‘It’s getting late.’ I scooted my chair back quickly, and it caught the bottom of my stretchy skirt, one I’d borrowed from Vera. I walked briskly to the kitchen, plucked my keys from among the clutter of takeout containers, and made for the kitchen door.

‘I’m sorry this is so messed up,’ John said, rushing up behind me. ‘We didn’t mean for it to come out like that.’ I turned. He stood only a foot from me, his forehead beaded with sweat. I had the most overwhelming desire to kiss him, turn my crush into something real, grab his face in my hands, feel the swaths of stubble on his cheeks, taste our dinner on his tongue. Run back to Vera, tell her what I’d done, remind her that if she could fuck with my security, I could fuck with hers, too. I could try, at least.

‘I don’t even know what to say,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In seconds I was out the back door. It had begun to rain, and a light drizzle kissed my forearms. I hastened down their driveway, making my way through the dark, ignoring the sounds of wind through grass, coyote howls and owl hoots, the smells of ozone and earth. In the distance, I heard a clatter of thunder as the wind picked up, pushing at me. By the time I got to my cottage, I was out of breath. I’d left the porch light on, hazy yellow, and drops of rain stood out on my shirt, speckled like blood spatter. Another clap of thunder; the rain picked up, crying.

The door.

It was ajar, a thin but unmistakable opening, a clean, laser-cut slice in the wood. Pulse pounding like a migraine, my throat unbearably tight, I shoved it open. ‘Dusty,’ I called. I flipped on the lights frantically. ‘Dusty!’

An empty room. I strained to hear the pitter-patter of doggy paws, dreading the sound of a human’s footsteps, of Davis’s, instead. Nothing.

‘Dusty,’ I called louder. I rushed into the bedroom and scanned the room, grabbing my dad’s hammer in the process. My sheets were ruffled as they had been when I left, and my computer was closed – hadn’t I left it open?

‘Dusty!’ I cried, sprinting back to the living room.

In the kitchen, I fumbled for the lights.

Dusty sat upright, taking me in, his tail a metronome. I let out a deep sigh, lungs deflating. The doggie door swung behind him. I’d apparently trained him to use the thing right. Hot tears filled my eyes as I knelt to scratch beneath his chin.

‘Did you miss me?’ I asked him, and he licked my hand. ‘Are we going to be okay?’ He cocked his head to the side. He didn’t know the answer, either.