The Pup Next Door

One

Paws was back.

I could sense his presence in the air of my backyard as I tried to unwind, just as my publicist had suggested during my three-month hiatus. I had retreated to my family's home in LA, which had become more of a vacation spot now that everyone had moved out and my parents were constantly traveling. With my mother on her Europe tour, the house was going to be empty, making it the perfect refuge for me.

New York had been toxic for my health. Beyond the unpleasant smells, I had fallen in with a bad crowd, spiraling so badly that my agency—an agency my talent had put on the map—dropped me.
Sure, my famous parents had given me a platform, but it took wit and genuine talent to succeed in the modeling industry. I had both, along with a luxury brand I founded but others managed. It felt hypocritical, but at least the Korean and Indian experts I hired and generously paid created products that sold. Malika, the CEO, was the only person outside my family who called when Gen Mag released that awful footage.

She sent someone to help me pack, and it was hell. I found myself being hugged by a stranger while I shook and cried on my apartment floor. The woman packed most of my clothes and skincare before she and a designated driver got me to the airport in one piece.

I took melatonin and crashed throughout the five-hour flight. The house was big, and sometimes I felt the urge to call that old group to see if anyone could help me through it. But I soon realized the group chat was no longer active—I had been ex-communicated. My messages weren't delivering, and I couldn't see their Instagram pages anymore.

By some miracle, my business didn't take a hit. It might be temporary, but I hoped for a good quarter.
Paws came to my side, his golden fur shining in the sun as he panted like a criminal who had just escaped the police. I met Paws a day after I arrived. He was new in the neighborhood and an absolute joy. He kept me company, and although it didn't match human interaction, Paws did something for me.

Paws was a bundle of energy and mischief. He had a knack for getting into trouble, whether it was digging up the garden or sneaking into the pool. His playful antics often left me exasperated but also brought a smile to my face. Despite his mischievous nature, Paws had a gentle side. He would nuzzle up to me when I was feeling down, offering silent comfort with his warm presence.

I named him Paws because he got mud all over my mother's back porch, making me and the housekeeper scrub like crazed women. I told him off, and he howled right back. He started playing in my pool against my will, making me want to pull my hair out—in a good way.

Nina stocked a few snacks for him and fed him at intervals to avoid his barking fits. Paws leaned on the sunbed and began to whine like he hadn't been fed in a millennium. I rubbed his head and concentrated on my book about Ancient Greece. Paws soon stopped whining and was content with my silence.

My days didn't have a set course. I woke up, exercised, rotted on Netflix or with a good book, ate, and slept. Nina did the shopping, cleaning, and washing. I did my laundry on my good days and barely ate on my bad ones. I gave Nina three days off, and she prepped meals for those days, sending texts to check in.

She only spent an hour a day, and we didn't have any common interests that I was aware of, so we only greeted each other. Paws was my only companion.

"Hi Baby," I said, and Paws whined again. He seemed inclined to be fed. "Do I need to call the authorities on your parents, or are you just hungry all the time?"

Paws whined again.

I sighed and sat up. Paws began to wag his tail. I got up, taking my book with me. Paws followed me into the kitchen and waited patiently as I got his snack.

He ate it all, and the whining stopped.

"Good boy," I cooed, and he ran in a circle and sat. "Movie?"

He barked.

Paws followed me to the living room and sat silently as I scrolled through our options. I settled for a childhood favorite, and he seemed to like it. I watched in my bathing suit, and soon it ended. We watched another and another and another. Somewhere between our fifth and sixth movie, there was a knock on the door. I groaned, and Paws barked.

"Stay," I said, but he didn't listen.

"Hello?" I called over the knocks.

"Hi... Hi," a man said on the other side.

"I have a gun," I lied.

"Good for you," the man said before adding, "I am looking for my dog. He's a golden retriever, eats a lot."

"Love the detailed description," I mocked.

"Have you seen him?" the man asked.

"There's a golden retriever here," I said reluctantly.
"Mars?"

Paws barked back.

"Is that you, boy?"

Paws barked again.

I still didn't trust it. I tiptoed to the coat closet to get a baseball bat and returned to the door. I unlocked it and opened it as carefully as possible. Once given the chance, Paws ran out the door, developing a horrible case of zoomies. He barked uncontrollably and wagged his tail like he was on a sugar rush. The man, who I assumed was his owner, patted his head before standing at his full height.

He wore a suit, and not a single strand of his dark hair was out of place. He looked like he was in the sun often but not like some washed-up Malibu guy.

It took everything in me to say,"Been at work?"
He took his eyes off Paws—or rather Mars—to look at me. "My meetings ran late, sorry for the intrusion."

"Paws—or rather Mars—has been a daily visitor for weeks. Three to be precise," I informed the stranger, and he glared at his dog.

"I am terribly sorry about that. He didn't do this before we moved." Mars whined under the stranger's glare before running to me and cowering. "I think I should leave you to it then."

Mars was beckoned on, but he refused to move, clinging to me like I was his actual owner.

"You do realize that I don't legally own you, right?" I asked Mars, and he barked at me. "You're the one who left me in a bikini and made me binge-watch crappy romcoms."

Mars howled.

"You should send him to boarding school," I joked, and Mars howled again. I shook my head in disbelief. "If you don't go with him, I will," I threatened, and Mars ran back to the stranger.
"See you tomorrow, Paws," I joked, and Mars barked back. I looked up at the stranger. "Have a nice night."

He nodded slowly before leading Mars into the dark.