* * * *
During the drive to Pawsome Pets, rain began as a mist then thickened into drops that drummed against the windshield. Jamie turned on the wipers, but they did nothing to clear his thoughts. His mind kept circling back to Sloane—those bluish-gray eyes, that mouth, the way he’d kissed Jamie like it meant something.
Ridiculous. They’d known each other less than a day. People didn’t develop feelings that fast. Except Jamie’s pulse kicked up every time he replayed the morning in his head, his lips still tingled from that goodbye kiss, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had shifted.
He’d never missed someone he barely knew. Missing required history, time, shared experiences. Yet here he was, already wondering when Sloane would text, already replaying their conversation, already wondering when he’d see him again.
Would Sloane actually text? Or had that been one of those things people said to be polite before disappearing forever?
This is what happens when you let hot strangers feed you breakfast.
Rain hammered harder, drumming against the roof. Jamie flicked the wipers to high, watching them fight a losing battle against the downpour. Pawsome Pets appeared through the rain-streaked windshield, its hand-painted sign swinging slightly in the wind. The building was small, painted a cheerful yellow that looked washed out under the storm clouds. Flower boxes hung beneath the windows, overflowing with petunias that drooped under the assault of rain.
Pulling into the back, Jamie sprinted for the employee entrance, jacket pulled over his head, shoes splashing through puddles that had formed in the uneven pavement.
The familiar jingle of the bell announced his arrival as he ducked inside, dripping and breathless. Warm air wrapped around him immediately, carrying the distinctive smell of cedar shavings, kibble, and that slightly musky scent of animals living in close quarters. Not unpleasant. Comforting, actually. Like coming home.
Small-town pet stores had a particular atmosphere, cozy in a way the big chains could never replicate. String lights hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a soft glow. Mismatched shelving lined the walls, stocked with food bags and toys and treats. Handwritten signs marked the prices, some decorated with paw prints Emma had drawn during slow afternoons.
To the left, rows of aquariums bubbled softly, fish darting through plastic plants. To the right, bird cages housed a rotating cast of parakeets and finches that chirped their morning greetings. The small mammal section contained guinea pigs, hamsters, a pair of rabbits currently napping in their hay.
And in the back corner, the reptile and spider section. Jamie actively avoided looking that way. Nope. No thank you.
He hung his jacket on the hook by the door and grabbed his apron from behind the counter, tying it around his waist as he headed for the small animal section.
A guinea pig squeaked at him, pressing its nose against the glass. Jamie crouched, tapping the enclosure gently. “Morning, Sparkles. You sleep okay?”
Sparkles wheezed in response, which Jamie took as a yes.
“Talking to the rodents again?” a voice called from behind the fish tanks. “That’s definitely a sign of deteriorating mental health.”
Emma emerged carrying a bucket of supplies, her curly hair pulled into two puffs on either side of her head. She stood maybe five-two on a good day, with round cheeks and a smile that could sell ice to penguins. Today she wore overalls covered in pins—a rainbow flag, a cartoon rabbit, something that said “I pet all the dogs” in glittery letters, and snarky slogans.
“Sparkles and I have an understanding,” Jamie said, straightening. “She judges me silently while I clean her cage. It’s very therapeutic.”
“Mm-hmm.” She tapped her chin, eyes narrowing. “You’re all…glowy. Like you got eight hours of sleep or found twenty bucks in your jeans. What happened?”
“I woke up in a stranger’s bed this morning. Really builds character.”
“You what?” Emma’s green eyes went wide. “Jamie Alexander Chen, you better start talking. Don’t leave out any details, especially the good ones.”
“Can we maybe clean while I talk? I don’t trust myself to stand still and form coherent sentences.”
Working with animals had always been easy. They didn’t judge. Didn’t ask complicated questions. Just wanted food, clean bedding, and occasional affection. Jamie could provide all three without having to explain himself.
He moved methodically through the enclosures, refreshing water bottles, scooping out soiled bedding, distributing food. A pair of young rabbits hopped over to investigate his hands, noses twitching. One of them—a black and white Dutch—stood on hind legs, begging.
“You’re literally too darn cute.” Jamie scratched between its ears, earning a contented grunt. The rabbit’s fur was impossibly soft, warm under his fingers. “Spoiled, that’s what you are.”
“So?” Emma prompted, dumping pellets into the guinea pig feeder. The three guinea pigs—Alvin, Simon, and Theodore—wheeled their approval, crowding around the bowl like they hadn't been fed in weeks. Dramatic little potato-shaped liars. “This stranger. Hot? Creepy? Hotly creepy?”
“Hot. Very hot. Like, illegally hot.” Jamie swept harder, pushing wood shavings into a neat pile. “We met at Frothy Pine.”
Emma paused mid-pour. “And?”
“And nothing. He gave me breakfast and drove me home this morning.” Jamie dumped the dustpan into the trash, avoiding her gaze. “That’s it.”
“That is not it. You have ‘I got kissed senseless’ written all over your face.”
