Chapter 10 Sunlight, Schedules, and Selective Socialising
Sunlight, Schedules, and Selective Socialising
Evelyn
The morning after was, predictably, awful.
Evelyn woke with a wine headache that felt like someone had taken a cheese grater to the inside of her skull.
She’d slept through her alarm—an unprecedented failure—and had to skip her usual routine of coffee, breakfast, and the twenty minutes of silent dread she usually devoted to preparing for the day ahead.
She arrived at the office at eight-fifteen, which was late by her standards and practically lunchtime by her father’s. Maggie was already at her desk, looking annoyingly fresh and holding a takeaway cup that smelled like salvation.
“You look like death,” Maggie said cheerfully, handing over the coffee. “Rough night?”
“Wine,” Evelyn muttered, accepting the cup with both hands like a supplicant at an altar. “Too much wine.”
“Well, at least you’re consistent.” Maggie followed her into the office, clipboard in hand.
“You’ve got the budget review at nine, the marketing presentation at eleven, and lunch with the board at one.
Also, someone from IT wants to talk to you about the server migration, but I told them you’d rather set yourself on fire. ”
“Accurate,” Evelyn said, collapsing into her chair. The office felt too bright, too loud, too everything. She closed her eyes and tried to remember why she’d thought running a company was a good idea.
“Oh, and the dog situation seems to be settling in nicely,” Maggie added, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “Apparently half the building is already in love. The other half is pretending to be annoyed but secretly taking photos.”
Evelyn felt a flutter of something in her chest—anticipation, maybe, or curiosity about how the partnership was progressing. She thought about Bug, about Alyssa, about the apology she’d accepted yesterday.
“Good,” Evelyn said, trying to sound professional and not at all like someone who’d spent last night thinking about a certain sanctuary owner. “That’s…good.”
Maggie gave her a look that suggested she wasn’t fooled for a second, but mercifully said nothing.
The morning passed in a blur of spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails.
Evelyn powered through the budget review on autopilot, nodding in the right places and making the occasional comment that sounded vaguely intelligent.
By eleven, her headache had downgraded from “cheese grater” to “mild concussion,” which she considered a win.
She was halfway through the marketing presentation—something about social media engagement and influencer partnerships that made her want to lie down in a dark room—when there was a soft scratching at her door.
Evelyn ignored it. Probably someone from accounts, or a delivery, or the ghost of corporate ambition past.
The scratching continued, patient and persistent.
“Come in,” she called, not looking up from her laptop.
The door didn’t open. The scratching intensified.
Evelyn sighed, stood, and crossed the office. She pulled the door open, fully prepared to deliver a withering comment about the importance of opposable thumbs in a professional environment.
Bug sat in the corridor, looking up at her with an expression of mild reproach, as if she’d kept him waiting an unreasonable amount of time.
“Oh,” Evelyn said.
Bug tilted his head, one ear flopping forward in a way that should not have been as devastating as it was.
“You’re…here,” Evelyn continued, feeling foolish. “Again.”
Bug stood, trotted past her into the office, and made a beeline for the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows. He sat directly in the patch of sunlight streaming through the glass, his black and white fur catching the light, and settled down with a soft sigh.
Evelyn stared at him. Then she stared at the open door. Then she stared at Bug again.
“Right,” she said to no one in particular. “This is happening.”
She closed the door—gently, so as not to disturb him—and returned to her desk. Bug didn’t move. He just lay there, a small black-and-white comma of contentment, soaking up the November sun like it was his job.
Evelyn tried to focus on her laptop. She really did. But her eyes kept drifting to the window, to the dog, to the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.
It was…peaceful. Absurdly so. It’s why she’d thought about bringing him to her office again last night as she pondered life whilst trying to capture the perpetually elusive sleep she so desperately needed.
Lasting ten minutes before giving up entirely. Evelyn stood, walked over to the window, and sat on the floor beside Bug. He opened one eye, regarded her with what might have been approval, and went back to sleep.
Evelyn leaned her head against the wall and let herself just…stop. No emails. No meetings. No expectations. Just her, a dog, and the city sprawling out below them.
“You’re a terrible influence,” she told Bug.
Bug’s stubby tail thumped once against the floor.
Evelyn smiled.
By the end of the week, Bug’s visits had become routine.
He arrived every morning around ten, scratched at her door with the patience of a saint, and let himself in the moment she opened it. He always went straight to the window, always claimed the same patch of sunlight, and always stayed for exactly two hours before trotting back out again.
Evelyn had no idea how he knew when two hours were up. She suspected he had an internal clock more accurate than anything Swiss engineering could produce.
On Tuesday, she’d tried to work through his visit.
She’d lasted forty-five minutes before abandoning her laptop and joining him on the floor.
They’d sat together in companionable silence, watching the city move below them, and Evelyn had felt something in her chest loosen—a knot she hadn’t realized, or at least admitted, was there.
On Wednesday, she’d brought a cushion. Bug had immediately claimed it as his own, circling three times before collapsing with a sigh that suggested he’d been waiting his entire life for someone to provide proper bedding.
On Thursday, Maggie had walked in to find Evelyn lying on the floor, one hand resting on Bug’s back, staring at the ceiling.
“Should I be concerned?” Maggie had asked.
“Probably,” Evelyn had replied.
Maggie had nodded, set a cup of tea on the desk, and left without another word.
On Friday, Alyssa came to collect him.
Evelyn heard the knock and felt an irrational surge of disappointment. She’d grown used to Bug’s quiet presence, to the way he made the office feel less like a prison and more like a place where she could breathe.
“Come in,” she called, trying to sound professional and not at all like someone who’d spent the last two hours lying on the floor with a dog.
Alyssa stepped in, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her flannel shirt dusted with what looked like kibble. She looked tired but happy—the kind of tired that came from doing work that was a passion more than a career.
“Hey,” Alyssa said, her smile warm and easy. “Just checking in on Bug. Making sure he’s not causing too much trouble.”
“He’s been perfect,” Evelyn said, and meant it.
Alyssa’s smile widened. “He likes you.”
“How can you tell?”
“He doesn’t visit just anyone. Trust me, I’ve tried to get him to socialise with half the building. He’s very…selective.”
Evelyn felt absurdly pleased by this. “Well. He’s welcome here. Anytime.”
“Good to know.” Alyssa crossed the room and crouched beside Bug, scratching behind his ears. He opened one eye, gave her a look that clearly said you’re interrupting, and went back to sleep.
Alyssa laughed. “Yeah, you’re definitely his person now.”
“I’m not—” Evelyn started, then stopped. Because maybe she was. Maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing.
They stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between them, comfortable and strange all at once.
“So,” Alyssa said, straightening up. “How’s the partnership going? From your end, I mean. Any complaints? Concerns? Employees threatening mutiny?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Evelyn admitted. “Morale’s up. Productivity’s…well, it’s about the same, but people seem happier. Less stressed.”
“That’s the magic of dogs,” Alyssa said. “They don’t care about your job title or your quarterly targets. They just want to be near you.”
Evelyn thought about Bug, about the way he’d chosen her office, her window, her company. “It’s nice,” she said quietly. “Having him here.”
“He thinks so too.” Alyssa hesitated, then added, “You know, if you ever want to visit the sanctuary, you’re welcome. See where he comes from. Meet the rest of the pack.”
Evelyn’s heart did something complicated. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah?” Alyssa’s face lit up, and Evelyn felt that flutter again, stronger this time.
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I’ll, uh, I’ll text you some dates. We can figure it out.”
“Sounds good.”
Alyssa lingered for another moment, then seemed to remember herself. “Right. I should…I’ve got about fifteen other dogs to check on. But I’ll see you Monday?”
“Monday,” Evelyn confirmed.
Alyssa left, and the office felt emptier without her. Bug, sensing the shift, opened his eyes and looked at Evelyn with what might have been sympathy.
“Don’t start,” Evelyn told him.
Bug yawned.
The weekend passed in its usual haze of work and wine and staring at the city. Evelyn tried to focus on the quarterly reports, on the budget projections, on anything that wasn’t the way Alyssa’s smile had made her feel like a teenager with a crush.
It was ridiculous. She barely knew the woman. They’d had, what, three proper conversations? Four if you counted the apology, which Evelyn was trying very hard not to think about.
But there was something about Alyssa—something warm and solid and real—that made Evelyn want to be around her. To talk to her. To see what would happen if she let herself be something other than the boss for five minutes.
On Sunday night, she texted Maggie.
You
Do you think I’m capable of having a normal relationship?
Maggie
Define normal.
You
You know. Friendship. Connection.
Maggie
Are you drunk?
You
Slightly.
Maggie
Then yes. You’re capable. You’re just scared.
You
Of what?
Maggie
Of being happy. Go to bed, Evie. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Evelyn stared at her phone for a long time after that, Maggie’s words echoing in her head.
Scared of being happy.
Was that it? Was that why she kept everyone at arm’s length, why she worked herself to exhaustion, why she’d let Mindy cheat on her without even putting up a fight?
She thought about her mother, about the way Roslyn had loved fiercely and without reservation. About the way she’d filled every room with warmth and laughter and the kind of joy that made people want to be near her.
Evelyn had spent so long trying to be strong, to be untouchable, that she’d forgotten how to be soft.
But Bug had reminded her. And Alyssa—God, Alyssa—had made her want to try.
She fell asleep that night with her phone in her hand, a half-written text to Alyssa glowing on the screen.
You
Thanks for letting Bug visit. He’s…
She deleted it. Tried again.
You
I’d really like to visit the sanctuary. How’s next…
Deleted that too.
In the end, she sent nothing. But the wanting was there, bright and terrifying and impossible to ignore.
Monday morning arrived with the usual dread, but this time it was tempered by something else: anticipation.
Evelyn got to the office early, made herself a coffee, and left her door slightly ajar. Just in case.
At ten o’clock exactly, Bug scratched at the door.
Evelyn rolled her eyes at the pup’s insistence that he be formally greeted, instead of just walking through the gap Evelyn had left him.
Smiling, she opened the door further and gestured for him to enter, which he seemed to appreciate.
He trotted in like he owned the place, heading straight for his spot by the window.
“Morning,” Evelyn said.
Bug stepped onto his cushion, turned in a circle, and flopped down with a contented sigh.
Evelyn sat beside him, her back against the wall, her coffee growing cold in her hands.
Outside, the city hummed with its usual chaos. Inside, everything was still.
“You know,” Evelyn said quietly, “I think you might be the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”
Bug opened one eye, looked at her, and closed it again.
Evelyn smiled.