incredible, Dad. She sees me, not just the money or the image.” I chuckle, a soft, disbelieving sound. “I’m falling for her, hard.”
The anger that once burned hot within me simmers down to embers. My father wasn’t perfect, but neither am I. Standing here now, with love budding in my heart and a loyal dog at my side, the bitterness that clung to me like a second skin continues to peel away.
“I thought I’d be mad forever,” I confess to the unyielding stone. “But I’m not. Things are looking up, and… I think you’d be happy for me.”
Baxter noses my hand, his dark eyes filled with a comfort that no human words could provide. I kneel beside him, burying my face in his neck. He licks my cheek, a simple gesture laden with empathy.
“Let’s go, buddy,” I murmur, standing up. “I have plans with Emily tonight.”
Back at home, I feed Baxter dinner, take him out once more, then get him settled in his crate. He’s been doing good in it for a few hours at a time, even though he clearly doesn’t love being in it. It’s a lot better than him destroying the penthouse or eating something that will poison him, though.
“Be good,” I say, though I know he will be. Confidence blooms in my chest; Emily has done well with him.
And so have I.
I change quickly, choosing a shirt I know Emily likes. It’s soft, blue, the color she says brings out my eyes. I smile at the thought, tugging at the collar. This is new, this desire to impress, to be seen through someone else’s gaze.
I grab my keys, lock up, and head back out. The car door shuts with a thud, sealing me inside my own bubble of excitement. We’re meeting at a spot for dinner that’s close to the shelter, which is why I’m not picking her up for tonight’s date.
Emily’s waiting out front of it, a silhouette against the glow. She turns, and her smile hits me like the first ray of sun after a long night. She’s beautiful, stunning in a way that’s less about her features and more about the life behind them. Her eyes find mine, and everything else fades.
“Hey,” she breathes, stepping closer.
“Hey,” I echo, taking her in. The dress she wears hugs her curves, a deep red that speaks of wine and roses. I want to tell her how amazing she looks, but words seem inadequate.
Instead, I step forward and press a kiss to her lips, hoping that will be enough. Judging from the look on her face, it is.
“Shall we?” she asks, gesturing to the entrance with a tilt of her head.
“Let’s.” My hand finds the small of her back, guiding her through the door. My touch is light, respectful, but beneath it courses a current of longing, electric and undeniable.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had dirty, sweaty thoughts about the two of us. But I know that anticipation makes everything all the sweeter, and I don’t want to rush things and make what’s growing between us complicated by physicality. I would rather have her lead when it comes to that.
We’re seated in a quiet corner then left to read over the menu. It’s intimate, the table set for two, and there’s a thrill in that exclusivity. This space, this moment, it’s ours alone.
“Hey. Look.” She slides her phone across the table, screen up.
I pick it up, thumbing through the event page she’s pulled up. Two thousand interested or coming — numbers that translate to hope, to change. The dog-wash fundraiser, my brainchild turned reality by the hands of my team, suddenly feels tangible, like I can reach out and touch the success of it.
“Wow, this is… incredible,” I say, handing the phone back. Pride swells within me, buoyed by her excitement. “I never imagined it would get this much attention.”
“Your marketing team really went all out.” Her eyes sparkle.
“Yeah, they did. They’re the best.” I lean back, letting the full impact of the accomplishment settle over me. For so long, my efforts were aimed at personal gain, at increasing the divide between myself and others. But this — helping the shelter, giving back — it’s a different kind of satisfaction, one that fills rather than depletes.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “For inspiring me to do more, to be more.”
Her hand reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “You did this, Isaac. The dogs have you to thank.”
Our waiter arrives, forcing a break in the conversation, but the connection lingers, and I order the first thing I set eyes on, just to get the waiter to leave so Emily and I can be alone again.
As he leaves, our hands resume their silent conversation, each touch filled with echo and ache, and Emily’s fingers linger ever so slightly on mine. I feel the electricity coursing through us, a raw energy that consumes my senses.
“I want to make a difference in the world,” I tell her. “Not because of money or power… but because it’s right. Because it feels right.” I stare into her eyes. Do I sound like I’m babbling?
She smiles, her gaze soft. “You’re already on the right track.”
“I went to see my dad today,” I say, the words bringing up more emotion than I anticipate.
Her expression shifts, a gentle empathy replacing the mirth from moments ago. “How was that for you?” she asks.
“Better than I thought it would be. I talked to him — about Baxter, about us.”
“Sounds like you’ve forgiven him,” she observes, squeezing my hand.
“Maybe I have,” I admit.
We sit in silence for a moment, each lost in our thoughts. Emily’s right — I hadn’t expected forgiveness to find its way through the tangled memories and hurt. But there it is, a quiet acceptance settling in my chest.
“Most times we’re together, Baxter’s tagging along,” she says, changing the subject with a lightness that brings me back. Her smile is back too, teasing at the edges. “It’s kind of weird being here without him.”
“Do you want me to bring him next time?”
“No,” she laughs.
“Good, because I’m enjoying our alone time, and I assume he’s just sleeping in his crate.”
“Sounds nice,” she murmurs. “Will I get to say hello to him tonight?”
“Of course. I would love for you to stop by.”
There’s something about the way she’s looking at me, though, with the hooded eyes and pink cheeks. Is she suggesting…?
I swallow hard. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” I add, hoping I’m not misreading and overstepping a boundary. “I would… love it if you… stayed.”
My pulse quickens. And suddenly, the idea of heading back to my penthouse — with or without Baxter there — seems like the only thing that matters.
Our meal arrives, interrupting us once more. My face is warm, my hands shaking the slightest bit. It’s a strange nervousness that I’m not used to, but I do my best to focus on dinner and the conversation — one that shifts from talk about the weather to her latest client — though the whole while I’m acutely aware of how close her knee is to mine.
“Let’s not wait for dessert,” Emily suggests once our plates are cleared.
There’s no need to read between the lines. What she wants is heavily implied, and I couldn’t agree more. I want — need — to be alone with her. Just the two of us, in our own little bubble.
I catch the waiter’s attention, my fingers tapping against the table. “Can we have the check, please?” The words are out before I can second-guess the urgency in my voice.
Emily watches me, a knowing smile curving her lips. There’s an unspoken promise in her gaze, one that sends heat coursing through my veins. The thought of touching her, here, in this upscale restaurant is both tempting and forbidden. I fear that if I were to do more than graze her hand, though, I might not be able to stop. I have to get us out of here.
The check arrives. I don’t even glance at the total before my card is on the tray, my signature scribbled hastily. Everything feels like it’s moving too slowly, the seconds stretching out as I fight the impulse to pull her close.
“Ready?” I ask, already standing, my chair scraping against the floor.
“Very,” she says, her hand sliding into mine as we walk towards the exit.
It’s agony splitting apart briefly so that she can take her car back to my place, and I’m leaning forward as I drive to the penthouse, clutching the wheel, trying to not put the pedal to the metal.
We park next to each other in the private deck, and I can’t wait any longer. Wrapping my arms around Emily’s waist, I back her against her car and claim her mouth with my own. Her body melds against mine, our heat searing through the thin fabric of our clothing. Her hands rake up my chest, fingers threading their way into my hair to pull me deeper into the kiss. The world becomes unimportant; nothing matters but her lips and her taste — intoxicatingly sweet with a hint of spice. I want more.
Emily breaks the kiss first, gasping for air, her chest heaving against mine. Her touch is like lightning running wild through my veins, a raw magnetic pull that draws me closer. “We should… get inside,” she says between ragged breaths.
“Yes,” I concur, reluctant to let go of her.
The doorman greets us with a nod as we step inside the building. I barely register his presence — my focus is entirely on Emily, on the anticipation that vibrates between us.
The elevator doors close, and it’s just us again. She turns to me, her hands finding their way to my chest, and pulls me down to her.
Our lips meet, and propriety shatters. Every kiss is a revelation, a desperate claiming of moments we’ve lost to hesitation. The elevator dings at my floor, but neither of us is ready to part.
It’s a messy, beautiful tangle of limbs and longing as we stumble from the elevator to my apartment door. My key slides into the lock, and we’re inside, the city lights casting a soft glow through the windows.
“Isaac,” she breathes against my lips, and the sound of my name on her tongue is all it takes.
I’m home.