His Shadow, Her Leash

Chapter 4:

Chapter 4

Elena took the long way back from the park that afternoon. The dogs were tired in the best way: their tongues lolled out of their mouths, and their tails continued to wag at a slow circle. She let them sniff every lamppost and fire hydrant like it was their personal mission, mostly because she needed the time to let her own head clear.

Saying all that to Mrs. Blackwood had opened something inside of her. Not a lot—just a little. Enough that memories slipped through like water. Rusty’s nose against hers in that second foster home when the yelling began downstairs. Whiskers purring on her chest the first night in her Brooklyn shoebox apartment, with city sounds that threatened to engulf her. The way she learned to smile small and politely so people wouldn’t ask too many questions.

She wasn’t broken. She’d never let herself think that. But she was... careful. Like someone who’d been burned once and still checked every stove twice.

By the time Elena reached the brownstone steps, the sun had dipped low in the sky, casting everything in a golden light. Elena unclipped the leashes in the foyer and gave each of her hounds a scratch behind the ears before she was about to leave when Victoria appeared again.

“Elena, darling... stay a moment?”

Elena stopped her hand on the doorknob. “Everything all right?”

Victoria smiled at her, but there was something... knowing in her smile. “My son stopped by unexpectedly. He wants to thank you himself for how happy the dogs have been.”

Elena’s stomach flip-flopped slowly. “Oh... um...”

She followed Victoria into the parlor. And there he was—Damian Blackwood, standing by the window like he owned the light itself. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up to his forearms (nice forearms, Elena noted before she could stop herself). Tie loosened just enough to look like he’d made a conscious decision to do so.

Elena felt his gaze when he turned at her entrance, and his blue eyes locked onto hers like they’d been waiting there for her all this time.

“Elena,” he said. Low voice. Calm voice. Like her name was a whole sentence.

“Hi,” Elena said, waving at him weakly. “The dogs had a great walk. They’re wiped.”

Damian looked at Bella and Beau, who’d already flopped dramatically on the rug like they’d run a marathon.

“They look it,” he said, his mouth twitching at one corner. Victoria cleared her throat. "I'll leave you two to talk. There's still tea if you want it." She touched Elena's arm as she headed out into the hall. "Tea's still hot." And out she went, leaving the door ajar in a gesture of politeness.

The two stood there in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable. Exactly. More like heavy. Elena shifted her weight from foot to foot.

Damian took a step closer. Not too close. Just a little closer. "Mother says you're good with them. More than good."

"She's a generous woman." Elena pulled a strand of hair out from behind her ear. "I just like dogs."

"You like a lot of things quietly," he said. It didn't sound like a question.

Elena looked up at him. "Maybe."

He looked at her for a moment. "She told me a little. About your parents. The foster homes. I didn't ask her. She told me."

Elena’s throat constricted. “She’s sweet like that.”

“She is.” He paused. “I’m sorry. About what happened.”

She shrugged—habit. “It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t make it small.”

Something in his voice caught her attention again. No pity in his eyes. Just… understanding. Like he knew what it was like to have old baggage.

“What about you?” she asked, surprising herself. “You grew up in this house?”

“Most of it.” He looked around the room—the thick curtains, the antique clock ticking away softly. “Father left when I was fourteen. Took half the company and most of Mother’s heart with him. I stayed. Fixed what I could.”

Elena nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like you had to grow up fast too.”

“Something like that.” His eyes drifted back to hers. “I don’t talk about it much.”

“Me neither.”

Another quiet beat. The clock ticked. Bella sighed in her sleep.

Damian walked over to the tea tray, poured two cups without asking. Handed one to her. Their fingers touched—longer this time. Longer than necessary. Longer than proper.

“You read?” he asked, nodding to the book protruding from her backpack.

She looked down. A worn paperback romance novel—harmless, not steamy. “Yeah. Escapism. Happy endings. Dogs do not judge my reading tastes.”

He almost smiled. “I read classics. Mostly. But I have been known to steal one of Mother’s historical romance novels when no one is looking.”

Elena laughed—this time, a true laugh. “Secret soft spot?”

“Deeply buried.” He took a sip of his tea. “You ever think about more than just walking the dogs? The daycare you told her about?”

She blinked. “She told you that too?”

“She talks when she’s happy. You make her happy.”

Elena looked into her cup. “I think about it sometimes. A place for strays. Somewhere safe. But it’s just a dream.”

“Dreams aren’t nothing.” His voice had gone low. “They’re blueprints.”

She looked up. He was looking at her again. Intense, not scary. Not yet, anyway. Just… focused. On her, like she was the only person in the room who mattered.

“I should go,” she whispered. “Whiskers will make a scene if dinner’s late.”

Damian put his cup down. “Tomorrow?”

She nodded before she realized she should probably wait until she had a good excuse to agree to anything. “Yeah. Same time.”

He walked her to the door. Stopped just inside the threshold. “Elena.”

She turned around.

“If you need anything—anything—just call me. Not just for the dogs.”

She swallowed. “I’m fine.”

He nodded. “I know.” His eyes locked onto hers. “But just in case.”

She stepped out into the evening air. Heard the door shut behind her.

All the way home, she felt too warm. Her brain kept looping back to that look. The way he said her name, like it already belonged to him.

She confided in Whiskers about it later, while the cat ate his kibble. Whiskers blinked at her, unmoved.

“Yeah,” she said, running her hand behind Whiskers' ears. “I know.”

But she did not make a move to bar his number when she saved it from the card he had slipped into her backpack without her knowledge.

Not yet.