6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Bella
The email pings just as I’m restocking puppy pads in the supply closet.
Subject line: Your Auction Date Has Been Scheduled.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and tap it open, expecting a name, maybe a vague description of the date, something like Dinner at Hawks Roost Grill, 7PM.
Instead, I get this:
Who: Wylie Cole.
What: Travel by helicopter to Nashville, Tennessee for a private rooftop dinner.
When: Leave from Wylie’s helipad at 4pm.
Please find attached directions to Wylie’s home, as well as the contact information for his personal assistant, Nadine. Please inform her of any dietary restrictions and/or food allergies in advance.
I read it again.
Then a third time, because my brain isn’t computing the combination of words: helicopter , private rooftop , Nashville , and Wylie freaking Cole.
I sink down onto an unopened case of canned dog food and stare at the screen like it’s going to glitch and reveal it was all a prank.
Wylie Cole. The Wylie Cole. Movie star. Tabloid favorite. Guy from those moody, broody dramas where he always ends up in a suit with a bloody lip and a heartbreaking monologue. That Wylie Cole.
The same man who adopted Scout from me last year. Who showed up at my shelter in jeans and boots, smelling like sandalwood and musk and looking like he just walked off a photoshoot—but acting like he had no idea he was famous.
I remember that night so clearly. How lovely he’d been to Scout, so gentle, waiting for the dog to make the first move. And the way he looked at me like I was something special, too.
There was chemistry between us. At least, I think there was. There were definitely sparks on my side, but I’d still been with Bruce then. So, I told myself I was just a little starstruck by Wylie, and that was the end of it.
I thought that was the end of it. But maybe not?
I scroll back up and read the message again. Helicopter. Nashville. Wylie Cole.
My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to make a break for it.
Of course, there has to be a rational explanation. He probably just wanted to support the charity that led him to Scout. Maybe he asked his assistant to make a donation and she got a little... overenthusiastic.
Maybe it has nothing to do with me at all.
But a date like this?
Flying to Nashville for the night? That’s not part of the donation, and I don’t think he can claim it as a tax write-off.
It feels like something else.
And I can’t help it—hope bubbles up in my chest, warm and a little dizzying.
I mean, I’m not delusional. I’m just a small-town woman with dog hair permanently embedded in all my clothing. And he’s a movie star . But still… he placed the bid. Or, at least, his assistant did. He planned a date. Or did his assistant plan that too?
Either way, he’s the one going on the date with me. So, he must want to see me again.
That has to mean something. Right?
Bluebell trots into the closet, probably looking for treats or someone to fawn over him. He stops when he sees me sitting on the floor, head tilted like he can sense my emotional chaos.
I hold up the phone. “Think Wylie Cole is trying to sweep me off my feet?”
Bluebell barks.
“Yeah,” I say, sighing. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”