“Thank God,” I say into the fridge, seeing the rotisserie chicken I’d picked up at Trader Joe’s. I pull it from the fridge with my free hand and then walk to the cupboard where I find some white rice to microwave. I set the dog down on the floor, tear up some of the chicken and mix it with some rice in a big plastic bowl. The dog devours the food within seconds. I pour a big bowl of water and also place it on the floor, and the Lab begins to drink as if he’s never had a drink in his life before. I think of what my friend had texted and pick up the bowl after a bit, afraid he might bloat.

He slowly begins to investigate the kitchen, walking around and sniffing every corner. And then I watch him pick up steam and scamper into the living room.

“Come here, you,” I call. “Where are you going?”

As if pulled by a magnet, the dog beelines toward the old, hook rug by the door. He starts to paw at the rug, making a bed. He scratches and turns, butt in the air, tail suddenly wagging, and scratches and turns, until he suddenly drops like a rock. I walk over to him and smile. He looks up at me, thumps his tail weakly and again sighs. Within seconds, he is sound asleep on the rug.

I take a seat on the floor and watch the lost creature sleep.

I can’t keep you, I think, my heart breaking. I just can’t.

I assess my first day as an innkeeper: a cottage reno that will break my bank; nosy neighbors who want to kill my business; a hole in my roof; and, now, an abandoned, abused dog.

A misfit, just like me.

I pull my phone from the pocket of Evan’s sweats I’m still wearing and pull up my Notes. So many good ideas. I stop.

So many good ideas that run smack-dab into the reality of life, I correct.

I stare at the dog.

“How ironic,” I say out loud. “Just when I told myself I didn’t need a man in my life.”

The dog hears my voice, opens its eyes, sees me there and thumps its tail before closing its eyes once again.

Maybe, I think instead, smiling at the dog, it’s not me who needs saving.

I look at my cell, at all of my scribbled ideas.

Maybe you’re the one who needs saving. Maybe a lot of people need help if someone will just do it. I stop. “Maybe,” I say to the cottage, “I’m the superhero, the Elsa, the Wonder Woman after all.”

The dog again opens his eyes and barks gently.