But friends would be okay.
Nice, even.
Someone I could talk to about books. I didn’t have anyone like that in town. Mrs. McPherson loved reading,and Mr. Humphries loved history books, but there was no one my age.
I gave a nod, ignoring the heat in my face. “Yes, to the grand opening. Though if there’s a lot of people...” I made a face. “Maybe later in the afternoon.”
Dad smiled as if this made him extra happy for some reason. He collected our empty plates and took them to the sink. “Oh, Deac, just so you know, it’s totally acceptable to call a client and ask for an update on their pets. I do it often. So if you’re worried at all about how those little kittens are doing or if he has any questions—he did mention a few times that he’s not experienced in such things—maybe a phone call couldn’t hurt.”
Mom joined him at the sink and gave him a nudge, but I’d had enough conversation, enough interaction for one day. “I’ll go shower now,” I said, getting up from the table. “Leave the dishes, please. I’ll do them after our show. I’m out of time.” I checked my watch. Goodness, it was later than we usually finished dinner.
I quickly went into my room and closed the door, unsure why my heart was thumping.
The time differential? I was normally showered by the time our show came on, and I didn’t like being late.
Or all the talk about Winter, and my dad telling me he could tell I’d liked seeing him today? Which was the truth. I’d never been able to hide my reactions. I knew other people had better control over that, and I knew other people cared about that.
The truth was, I did like Winter.
He was cute and gentle, and he loved books. But it couldn’t be anything more than that. I didn’t want it to be anything more than that, regardless of what my father alluded to. Or perhaps he hoped I’d make a friend and nothing more.
I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to ask.
I didn’t want to make Winter uncomfortable in the way I knew I often did. It was never my intention, but I’d been told several times in my life that I did make people uncomfortable sometimes, so it was usually best for everyone if I stayed away.
But I could call Winter. As my father had said. It would be within my professional duty to check on the kittens. So instead of focusing on seeing him again, I steered my train of thought to perhaps calling him.
Yes. I could call him.
Not tonight, of course. But tomorrow. To see how their first night went. To ask if he had any questions or if he needed any advice or suggestions.
Yes, nowthatI could do.
In fact, having made the decision that I would call him tomorrow made me happy, and not stressed about seeing him again or asking if he’d like to be my friend.
After my shower, I was getting dressed in my warm pajamas and slippers when Dad called out. “Our show’s about to start, Deac.”
I hurried out to the living room, seeing the dishes were done. “Oh. I said I’d do the dishes. It’s my job to do the dishes.”
“It only took me a few seconds,” Dad said. “But I’ll make a deal with you. You can make us a cup of tea during the ad break. Deal?”
I relaxed then and smiled as the intro music ofAntiques Roadshowbegan. “Deal.”
I was morenervous than I thought I’d be. In fact, deciding to call Winter at a respectable 10:00 a.m. gave mea few hours in the morning to make myself regret eating breakfast.
I did see clients at the clinic, and that was a good distraction, but the looming phone call was always on my mind and made me quite useless. I found it difficult to concentrate, and I kept watching the clock.
Ten o’clock was so far away, and then it was coming too soon and I wasn’t prepared enough. Or ready.
And my tummy ache was getting worse. That jittery feeling was back, and I was certain now I didn’t like it. It made me anxious and that made me irritable and?—
My dad took my hand, and I only realized then I’d been tapping my pen on the stainless-steel table.
I hated this feeling.
I pulled my hand free and let out a deep breath.
“Deacon,” Dad said, his voice serious. “I’ll need your help at ten when the Paul’s bring their ferrets in, so it would be best if you could call Mr. Atkins now.”
