For the first time all day, I felt like someone actually wanted my company.
“What’s your story, honey?” I asked, gently stroking his damp fur. “And what are we going to do with you?”
As if in answer, he lifted his head and looked at me with those soulful brown eyes.
And for the first time since Trent’s phone call 3 days ago, I felt something other than rejection and sadness.
I felt needed.
The diamond caught the street light again, winking like a star.
I looked closer at the collar and noticed something I’d missed before.
A small metal tag tucked behind the diamond.
A phone number was engraved on it in tiny precise letters.
My hands were shaking as I pulled out my phone, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from something else entirely.
Something that felt like hope, even though I couldn’t explain why.
The dog leaned against me harder, as if he knew that whatever happened next was going to change everything.
I stared at the phone number on the tag for a full minute before I found the courage to dial it.
My fingers were numb from the cold, and I had to try three times before I managed to press the right numbers.
The phone rang once, twice.
On the third ring, a crisp, professional voice answered.
“Wellington residence. Maxwell speaking.”
I nearly hung up.
Wellington residence. Maxwell.
This sounded like something out of a movie. Not the kind of phone call a retired nurse from a one-bedroom apartment was supposed to be making.
“Um, hello,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I found a dog. He has this phone number on his collar.”
There was a pause, and then the voice Maxwell became suddenly urgent.
“Ma’am, could you please describe the dog?”
The He’s small, golden fur, very sweet. He was lost in Riverside Park, and he seemed hungry and cold.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Maxwell said, and I could hear genuine relief in his voice. “Ma’am, this is extremely important. Where are you right now? Are you safe? Is Charlie—is the dog with you?”
Charlie. So, that was his name.
“Yes, we’re both fine. We’re still in the park on Elm Street, but—”
“Please don’t move,” Maxwell interrupted. “I’m sending someone to collect you both immediately. May I have your name?”
“Flora,” I said automatically. “Flora Henderson, but I don’t understand—”
“Mrs. Henderson, I cannot thank you enough for calling. You have no idea how worried we’ve been. Please just stay exactly where you are. Someone will be there in less than 10 minutes.”
The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone in confusion.
I looked down at Charlie, who was now sitting calmly beside me as if none of this was strange at all.
“What exactly have I gotten myself into, Charlie?” I asked him.
He wagged his tail and licked my hand, which was somehow reassuring despite the bizarre circumstances.
True to Maxwell’s word, exactly 8 minutes later, a pair of headlights turned into the park.
But it wasn’t just any car.
It was a black Mercedes sedan, the kind I’d only ever seen in movies or driving past me on the highway.
It moved silently through the park entrance and came to a stop directly in front of my bench.
The driver’s door opened, and outstepped a man who looked like he’d walked out of a different century.
He was wearing a perfectly tailored black coat, leather gloves, and what appeared to be an honest to goodness chauffeur’s cap.
He had to be in his 60s, with silver hair and the kind of posture that spoke of military training or years of formal service.
“Mrs. Henderson?” he asked, approaching us with measured steps.
His voice was the same one I’d heard on the phone.
“Maxwell.”
“Yes,” I said, standing up slowly.
Charlie remained pressed against my legs, but his tail was wagging faster now, as if he recognized either Maxwell or the car.
“Ma’am,” Maxwell said, and then he did something that nearly knocked me over.
He bowed.
Actually bowed like I was royalty instead of an old woman in a worn coat sitting in a public park.
“I cannot express how grateful Mr. Wellington will be that you found Charlie and kept him safe.”
Mr. Wellington.
The name sent a little chill down my spine, though I couldn’t say why.
“Is Mr. Wellington Charlie’s owner?” I asked.
“Indeed, he is, ma’am, and he’s been quite beside himself with worry.”
Maxwell looked down at Charlie, who had trotted over to him and was receiving gentle pats.
“Charlie has never wandered off before. Mr. Wellington was afraid something terrible might have happened.”
I watched Maxwell’s face carefully.
There was something in his expression, something that suggested this was about more than just a lost pet.
“How did Charlie get lost?” I asked.
Maxwell’s expression became carefully neutral.
“There was an incident earlier this evening. Charlie was startled and ran off during his walk. We’ve had search teams looking for him for hours.”
Search teams for a dog.
I glanced again at the diamond hanging from Charlie’s collar and began to understand that whoever Mr. Wellington was, he was not an ordinary person.
“Mrs. Henderson,” Maxwell continued, “Mr. Wellington would very much like to thank you in person if you’d be willing. He’s waiting at the house.”
I looked at the Mercedes, then at Maxwell’s expectant face, then down at Charlie, who was looking up at me with those trusting brown eyes.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said slowly. “I’m just glad Charlie is safe. I should probably get home.”
“Ma’am,” Maxwell said, and his voice held a note I couldn’t quite interpret. “I think you should know that Mr. Wellington specifically asked me to tell you that he’s been hoping to meet you for a very long time.”
My heart stopped.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“He’s been hoping to meet you, ma’am, for a very long time.”