Текст книги "Heart Block"
Автор книги: Melissa Brayden
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“Hmm?” She raised her gaze, forcing herself to focus. She was vaguely aware that she should probably change her expression from blatant lust to something closer to easygoing employee.
“The dashing gentleman you were having dinner with. Boyfriend?”
“Oh, James. No. I mean yes. It was a date. It was our, um, second date. Not exactly a boyfriend though.” Concentrate.
“I think I’ve seen him before. Is he an architect?”
“Yeah, he works for Anders Design. He said your company had done work with his.”
“That’s where I’ve seen him. So you like this James?”
“I do. He’s sweet.”
“So it’s Sarah and James sitting in a tree, huh?”
Sarah raised a playful eyebrow. “I know when I’m being mocked.”
“I would never.”
“You would and you are.”
Emory grinned. “I like that I can be playful with you. Is it strange that I feel like I’ve known you longer than I have?”
“I know what you mean.”
“Hey.” Emory pushed herself up off of the floor and offered Sarah a hand. “Don’t you have something to give me?”
Sarah stood, her face flushed as all sorts of thoughts chased each other around her head. Stop that. “What do you mean?”
“Well, this is your last day. I was thinking a bill, perhaps?”
Sarah brightened and smacked herself in the forehead. “Of course. Follow me.” As they walked from Emory’s second floor bedroom down to the kitchen, Sarah was a little nervous to present Emory with the amount she owed. It had been a large job that entailed lots of coordination and work from external companies. She’d made sure to itemize each and every dollar so Emory could see clearly where each charge came from.
As Emory opened the envelope, her eyebrows rose noticeably, but she didn’t say anything, making Sarah all the more uncomfortable.
“Um, Sarah. This is a little crazy.”
Sarah leaned in and looked over Emory’s shoulder at the itemization. “Is there a problem or a mistake on the detail list?”
“No, it’s not that.” Emory turned to face her. “This number is way too low. I should be paying you at least three times what this statement says.”
Sarah shook her head. “No, this is a fair assessment of our expenses and labor costs.”
“Well, it’s ridiculous and I’m not paying it. I’ll pay what it was worth, and that’s the end of it.” Emory pulled out her checkbook and filled in three times the amount of the invoice, tore the check out, and handed it to her.
“I can’t accept this.”
Emory adopted what Sarah was coming to identify as her executive voice. “Yes, you will accept it and hopefully take another look at your prices. You’re undercharging. By a lot, Sarah. When was the last time your company raised their rates?”
Sarah thought for a moment. “About two years ago. I’ve been trying to convince my mother that we’re capable of charging more, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She likes coming in on the lower end. She says we get more business and referrals that way.”
“She’s right about the more business part, but you’ll take on twice the work for half the pay. Please tell me you’ll talk to her again.”
Sarah smiled at Emory, grateful she saw the value in the work she’d done. “I’ll do my best, but I’m afraid you haven’t met Yolanda Matamoros. All the same, thank you for this. It’s very generous.” She nodded at the check in her hand and put it in her back pocket.
“It was worth every penny. I’m serious. I’m in awe of how quickly and efficiently you got this done.”
Sarah blushed, grabbing her bag and walking to the door. “Now I’m the one who’s embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” Emory followed slowly behind her.
As they reached the entryway, she looked at Emory and realized this was good-bye. Without the house as their commonality, they would have no reason to see each other.
“I’m glad I met you, Sarah. You were a friend to me when I needed it.”
Sarah nodded. “Well, if we’re being sentimental, you did something for me too, you know. It’s been a while since someone’s given me that extra push to get out there and make something happen for myself.”
Emory beamed upon hearing the information, the kind of smile that Sarah couldn’t take her eyes from. “Speaking of which, I can’t believe I almost forgot.” Emory moved quickly to her attaché case and handed Sarah her business card. “I was serious about that press release. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“I’d be a fool not to take you up on it.”
They shared a smile. “I hope everything works out for you, Sarah.”
“For you too.”
Emory exhaled, wordlessly opening her arms for an embrace that Sarah moved easily into. And there it was, that powerful hum of electricity. They stood there a moment, and Sarah enjoyed the feeling of having Emory’s arms around her. She was suddenly very aware of Emory’s body up against hers, and her heart rate quickened. And as she stepped back, she felt the loss. Unsure what motivated her but knowing there was no other choice, Sarah acted on impulse. She slowly placed her hands on either side of Emory’s face and brushed her lips with her own ever so briefly with a feather light kiss. She pulled back slowly, just enough so she could see Emory’s eyes, gauge her reaction, her thoughts.
Emory stared back at her blankly and the moment shifted. She took Sarah’s shoulders, pulled her in, and seized her mouth in sizzling answer. Suddenly, what Sarah’d imagined alone in her room several nights ago plunged into her reality. The taste of Emory, the feel of her as she pressed Sarah against the door in an ever-deepening kiss was shockingly potent and very real. In the quiet of the late afternoon, Sarah felt heat rising in her blood. She didn’t push Emory away, she didn’t stop what was already in motion, and it was all she could do to hold on. Then thinking stopped being an option. She moved her hands from Emory’s face, into her hair and gripped softly.
The action seemed to jolt Emory. She straightened and took a step back. Her shocked eyes never left Sarah’s. They stared at each other, Sarah doing her best to catch her breath.
Silence reigned.
“I shouldn’t have…I think I thought when you…wow. I’m so sorry.” Emory fumbled for her keys in her pocket and reached for the door behind Sarah. “I’m gonna go. Really sorry,” she said one last time.
Sarah stood in the entryway and listened to the beep of Emory’s car unlock and the subsequent start of her engine.
What had just happened? She slid to the floor and moved her hand to her forehead in mystification. She’d just been kissed into next week, that’s what had just happened. Who knew a kiss could feel like that? She was still lost in it. She nodded slowly as the puzzle pieces drifted together in her mind. This was what being swept away meant. She’d heard the term before, but never quite thought it was a real thing. She ran a shaky hand through her hair and to her still-swollen lips.
Swept away.
*
Sarah spent the next week doing what she loved most in the world, spending each moment of her day with Grace. It meant taking the week off from work, but between summer camp and the Banning Street house, they hadn’t spent enough one-on-one time with each other, and Sarah had every intention of correcting that before school began in just three short weeks.
They spent their mornings at the park, people watching and insect observing, with an occasional game of catch, stopping every so often to make sure Grace wasn’t overexerted. In the afternoons, they attended movies, played cards, and spent lots of time at Grace’s favorite place in town, The Children’s Museum. It felt wonderful to spend so much time with her. She even found out that Grace had moved on to yet another new passion.
“So now you want to be an artist?” Sarah took a lick of her pistachio ice cream cone. They sat at an outdoor table at Baskin Robbins, enjoying the even-keeled seventy-five degree temperatures.
“Mhmm.” Grace caught the chocolate running off her chin just in time. Sarah handed her another pile of napkins.
“What happened to being a mermaid?”
Grace giggled and rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t exactly serious about that, you know. I hear they’re not paid very well.”
Sarah shook her head but enjoyed Grace’s dry wit, yet another in a long list of traits she’d picked up from her grandfather.
“I’ve just figured out that I love art. I don’t know if I’m good enough, but I’m still learning.”
“Well, I happen to think you’re really good. I love how colorful your drawings are.”
“Emory helped. She says that color choice is a big part of the mood you want to elist.”
“Elicit?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Elicit. We should go see Emory again.”
Sarah stared at the table. “I’m not sure about that, mija. I finished up that job, remember?”
“You could always call her.”
“Uh, I don’t think so.” Grace looked sad. “But, hey, I know I’m not as talented as Emory, but I can help a little. We can also stop by the library and see if they have any books about drawing and painting. That could be fun, right?”
Grace smiled, giving in. “Yeah. We could see what they have.”
Emory. It had been a full week since they’d parted ways at the Banning Street house. She’d wondered if Emory would call, hoping secretly that she would. She thought about calling herself but didn’t quite know what she’d say. Hi, Emory, have you thought about that kiss as much as I have? Sarah rolled her eyes at herself. Emory was a gorgeous, successful woman who was quite comfortable with her sexuality. Sarah, and the moment they’d shared, was probably a fleeting blip on her radar and one it was clear she’d regretted as soon as it was over. She probably hadn’t thought about Sarah since. No, it was better to push the memory of Emory aside and focus on the here and now. Emory surely wasn’t dwelling on it; why should she?
The situation did beg her to ask some difficult questions of herself, however. It was time she took a good hard look in the mirror. She was attracted to Emory; she knew that much. But did that mean she was gay? She wasn’t denying the possibility, but she’d never noticed an attraction to women before. But then again, when she thought about it, she’d never actually noticed an overwhelming attraction to men either. She could definitely tell you if she found a man good-looking, as she did James, but did that mean she was attracted to him? Sarah was beginning to understand that there might be an important difference. She liked James. He checked all the boxes. But he didn’t make her stomach flip-flop the way Emory did. She’d postponed her next date with James, feigning exhaustion, until she could understand things better. It seemed only fair.
Despite whatever had happened between them personally, Emory had given her the extra shove she needed to take Immaculate Home to the next level. She would be stupid not to take Emory up on her offer to help. It was up to her to make the best life for herself and for Grace. No one was going to do it for her.
*
“Trevor, did you confirm lunch with Veronica from Penino and Partners at one?” Emory stopped next to her assistant’s desk.
“Yes, she confirmed an hour ago, and you’re all set for your three o’clock with the developers after that. They have new art they want to run by you, and legal wants to touch base at four forty-five about the new language in the proprietary agreements.”
“Damn it, I don’t have time for legal today. I’m going to be here until midnight tonight as is. See if you can make some time for them tomorrow morning or ask Lucy to meet with them if she has a break in her schedule.”
“Will do.”
“Also, Trev, make sure the Nashville office is back online. They were having uplink issues with their satellites, and Chicago had to transmit all their releases. If they’re not back, let me know so I can rip someone in IT.”
It was all Emory could do to not slam the door to her office. Things were beyond hectic and didn’t show any sign of letting up. The “to address” pile on her desk was only growing, and she’d like to punch herself in the face for volunteering to be on the committee for the Women’s Health Initiative fundraising dinner. It would have been so much easier to just write a check. She dropped into her executive chair and swiveled around to face her monitor. Lots of new e-mails had flooded her inbox in the short time she’d stepped away from her desk, and after a few well-placed curse words, she decided it was best to just dive in.
She scanned the list of bold subject lines with a sigh. She deleted many without reading them, filed others into the appropriate action folders, and typed short and to the point responses to the questions being asked of her internally. The last e-mail snagged her undivided attention, however, and when she read it, the world slowed down for her as if on cue.
Dear Ms. Owen,
Attached is the company profile you requested. Immaculate Home would very much like to take you up on your offer and put out a press release about our (fingers crossed) expansion. Just as soon as I get the go-ahead from management, I’d like to discuss the details of the release with you.
Best Regards,
Sarah Matamoros
Emory stared at the screen, her thoughts now free of the work chaos and stress she’d felt just moments earlier. Instead, they were right back in the entryway of her mother’s house where she’d last seen Sarah. Correction, kissed Sarah. Sarah, whose enjoyment in the simplest of things was so utterly disarming. Sarah, who saw past all of Emory’s bullshit bravado to just…her. Sarah, who had the most kissable lips she’d ever encountered.
This was dangerous territory. She was attracted to Sarah. Of course she was, but it wouldn’t be wise to let anything come of that attraction. Sarah was warm, wholesome, and sweet—pretty much everything she wasn’t. Anything further would just be a bad idea.
But she had to admit that she was proud of Sarah for following through and taking the much-needed step forward, despite the boundaries she’d stepped over the last time she’d seen her. Emory was confident she could get that little company some attention, maybe even a feature story in some of the smaller papers. She would handle this client personally. She owed her one.
*
It was after nine p.m. and Sarah settled onto the sofa, exhausted and content from a day at the zoo with Grace. It was the end of their week together, and Sarah would be going back to work at Immaculate Home the following Monday. She’d just tucked Grace into bed, and it wasn’t five minutes before she heard the rhythmic, even breathing indicating she was already fast asleep. She gave Grace one last look as she lay in the glow of her Harry Potter nightlight. As it should be, she thought, smiling to herself as she made her way to the living room.
The week had been an active one, and Sarah sent a silent thank-you to the heavens for Grace’s continued good health. They’d only had to cut the day short once, and Sarah had been proud of Grace for speaking up about her fatigue. It had been eight weeks since the initial diagnosis, and Sarah was finally starting to trust Grace and the doctors. With careful attention, things were going to be okay. They really were.
She grabbed the remote from her coffee table and set out to find a decent movie on TV to veg out to. She was jazzed to run into one of her favorite movies of all time, You’ve Got Mail. She snuggled up on the couch, eager to settle in to all the film’s goodness. But the activity of the day had definitely taken its toll, as twenty minutes later, her eyelids felt like they were weighted down with tiny sandbags and she struggled to keep them open. Just as she gave up the fight, surrendering to the onslaught of slumber, a distinct buzzing sound awakened her from across the room.
“Damn it, Carmen,” she muttered irritably as she crossed the room, searching through the overflowing bag for her stupid phone. “This better be good.” She glanced down at the phone’s readout, blinking several time to find her focus.
“Taken the plunge and talked to the boss yet?” the text message read.
What was she talking about—the boss? She carried the phone back with her to the sofa, racking her brain for understanding. It was as she began to type back her confused and somewhat annoyed response that the sender’s name snagged her attention. Emory Owen. She stood and walked the length of her small living room, immediately awake. Her heart rate accelerated at the thought of talking to Emory again, and she was grinning at the phone as she typed.
“Not yet. On my to-do list for tomorrow. Any advice?” She sat down again, waiting for Emory’s response, but then changed her mind and went back to walking.
“Go in courageous and with lots of numbers. Hard to argue with evidence.”
“Numbers I have. Courage I’m gathering.”
“You’ll be brilliant.”
Sarah smiled as she typed. “Thanks for the confidence booster.”
“Not a big deal. It’s true.”
She hadn’t seen or talked to Emory since the Afternoon of Sexy Kissing. But she was feeling bold and decided to shift the conversation a little and ask what she really wanted to know. “So how have you been?” It took several minutes for Emory to answer this time, making Sarah wonder if she should have left it with a polite good night and thanked her again for the well-wishing. The text that arrived, however, stopped her in her tracks and tightened her stomach muscles reflexively.
“Mostly good. Busy. Miss seeing you.”
She grinned. “I miss seeing you too.”
“How’s the little one?”
“Feisty. But at the moment, sleeping.” In between text messages, Sarah moved about the room, examining random objects and straightening things as if this were somehow the perfect time to clean up a bit. She shook her head at the nerves that tickled her skin. This is just Emory, who you’ve talked to many, many times. Quit being a moron. Get it together.
“Oh. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
She decided to be a hardcore liar. “Nope, I was awake. What are you up to tonight?”
“At the office. Contract language review. Beyond boring.” Sarah was surprised. She’d pictured Emory at home for the night, settled in, much the way she was. Geez, it was well past ten o’clock.
“Is it possible you work too much?”
“I’ve heard that before, yes. You?”
“Sofa. Blanket. TV.”
“Jealous. Wish I were there instead.”
“Me too.” Sarah smiled at the idea, enjoying the exchange more than she was willing to admit.
There was another lengthy pause before the next text message came in. “Should we maybe talk about it…?”
There it was. Those three little dots that stood for so much more. She frowned as she pondered how to handle the situation, grateful for the fact that she had time to think before responding. Thank the beautiful universe for the gift of text messaging.
If she wanted to sidestep what could be a complicated situation, this was her opportunity. She could downplay the amazing kissing another woman thing, act like it was no big deal. Happens every day. Safety is your friend, she reminded herself and began to type a conservative albeit cowardly response. After all, this was maybe not something she was ready to deal with.
But her fingers stilled mid stroke.
Nope.
She just couldn’t let go of this new, other side of herself. It was scary as hell, and she wasn’t sure at all what she was doing or even if she should be doing it, but she had to find out about these feelings that had so boldly interjected themselves into her life. Was that such a horrible thing? Checking out what was behind door number two? She made her decision and hit the backspace, reconstructing her message.
Deep breath. “I was hoping we could.”
“Feel like I maybe crossed a line that day. Misinterpreted things. If I did, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” She hit the send button and waited for her phone to vibrate back at her, her heart pounding in her chest at the direction the conversation was heading. She knew she was pushing the envelope, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Minutes passed without any response from Emory, and that wasn’t a good sign. It was possible she’d made the wrong choice, and now things would be forever awkward between them. The beginnings of regret rippled through her.
Then her phone buzzed.
She closed her eyes momentarily before checking the readout.
“Will I ever see you again?”
She collapsed onto the couch. All was not lost. “I think you will.”
“Until then. Sweet dreams, Sarah.”
Inexplicable relief laced with adrenaline. That’s what she was feeling. She stared mutely at Meg Ryan on the television screen in front of her. She was aware of the fact that she was smiling and shook her head in wonder at whomever this was who’d taken control of her mind and body. She was flirting with another woman via text message for heaven’s sake, and for the first time in a long while, she was excited for what life may have in store.
*
Emory said good night to the building security guard and strolled into the parking lot, peering up at the clear night sky and exhaling. She was exhausted from her long day of work, the muscles in her neck tight, but she didn’t care. Her spirits were high.
She’d behaved like a teenager tonight, texting Sarah impulsively when she couldn’t get her off her mind. She’d promised herself that she would sidestep the Sarah situation. That would have been the mature thing to do.
So much for maturity.
But Sarah missed her and had confirmed the connection between them at least on some level. Normally, Emory would pursue the other woman for whatever casual enjoyment she could get out of the situation, but with Sarah, it was more complicated. A) Sarah was not a declared lesbian, B) she terrified the hell out of her, and C) had a child, which was pretty much a deal breaker. Though she didn’t know exactly how to move forward, or even if they should, the fact that Sarah might be feeling even a little bit of what she was left her with enough to call the night a good one. She decided not to look beyond the here and now and enjoy the small victory. Maybe she would go for a run on the beach when she got home. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so tired. Checking the sky one last time, she grinned and was pretty sure the stars were twinkling extra bright.
Chapter Seven
Sarah popped her head around the corner of her mother’s modest office. “Mama, can we talk for few minutes?”
“Sure, sure. Come in, sweetheart. Sit.” Her mother took off her reading glasses and gestured her into the small space. “What would you like to talk about?”
Sarah took a seat across from her mother and nervously pulled opened the ledger she carried with her. “Before you say anything, please hear me out.”
“What am I looking at, mija?” She regarded Sarah with a mixture of amusement and reservation, turning her attention to the ledger.
“This is a listing of our accounts receivable for the past two months, and as you can see, we did a record number of jobs. So many, in fact, that we didn’t have enough workers to fill them all.”
“Yes,” her mother chimed in. “We all just have to work a little harder. I don’t mind cleaning a few houses each week if it means we don’t have to turn down work.”
“Mama,” Sarah began, her tone clear that she meant business, “we have to face facts. It’s time to raise our prices, and not just a few percentage points this time. We have an established name and a credible reputation, yet our fees are on the low end of the scale for the market we service. It doesn’t add up. We could be doing half the work for twice as much and see a real rise in profits.” When her mother began to protest, Sarah politely raised her hand to signal she had more to say. Her mother inclined her head in acquiescence. “You’ve always instilled in me, Mama, that the quality of the work was more important than anything else. We offer quality work, and we should be paid for it. If we raise our prices, yes, our client list will shrink, but we’ll make just as much money and focus our time and energy into continuing to establish ourselves as the best in the business.”
Her mother frowned. “Where is this coming from, mija?”
Sarah pulled Emory’s check from her pocket. “This is from the Banning Street job.”
Her mother reached for the check and placed her glasses back on her nose. She studied it, her eyebrows rising appreciatively at the payment received. “You always do good work, Sarah, and you’re a smart girl. I’m not surprised Ms. Owen included a bit more.”
“It means more than that. When your clients inform you that you’re undercharging and insist on paying you more out of principle, it’s time to take notice. This came from a successful businesswoman, Mama, who also thinks we should raise our prices. Will you think about it?”
Her mother nodded. “Is there something else you’d like to talk to me about? Is everything okay with Graciela?”
“Grace is fine, but now that you mention it, there is something.” Sarah took a breath and decided it was just best to plow forward. “I’d like permission to expand Immaculate Home. I’ve put a business plan together that I’d like you to look over. It’s a little bit of what we’ve talked about before, but essentially, it’s a guaranteed win for us. Our clients have raved about our space reorganization, and if we take it one step further and offer full construction and customization, we can’t go wrong. I promise you, Mama, there’s money to be made. We have enough capital now to take on a designer, and I’ve talked to Roman about handling construction contracts for us. Everything’s in this folder, every last detail. I’ve even scouted some office space at the new building across the street. Mama, I’d like to head up the new sector. I know I can do it.”
Sarah handed the leather bound folder she’d purchased for her proposal to her mother. “Take your time and see what you think.”
Her mother’s eyes were guarded and she nodded very slowly as if in thought. Sarah watched patiently. Finally, after flipping casually through the folder, she offered Sarah a small but reassuring smile. “You’ve put a lot of work into this, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have because I think it’s the right thing for us. For me.”
“Let’s do it.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. “What? Just like that? You haven’t even read what I’ve put together. There are projections there and suggested rates and—”
Her mother waved her off and came around the front of the desk and pulled Sarah from her chair into an embrace. “We’ll get to all that. I trust you, mija, and believe you’re capable of great things. If you think this is the way to go, so do I.”
Sarah felt like doing a backflip. More than that. If there were music, she’d have broken it down right there. Her mother pulled back and looked at her. “I’m proud of you. You’re the future of this place. I’m just an old woman who’s happy to have a job.”
Sarah laughed at the silly statement. Her mother had built this company from one client twenty-five years prior. “Thank you, Mama, but I don’t know what any of us would do without you.”
*
It was dusk, Emory’s favorite time of day, and she decided to enjoy it. It had been several weeks since she’d taken a walk along the shoreline, and she chastised herself for not taking more advantage of living on the beach. She kicked her shoes off, leaving them on her back deck, and made the short walk to the water’s edge, savoring the feel of the dry sand on her skin. She rolled up the bottoms of her jeans and made her way a little further out so the tide would just graze the tops of her feet as she walked. It was getting chilly out as the sun made its descent in the sky, and she was grateful for the gray hoodie she’d put on before leaving the house.
It was a quiet evening on her favorite stretch of Mission Beach with just a few joggers and a family trying desperately to save their sand castle from the encroaching tide. She stopped and watched them for a moment. The little boy threw his body in front of the castle, his parents laughing and scrambling to help.
This was a moment for them. A real moment. And she couldn’t help the jealousy that crept in.
She’d never spent a day at the beach with her family, even though they lived so close. Her father was perpetually working, and her mother wasn’t exactly a fan of sand and water in combination. She’d come with her friends when she was older, and perhaps that’s where her love of the ocean had first surfaced.
She made a vow that she would have moments of her own someday.
At least, she hoped she would.
Emory flipped around at her typical halfway point, not too far from the tourist section of Mission Beach, which she tried to avoid. As she walked, she got the distinct impression that she was being followed. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion, and she cursed silently under her breath, hoping her stalker would get the hint when she didn’t engage. A few minutes more and still no luck. Why didn’t he get the picture? Her walk, which she’d looked forward to, felt intruded upon, and she was growing frustrated. She turned to face him finally. He had dark hair, a seemingly cheerful disposition, and four furry legs. She wasn’t the best judge of breed, but he looked to be some sort of chocolate brown retriever. Bottom line, she’d never been much of a dog person, and today was no exception. “What can I do for you, buddy? I don’t have any food. Time to find someone else to bother.”
Her new friend’s answer was to turn in a half dozen or so frenzied circles.
Okay, even the coldest heart couldn’t resist that display. She knelt in the sand bringing herself eye level with the culprit who sat back on his hind legs and regarded her with kind brown eyes.
“Very impressive. Four stars. But you should really go find your owner now. I don’t feel like playing. Nope.”
The dog looked back at her, offering what could only be described as an actual doggy smile that seemed to say I’m sorry to keep you, but don’t I have the most twinkly eyes? Emory laughed, unable to help herself, and offered the dog a soft pat on the head. Standing, she scanned the beach, looking for someone, anyone who this showman might belong to. There was a couple nearby watching the waves, but that was about it. She pointed to the dog questioningly, but they shook their heads. Damn. She looked around one last time, but the stretch of beach was pretty quiet. Out of options, she looked down at the dog. “Stay,” she commanded, holding her hand up and backing away. He whined softly but seemed to understand her command, remaining glued to his spot as instructed. She glanced back as she walked and there he sat, watching her move farther and farther away. She was off the hook.
