Which, of course it was.
Who else would text me twelve times a day?
We’d been chatting nonstop since our sleepover—random thoughts, pictures of things that reminded us of each other, stupid jokes that made me laugh out loud in the middle of delivery stops. Yesterday he sent me a photo of a book titledThe Care and Feeding of Your Postal Workerthat he’d found at a used bookstore. I laughed so hard I nearly dropped a package right in front of the shop’s owner.
This morning alone, my phone had buzzed nine times, and each text had made me smile wider than the last: one about Debbie insisting that Sir Hornsworth needed his own library card, a photo of his coffee mug that said, “Shhh . . . The Librarianis Reading,” a completely random message that said, “Thinking about you,” followed immediately by another that said, “Sorry, was that too sappy?”
I was halfway through my route, standing outside Peterson’s Hardware with a delivery that required a signature, when my phone buzzed for the tenth time. My hand automatically moved toward my pocket, but I forced myself to stop. I needed to get this package delivered first, then I could indulge in whatever adorable thing Theo had sent me this time.
The woman at the counter took forever to find her reading glasses, then longer to actually sign for the package, and by the time I was walking back across the parking lot to my truck, I was practically vibrating with anticipation. I yanked my phone out of my pocket the second I was clear of the building.
But the message wasn’t from Theo.
MRS. CUDDLES: Jeremiah, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. They moved my surgery up to today—the surgeon says it can’t wait. I’m at the hospital and have no idea how fast these drugs will hit. I already feel funny and light, like a potato floating on a cloud.
A what? Was she delusional or delirious? Either way, I kind of wished I could be there to see it. Mrs. Chen was already a funny old lady. Give her some drugs and I bet she’d be the life of any party. But the part about her surgery? I reread it. A surgeon sounding alarm bells and moving up her procedure couldn’t be good. All amusement at her addled state evaporated with thoughts of the million things that could go wrong.
MRS. CUDDLES: I didn’t have time to arrange care for Cuddles. Could you feed her tonight? I know it’slast minute, and I feel terrible asking, but I didn’t know who else to call.
My heart sank. Mrs. Chen was having her surgery today, alone, and all she could worry about was her dog? The poor woman was facing something serious enough that doctors couldn’t wait, and she was apologizing for asking for help?
I typed quickly.
Me: Of course. Don’t worry about Cuddles—I’ve got her covered. Focus on taking care of yourself. Do you need anything else? Someone to drive you home after?
Her response came quickly.
MRS. CUDDLES: Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. My neighbor will pick me up tomorrow if all goes well. The spare key is where I showed you, and Cuddles gets fed at six. She’s been anxious all day—I think she knows something’s up.
Me: I’ll take good care of her. You just focus on getting better.
MRS. CUDDLES: You’re an angel, Jeremiah. I owe you big time.
I stared at my phone for a moment, processing what had just happened. Mrs. Chen was probably scared and alone, while I was standing in a parking lot worried about text messages from my boyfriend.
My boyfriend.
That word still made something flutter in my chest—and I wasn’t sure I’d earned the title yet, though I desperately wanted it—but right now everything was overshadowed by concern for a woman who’d wormed her way into my heart and become an important part of my life.
And Cuddles, the fang-bearing fluff ball who seemed determined to destroy every work shirt I owned.
Awesome.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
A few months ago, the idea of voluntarily spending time with Cuddles would have seemed like volunteering for torture in some Soviet prison back before the Russians learned how to be all warm and fuzzy on the international stage.
Wait, that hadn’t happened, had it?
Well, shit.
Now, thinking about driving to Mrs. Chen’s house and feeding her dog, this just felt like helping family.
I checked the time. It was three-thirty. I had enough deliveries left to keep me busy until five, then I’d head home, grab some dinner, and go deal with my canine nemesis turned immediate responsibility.
My phone buzzed again.
Theo: Random question: do you think Debbie would like to learn how to play chess? I found this kid-friendly set at the bookstore and couldn’t resist.
