Brooke Roberts

The smell of freshly baked bread wraps around me as soon as I walk into the small bakery below Liv's apartment. My best friend is waiting for me at a glass table near the display window. Ethan, my shadow, follows closely behind me.

"Sorry for the change of plans," she says, getting up to hug me. "But I have to turn in the project on Monday and not even a third of it is done." She looks like she's about to cry.

I hold her hand and smile.
"It's no problem at all. I know how important this project is, it's the first at your new company that’s entirely your responsibility. I would’ve understood if you needed to cancel."

"As if! I need to eat and I'd never miss the chance to see you," she replies, waving off my comment. Her eyes shift to the man behind me and she smiles. "Hi, Ethan."

"Good afternoon, Miss Jones."

"Liv, Olivia, or my love—I’ve told you," she corrects him.

"Liv," I scold, swatting her arm.

"What?" she asks, feigning innocence. "Ethan and I got really close the last time we saw each other, you know?"

I roll my eyes and turn to my bodyguard.
"Sorry, she’s impossible to control."

He smiles, and honestly, I can’t blame my friend for trying to charm him.
"Hey, it’s not my fault. Anyway, do you two want to order already?"

"Yes, please. I’ve been thinking about their chocolate croissant for days now." I take two steps toward the counter and turn to Ethan. "What about you?"

"Just a coffee, please."

"Are you sure? Their pastries are amazing and all made fresh here."

"I'm sure. Just coffee. Thank you, Brooke."

I join Liv at the counter, we place our order and return to the table.
Ethan doesn’t sit with us, as usual. I asked him why last week and his answer only made me like him more. *“My job is to ensure your safety, not to invade your privacy, so I prefer to give you some space to talk freely with your friend,”* he said with a shrug like it was nothing.

"So, how are things?" I ask.

"Work is the madness I told you about. I finally have real responsibilities and they’re taking me seriously, hence the design project—but you won’t believe who showed up," she says, pressing her lips together in frustration.

"Who? Nick?" I ask, referring to the lawyer she went out with a few times, which ended in disaster. Again.

"I wish."

The waitress arrives with our orders, interrupting the conversation as she places a warm croissant and a Pumpkin Spice Latte in front of me, along with a cinnamon roll topped with cream cheese and a caramel frappuccino for Liv. She looks confused with the last cup in her hands, glancing from me to the brunette.

"It’s mine," I say, and she hands me the black, sugarless coffee Ethan ordered. I turn and he’s already got his hand out, waiting.

"Thank you, Brooke."

"Why do you call *her* by name, Ethan?" Liv demands, offended.

"Because she’s my boss, Miss Jones."

"I’m not," I argue.

"Tell him to call me Liv," she pleads, pointing at me. I hear Ethan’s low chuckle behind me.

"I’m staying out of this."

"I thought you were my friend," she complains, sipping her drink.

"I am. But you were telling me about a not-so-pleasant visit?" I change the subject.

Olivia plays with her straw for a while and answers without looking at me.
"My father. And it wasn’t exactly a visit. As if Governor Jones has time to see me." The bitterness in her voice is mirrored in her face. "His assistant showed up at the office with a letter."

"What does he want?" I ask, taking my first bite of the croissant, warm chocolate melting on my tongue.

"The usual." She shrugs and looks toward the display window. Since I met Liv in college, her family has always been a sensitive topic. It took her a year to tell me who her parents were, and I didn’t even believe her at first. But from what she’s told me, they weren’t thrilled about her career choice—let alone her decision to make it on her own. "He wants to know if I’m ready to return to the family, which basically means if I’m ready for him to marry me off to the son of some political ally. I’m his only daughter. I thought that with time, the great Grant Jones would miss me more than he needed a puppet, but I was wrong."

"I’m so sorry, Liv." I squeeze her hand on the table.

"It’s okay. Next month is Mom’s 50th birthday and I can’t miss it, so I’ll have to face all the arguments." She turns to me, wipes her cheek, and smiles. "But what about you? Any news? You look good."

She takes a bite of her cinnamon roll.
"I’m doing well, getting better." I feel my lips curve into a smile. "I started therapy."

"Are you serious?" I nod. "That makes me so happy! With the therapist I told you about?"

"Yes, Dr. Luana is amazing. Thank you so much for recommending her and always supporting me and wanting the best for me," I say sincerely. Olivia has always pushed me to be better, to want more. No dream was ever too big, and after I got involved with the guys, she never judged me. In fact, she always advised me to follow my heart and chase happiness.

"What are best friends for?"

"You know very well you’re more than that."

"I do. So, how are the three hotties you call boyfriends?" she asks, changing the subject.

"They’re great," I say, not even trying to hide the wide smile spreading across my face. "It’s incredible how right everything feels. Even with everything that’s happened, I feel like my place is with them—all of them. It’s such a cliché to say each one completes me in a different way, but that without one of them, I could never truly be whole?"

"It’s very cliché," she teases. "But there’s nothing wrong with clichés."

"Yeah, I guess not."

We finish eating while Liv tells me more about her job and coworkers. The environment sounds a lot less toxic than the last one, and I’m happy—her old workplace was draining all her energy.

"I don’t want to work," she whines once we’re already on the sidewalk.

"You’re just being lazy, but you know you love your job."

"Not when it makes me work on weekends."

"Don’t be dramatic! The sooner you do it, the sooner you’ll be done."

"As if I have that much time. It’s Saturday and already…" she pulls her phone from her back pocket. "Three twenty-seven in the afternoon."

"Time to work then," I say, pulling her into a hug. "Take care, love you!"

"Love you too. If you don’t hear from me by Monday, I’m dead. Please send flowers!"

"Drama queen."

Ethan approaches as soon as the brunette walks through the building's side door to head up to her apartment.
"Want to stop anywhere before heading home?" he asks.

"No, we can go."

As we walk through an alley toward the car parked on the next block, I hear a whimper. I turn, searching for the source of the sound, but all I see is a dumpster and a lot of trash around.

"What is it?" Ethan asks.

"I thought I heard something, maybe I imagined it."

I’m about to start walking again when a movement catches my attention.
"There’s something there, Ethan," I say.

"Where?" he asks, one hand resting lightly on my back and the other already holding the pistol at his waist.

"There," I point and move into the alley.

"Brooke!" My bodyguard grabs my arm, stopping me from going further.

"There’s something in there."

The whimper sounds again, clearer now that I’m closer. It’s a puppy. I nudge some bags aside and find a crumpled cardboard box, and a tiny furry head with pleading brown eyes stares back at me. My heart breaks. Who could be so cruel as to abandon a creature in the trash? If you can’t take care of it, there are so many shelters—there’s no excuse for this kind of behavior.

"It’s okay, little one. Everything’s going to be okay," I say, picking up the puppy. "You’re going to love your new home, and your brothers are going to go nuts having someone new to play with."

The puppy jumps into my arms and licks my face several times, as if he understands every word—maybe he does. Maybe he understands that I won’t leave him alone.