“Well?” Elizabeth presses.
I slide the card back into the envelope and set it down on the counter like it’s suddenly not important at all.
“Take them.”
Her brows lift. “Take them?”
“Yeah. Take them home. Or throw them away. Or press them into a scrapbook and memorialize the time I almost made a bad decision. I don’t care.”
“Kathryn.”
“I don’t want them here,” I say, a little sharper than I mean to.
She watches me for a second longer.
Then nods slowly. “Okay.”
She gathers the arrangement, careful, like it might break.
Or like I might.
I turn away before I can think too hard about that.
Still mad.
I’m definitely still mad.
By the time I get to the animal shelter that evening, I’ve convinced myself I am completely over it and him.
I tie my hair back, grab an apron, and step into the main room. And stop.
Because he’s there.
What the…
Douglas is crouched on the floor near one of the kennels, a golden retriever practically climbing into his lap while he scratches behind its ears like he’s done this a thousand times.
“Hey, buddy,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “You’re a lot, huh.”
The dog licks his face.
He just laughs. My heart hitches.
No. Absolutely not. I am not softening.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
He looks up.
And something in his expression shifts instantly.
I cross my arms. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He stands, stepping away from the kennel. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“I volunteer here.”
