53. The Rest Is Just Unfinished

53

THE REST IS JUST UNFINISHED

Maeve

It’s early—barely seven, maybe eight in the morning. The house feels too quiet, like it’s holding its breath. I wander through the living room, unsettled, and Ruby Rooster follows close behind, trotting along, head tilted as if she’s waiting for me to decide something.

For someone who worships at the altar of pillows and beds, I’m now the one who can’t sleep. I don’t even try. My mind keeps replaying the morning, trying to figure out if I could have done something differently. Is it weird to stay while he’s on the road, given what just happened between us? But what did happen between us? What are we even doing? I don’t know.

I stop in the kitchen, grab some dog treats, and offer one to Ruby Rooster. She sits obediently. “Should I have said something else?” I ask her. She waits, tail wagging slightly.

“Shake,” I say, taking her paw and making her shake. “ Good girl.” I give her the treat, and she hoovers it down, her tail thumping harder.

“Should I go? Stay with Leighton? Or Josie? Or Everly?” I know they’d open their doors to this beautiful dog and me without a second thought.

I pause, and Ruby Rooster looks at me expectantly. “Should I stay?”

She wags her tail harder but doesn’t move.

Hmm. That feels like her answer.

I give her another treat and head toward the terrace. She follows, skidding to a stop when I reach the stone railing, eyes on the sunroom.

My studio. The one he converted just for me.

He meant it when he said this place was mine. He’s thoughtful. He built this for me—so I can create, be inspired.

My mind drifts back to last night, to the way he looked at me when we came together. His words. The way everything felt like more than a physical connection. It felt like friendship on fire, a love that was deeper than anything I could have painted. Like we were on the edge of something that could change everything.

And now, look at us. Apart.

But even though I miss him, even though I ache to help him, I know one thing for sure: I’m not running just because this got hard. Just because it got real faster than either of us expected. Wherever this takes us—whether back to friendship or to something more—I’m staying. He needs to know this friendship isn’t something he can get rid of. It’s here for good.

I pat Ruby Rooster’s soft head and say, “Let’s go to work.”

But reality hits as I grab my things. I don’t have a car. I’ll need a ride. As I’m opening my Lyft app to search for a pet-friendly option, my phone buzzes, and I see a message.

Asher: My car’s in the garage. The dog’s car seat is still in the back. I know you don’t love driving in the city, but even so I put the car’s app on your phone last week in case you ever need to drive it. You should be able to use it to take Ruby Roo to the arena. Here’s the code for the app in case there’s any trouble.

The sobs come before I can stop them, with thick tears that cascade down my cheeks. Even while he’s gone, doing whatever he’s doing right now, he’s thinking of me. He’s taking care of me and this sweet girl who was abandoned until she found us .

And this time, like most other times when he’s offered some advice, his help is exactly what I need. Perhaps it wasn’t early this morning with the seventy-two tabs. Maybe it wasn’t either when he was so distracted during a TV show that he let himself get caught up in doctor googling. Looking back, I’m not sure his dads wanted the help with the vitamins, even if it was well intentioned.

But right now—this message gives me hope. Because I needed this . An easy way to get to work with the dog. And while I don’t love driving, I also don’t love putting the dog in a Lyft since it’s safer for her to be buckled in. Maybe Asher is starting to realize there’s a difference between control and help since I don’t think he’s trying to control a damn thing right now .

This is pure.

I head to the garage with my dog bestie and open the back seat door. She hops in, parking her fluffy butt in the car seat he neatly installed for her. I buckle her in, securing the straps gently. “Your dad got you this,” I whisper, even though she’s already looking out the window, curious about the drive before we’ve even left the garage.

Then I rewind my words, rolling my eyes at myself. Did I really just say your dad ? Oh my god, I did. Well, when in Rome. I snap a picture of Ruby Rooster, all pretty in her seat, then go to one of my apps and fiddle around with it for a couple minutes before sending a digital badge to Asher with the dog inside it and the words: World’s Safest Dog.

As I drive toward the arena, a sense of resolve settles over me. A sense of strength. I’m not the same girl I was at the auction—frazzled and chaotic. I’m no longer the hot mess who didn’t have a clue what to do next. I’m not saying I’ve got my act together, but I’ve found something inside myself that was there all along, waiting to surface. A real strength. A solid foundation. I can be the person someone leans on. I can be the one someone depends on. I’ve learned that from Asher over the last few months, from his words and the way he’s lifted me up. But really, I’ve been learning it for years, thanks to him.

And that’s who I need to be right now—the person he’s been for me.

When I arrive, I park in the employees’ lot, but before getting out, I pull out my phone and google how to help someone with obsessive behavior. Because that’s what his actions feel like—obsession. I make some notes, bookmark a few things to share with him later, and then finally step out of the car, Ruby Rooster on her leash by my side, heading toward the employee entrance.

Inside, the mural waits, half-finished, just like everything between us.

I take a deep breath and get to work, but I can’t stop wondering: Did we break up? Or are we pretending we never crossed that line?

I don’t know. But I’ll have to live with this uncertainty—for now.