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Claire stared at the message. She had no comeback.

“Hey, Claire, we’re going to get lunch. Do you want to join us?”

She looked up to see three of her coworkers. She pursed her lips. “No, thanks. I really need to get this to Mrs. Sinclair ASAP. Thanks for the invite though. Maybe next time.”

She got back to work and didn’t realize how much time had passed until she got another text.

Noah: Biscuit says don’t forget to eat.

She looked up at her clock. 1:47. Oops.

Claire: What makes him think I wouldn’t eat?

Noah: You seem like someone who skips meals when they’re busy. Whether it’s intentional or you’re forgetting, I know you do it.

Claire: You don’t know me.

Noah: Maybe not, but am I wrong? Did you have lunch?

Claire: . . .No.

Noah: My point exactly. Eat.

Claire put her phone down. She couldn’t help but smile. Only because Biscuit was incapable of minding his own business. Not because Noah was thoughtful.

Claire arrived home at 9:45 p.m. She had spent all day working on the concepts for Mrs. Sinclair. She was determined to have it done by the end of day, even though Mrs. Sinclair said Friday and it was only Tuesday. And she did.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she didn’t eat dinner either. Ugh. Biscuit was right. She would not give him, or Noah, that satisfaction.

She opened her freezer, looking at her choices of frozen dinners. Nothing sounded good. She sighed and chose one to microwave anyway. She certainly wasn’t going to cook that late at night.

The microwave hummed. The apartment was quiet. Quieter than she expected. Forty-eight hours ago, she’d thought living alone sounded peaceful.

She sat down with her frozen dinner and turned on the TV. It wasn’t as good as Noah’s pasta, but it would do.

Speak of the devil. Her phone chimed.

Noah: Biscuit says goodnight.

Claire: Tell him goodnight.

She stared at the message after sending it and realized she was smiling. She willed herself to stop.

It didn’t mean anything.

She was just being nice.

To the dog.

The dog, after all, had done nothing wrong. Biscuit was innocent in all of this. His owner was another story.

She sighed. This was ridiculous.

She was not going to become one of those people who had conversations with her neighbor through his dog.

Unfortunately, she suspected it might be too late.

CHAPTER 4