“Thank you.” Jean’s voice trembled. “When we reach a certain age, we start to expect things like this, but I’m not sure anything ever truly prepares you.”
“I can only imagine,” I told her.
“It breaks my heart that Dexter and Violet have ended up at the shelter,” Jean said. “Such wonderful dogs, both of them. After I got your message, I talked it over with my husband, and we just don’t think we can handle both of them. I hate to say it, but Alice was in over her head with those dogs, and especially with Violet turning up pregnant.”
“It must have been a lot for her to handle,” I agreed. As much as I wanted Jean to take them home, I also knew this wasn’t a perfect match. Jean was elderly, and these dogs were young and energetic, not to mention the impending puppies.
“I can take Dexter,” Jean told me. “He’s a good boy, and I think I can manage him.”
“Oh good,” I said, glad at least one of them would go home with a relative. “And don’t worry about Violet, Mrs. Templeton. I’ll find a great home for her and her puppies.”
“I hope so.” I could hear the anguish in Jean’s voice. “Will you let me know where she winds up? I’d like to know.”
“I’ll be sure to,” I told her, making a note in Violet’s file.
I spent several minutes making final arrangements for Jean to come in next week and pick up Dexter. Then I called my network of volunteers, putting out feelers for a foster home for Violet and asking for donations of puppy whelping supplies. We didn’t get pregnant dogs in the shelter very often.
I took Minnie and Blue on a walk around the property and then returned to my office to spend what remained of the afternoon updating the shelter’s social media. Around four, Alleya stopped by my office.
“Violet’s definitely pregnant,” she told me. “The vet saw at least four puppies on her X-ray and said they looked close to full-term. She could give birth as soon as next week.”
“Oh boy,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I’d better step up my efforts to find her a foster home.”
But when I left the office that evening, I was no closer to finding anyone to take her. I loaded Minnie and Blue into my SUV and drove home, thankful it was Friday. It had been a long week, and I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend with my dogs, although I let out a groan when I remembered I couldn’t hike in my usual spot anymore. I’d tried not to let Phoebe occupy my thoughts these last two days and had been mostly successful, at least until now.
At home, I heated up a portion of the lasagna I’d made last weekend. Since I lived alone, I tended to cook once or twice a week and freeze portions for myself to eat the rest of the week. If I didn’t, I’d eat prepackaged food all the time, and high blood pressure ran in my family, so I tried to watch my sodium intake.
After I ate, I took the dogs for a walk and went into my bedroom to change. Every Friday night, I went into town for a drink at Vino and Veritas. I changed into black jeans and a fitted tee, and then I applied some makeup, another Friday-night tradition. This was the only day of the week that I wore it.
I was content with my life the way it was, working at the shelter and fostering dogs, spending time with my family, and, hopefully soon, buying a home of my own. I’d love to add love to the mix, but it hadn’t come my way yet, at least not since high school. Many of the women I met at V and V were just passing through, and while a fling could be fun, I wasn’t interested in a long-distance relationship. Vermont was my home, and I never intended to leave. I wanted to fall in love with a local woman, and I didn’t mind waiting for it to happen.
I put Blue in his crate before I left, while Minnie got the run of the apartment. Then I got into my SUV and drove to downtown Burlington. As I pushed through the door into the bar, I gave it a quick scan to see if I recognized anyone. There were a few regulars that I usually hung out with on Friday nights, but I didn’t see any of them here at the moment.
I approached the bar, waving at the bartender, Rainn, who was pouring a glass of wine at the other end of the counter. He grinned at me, raising a finger to let me know he’d be right over. I settled myself on a stool and exhaled, letting the stress of the week slide off my shoulders, my unexpected reunion with Phoebe, the loss of the house I wanted to buy, and a heavily pregnant dog in need of a foster home.
For the next few hours, I was going to drink my favorite cider, listen to some live music, and hopefully enjoy the company of my friends. Maybe I’d even meet a woman here tonight. Who knew?
“How’s it going?” Rainn asked as he set a glass of Shipley cider on the counter in front of me. For a while, he’d asked if I wanted my usual, and since I always did, he finally quit asking and just started bringing it. I was nothing if not a creature of habit.
“Not bad,” I said. “You?”
“No complaints. Hang on.” He patted the bar in front of me before making his way down to serve a group that had just come in.
I sipped my cider, savoring its tangy, refreshing flavor. Over the hum of conversation, I could hear a woman singing, accompanied by the tinkling notes of the piano. I stared into the amber depths of my cider while I enjoyed the soulful quality of the singer’s voice. Whoever this was must be new, because I didn’t recognize her voice or her style.
I picked up my glass and spun my stool toward the stage, only to find myself facing Phoebe. I inhaled, and my glass tipped dangerously in my hand. Of all the people I’d expected to see on that stage…
Phoebe’s hair was pulled back in a loose bun, but a few dark curls had escaped to spill down her back. She wore a slinky black dress that highlighted her curves and stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin. Her voice was low and smoky, hitting me somewhere in the vicinity of my solar plexus, a jolt that warmed my stomach and radiated outward, flushing my skin.
As I watched, Phoebe looked up, and our eyes met. I lifted my glass and took another sip of my cider, feigning indifference, because it was just unfair that she could still affect me like this after so many years. Phoebe dropped her gaze to the piano in front of her as her fingers danced across the keys.
I remembered sitting beside her on the bench at Margery’s piano, my arm wrapped around her as Phoebe sang. Her voice had been different then, lighter and sweeter, or maybe it just seemed that way, filtered through the blinds of my memory. Margery told me Phoebe had given up the piano—and singing—after she graduated from high school.
Maybe she was feeling nostalgic now that she was back in Vermont. Or maybe she was just trying to torture me with the allure of her voice. I gulped from my cider.
“Hi,” a female voice said.
I spun to find myself facing an unfamiliar blonde. “Hi.”
