Chapter One
JOANNA
Today fucking sucks.
It started off like any other Friday, never mind the holiday that’s marked on the calendar. My morning routine went by like clockwork: let the cows out of the barn, check to make sure everyone has food, clean the kennels, grab any eggs from the chickens, sweep the floors, clean up messes from the dog food bowls, and make sure all the animals are getting along.
It wasn’t until lunch that things started to go sideways.
Typically, I can predict the days when I’ll find a stray or an abandoned animal based on my honed gut feeling. I have a sixth sense about these things, like the cat distribution system giving me a heads up before providing me with another feline friend, or the universe letting my subconscious know what that phone call is going to be before I even pick up the phone—‘the wife of so-and-so’s colleague found a cardboard box full of puppies in the parking lot at work’, or‘my daughter is moving across the country and she can’t take her cat with her.’
Today, my Spidey senses were off.
Today, I did not get a heads up about the guy who spun his tires on my dirt path and left a trail of dust in his wake. Instead, I was sucker punched by a stranger’s audacity. Turns out the universe thought I needed reminding just how cruel some people can be.
The local vet didn’t call to inform me of what was happening until Mr. Pornstache was already speeding away. The story goes that after finding out his new dog—that he found and decided to keep—was sick and needed surgery, he dropped it at the vet anonymously with a note saying he couldn’t pay for it. Luckily, they caught his license plate on camera and gave him a call.
Talia, the closest vet in the next town over, is a saint, and offered to do the surgery for free. Only, when they tried to contact the man to give him his dog back, he said he didn’t want it. That’s when my name came up. Everyone knows that if they find a dog with nowhere to go, they can send it to me.
I picked up the dog from Talia, assuming I would be taking care of him until he was fully recovered. To my surprise, I was bombarded by a stocky and extremely sweaty man who claimed he never gave permission for me to have the dog. Unfortunately for him, he gave up that right when he refused to pick up the phone and dropped the dog off like an Uber Eats delivery in the first place.
After arguing for almost an hour, he gave up, admitting he never wanted the dog in the first place. It was his wife who wanted a pet but changed her mind after realizing it needed extra care.
So, you can see why I’m in a pretty shitty mood.
And as if my day couldn’t get any worse, Double Double is packed by the time I make it there for my afternoon coffee. Almost all of Shadow Hills seems to be in line for the day’s special, Valentine Coco, even though it’s literally just hot chocolate with pink marshmallows. At least Jamie has figuredout how to sucker customers into buying coffee by making it cute.
At first, I thought it was Raegan’s influence on him, but ever since Simone, Layton’s niece, started working as the day manager, it’s felt like a combined effort. Small changes have begun to appear under Jamie’s nose, like the flower arrangements on the tables changing to cornucopias for Thanksgiving or miniature holly bushes for Christmas. Today, the original vases are back, but instead of dark and moody foliage, it’s roses and a plastic heart pick.
Seemingly everyone in town is eating it up. Meanwhile, I really just want a cup of coffee. I wouldn’t normally scoff at the holiday spirit: I love a good theme, and Valentine’s Day is one of my favorites, given every bit of merchandise you can think of temporarily turns pink. It’s colorful and cute, and on any other Valentine’s Day, it would have brought me an immense amount of joy, but I guess this is not my year.
And knowing my birthday is in five days doesn’t help either.
Thirty-five is a unique milestone: you still feelyoung, but you’re closer to forty than thirty, and suddenly you’re getting real close to being classified as middle-aged. Soon I’ll be highly encouraged to get a mammogram every year, and I already have more gray strands of hair infiltrating my part than natural brown. I’m not quite ready to accept my hair not looking like mine anymore, so for now, I get highlights to cover them up.
Maybe that’s why I’m in such a foul mood—though I’m not forgetting this morning’s delightful surprise. But hey, it’s fine. I can only hope nothing else ruins my day. As long as no more assholes come by to dump their animals, I should be able to shuffle through the rest of my time at the rescue, then go home and have a luxurious bath to soothe my aching near-middle-aged joints.
I’m almost to the front of the line when I see Raegan exiting from the back office with a stack of papers tucked against her chest while carrying a cup of Valentine Coco.
Once she spots me, she makes an immediate beeline to where I’m standing in front of the register. Though I’m always happy to see my best friend, her eagerness has me feeling a little suspicious.
It’s my turn to order, and Casey, the quiet kid who works part time as a barista, is staring at me with expectant eyes. Okay, I know they’re probably legal, but everyone under the age of twenty-five looks like a child to me.
Casey is a part of Jamie’s pack, but the scrawny thing looks more like they could shift into a grasshopper than a werewolf. They tuck their hands into the sleeves of their oversized black and white striped sweater, and their mousey brown hair falls protectively over their eyes like a shield as they ask what I’d like to order.
“Umm…” My mind goes blank, and even though I know I want a medium cup of light roast coffee, my mouth has apparently forgot. Am I having one of those brain fart moments? I never understood what it meant till this moment.
Why am I thinking about this when I need to be ordering?
“I’ll get the…”
Raegan swoops in to save me, but I cringe at what she’s picked. “Grab her a Valentine Coco, Casey. And charge it to me.” I’m about to say no thank you, but then she adds, “add a double shot of espresso.”
Now that’s more like it.
But Casey isn’t paying attention. Instead, their focus is on Simone, currently wiping down abandoned tables at the front of the shop. The feel of multiple eyes on her triggers her to turn around, so I wave nervously, as if caught in the act of somethingawkward. Her mermaid braids fall over her shoulder as she straightens the chairs and puts each flower vase back into place.
“Sorry,” Casey apologizes quietly. “What did you say?”
