No surprise the office is all but bare.
Except for a laptop, a coat hanging on the back of the door, and what looks like a pair of slippers and pajamas propped on a chair.
“After party comfy clothes,” Chrissy explains, clearly following my gaze. “A must after an event like this.”
My lips twitch. “I bet.” I lean back against the wall. “Speaking of events…”
“It was really nice of you to attend.” Her words come in a rush when I pause, trying to sort how to phrase what I need to say next. “I know you’re busy, but you being so generous with your time—and your silent auction item—really means a lot.”
“About that?—”
“We’ve opened a new adoption center and we’re expanding our support services to other counties.” Her eyes light up. “My hope is that we’ll create a system that covers the entire state, and maybe, one day we’ll be able to help animals all across the country and…”
Her passion is a beautiful thing.
So fucking beautiful it takes my breath away, steals my words, reminds me of another time, another woman who wanted to help.
A piece of my soul I tore off and walked away from.
A ghost from my past I couldn’t allow myself to have.
And because of that passion, I can’t turn away.
I can’t do anything but stand here and listen to Chrissy Dawson talk about her plans for the future.
The same as I couldn’t do anything but stand transfixed when Briar first spoke to me all those years before.
EIGHT
BRIAR
I pulledthe whole I-forgot-something-in-my-car-I’ll-be-right-back to give myself a moment to breathe.
To calm down.
To bury the guilt that continues to slip out from behind my shield, slashing at my insides.
But as the sun began to set, turning the horizon into a rainbow, I managed to contain my feelings.
Sure Chrissy seems nice and she puts on a good front about caring for the people who are schlepping food and drinks for her, but she’s just like the rest of them.
And we’re interchangeable, disposable.
Meaningless.
On that lovely thought, I make my way inside just in time to come face-to-face with the lady with the clipboard.
“Name?” she asks sharply.
“Sorry,” I say, “I just had to run out because I left my phone in my car.”
Her gaze lifts from the clipboard, one eyebrow lifting.
In judgment.
Shit.
Because I’m supposed to be working and not on my phone.
