Bachelor Swap by Lacey Black (best fiction novels .TXT) 📕

get to their destination. I end up standing there, leaning against the railing, for nearly an hour, making up stories for those on the sidewalk. Even though I’m too high to see their features, it’s an enjoyable way to pass the time, and I don’t dwell on whether or not there’s a response waiting for me on my phone.

Finally, when I start to yawn and my glass is empty, I head back inside, securing the door behind me as I go. I place my empty glass beside the sink, grab my phone, disable the elevator, and go upstairs to bed. It isn’t until I’m settled beneath the plush down comforter that I finally glance at my phone screen.

No reply.

Sighing, I set my phone on the charger beside my bed and snuggle in, where I toss and turn for another hour, until I finally fall into a fitful sleep.

***

I haven’t heard from Matthew.

As I let one of the dogs outside to run in the designated area for canines, I can’t help but feel that familiar sadness I’ve tried to keep at bay creeping in. I should give him space, knowing his plate is full with the closure of his deal, but yet, I still want to text him, to see how he is and why he’s too busy to respond to a simple message.

Did something happen?

What if he’s sick or hurt? He doesn’t have family too close by. Would he reach out to his parents or even his twin brother for help if he needed it? A month ago, I would doubt it, but as I get to know him and I’ve seen the slightly softer side of Matthew Wilder, I believe he would.

Maybe another quick message wouldn’t hurt.

He could have just completely gotten sidetracked and forgotten to reply.

I bet that’s it.

Grabbing my phone, I fire off a quick text.

Me: Just wanted to check in and see how you are. Hope your Friday is going well.

My heart is pounding as I wait to see the bubbles appear, but after ten very long seconds, the message only shows as delivered. Again.

I place my phone into my pocket and step out into the canine pen. It’s my day to exercise the dogs, which will also include cleaning up after them, so I’m careful not to step in anything I shouldn’t. The Jack Russell Terrier I just let go is running like crazy, tongue hanging, as she enjoys the fresh air and sunshine. Aubrey is a little on the hyper side, not surprising since she’s less than two, so we like to let her get some of her running done before we let more dogs out to play. I head over to the water bowl and make sure it’s full of fresh water before I take a seat in the wooden chair at the edge of the pen.

After watching her play for fifteen minutes, I grab my phone and check it, only to find my message still unread.

My heart sinks.

The exact same thing happened a few weeks ago. Matthew became too busy and started calling or messaging me less and less. The little things he did to show me he was thinking of me stopped and the dinner dates all but ceased. It wasn’t until I showed up on his doorstep for dinner and threw myself at him that I really felt any spark toward him.

Now, that spark is alive and growing.

And it may be coming to an end.

I move to the grassy area, careful of any doggy surprises, and have a seat. Aubrey comes running, jumping on my legs and wanting to play. Being on the ground with her helps lift my spirits, but not much. I still feel the weight of his unspoken replies, a dread that fills my entire soul.

I spend the next few hours with the dogs. Most of them play well together, but the ones that don’t will get a little outside time alone. Those are the ones that are just not used to having other dogs around. They tend to be a little more vocal in their displeasure of being out here with others, and until they learn to adjust, we tread lightly with them. We don’t force any of them to be with other dogs if they’re not ready.

By late afternoon, all of the dogs have been walked, have played in the yard, been fed, and are back in their kennels. Some immediately curl up on their bed for a quick nap. I glance over, knowing my time volunteering today is coming to an end, and spy Hattie giving me the sad eyes. All on their own, my legs carry me over to her kennel and reach for the latch. Hattie’s tail starts thumping against the kennel as excitement takes over.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone I’m doing this, okay?” I instruct, grabbing a leash off the nail by where she’s kept and slipping it onto her collar. Hattie’s tail thumps even louder.

I lead the dog outside for a second time today and release her leash as soon as we’re secure in the fenced in area. “There you go,” I say, smiling as the pup takes off like a bullet.

She jumps on a ball left in the grass, so I head over and take a seat near where she’s playing. Hattie immediately brings the ball to me, crawls on my lap, and starts gnawing at the tough plastic. My hand is on her head, running down her lean body. “You’re such a good girl, Hattie.” My throat becomes thick with emotion, threatening to choke me. “I’d take you home with me, if I could.” I really wish that strict no-pets clause at my penthouse didn’t exist.

“You’re going to make someone a very happy pet owner, Hattie Girl. I have no doubt you’ll be leaving us here soon and have the best owners ever,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears.

Why am I crying? Knowing a dog has the potential for being adopted is a joyous occasion, not a reason