And maybe mention next weekend. Ask if she wanted to do the market thing again. The adoption event. Not because I wanted to see her—which I did, but that wasn't the point. The point was that it had worked. Hank had found a home.
I hit call before I could overthink it.
The phone rang once. Twice.
“Hello?” Rosie's voice, slightly breathless, caught me off guard.
“I—” My brain stuttered. “It's Callum. Sterling. The vet.”
Obviously the vet. She knows who you are.
Pudding lifted his head from where he'd been sprawled on the kitchen floor, ears perking at the sound of my voice.
“Is this a bad time?”
Silence. Then what sounded like something metallic clattering to the floor.
“No! I mean, yes? I mean—hold on.”
More noise. Running water. A frustrated sound that might have been a groan.
“Sorry. I'm—” She paused. “I'm making a mess.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “What kind of mess?”
“The kind where I thought I could follow instructions but clearly I was wrong about that.” Her voice got slightly distant, like she'd moved the phone away from her face. “Oh, comeon.”
My stomach tightened. “Rosie. What are you doing?”
“Making soap. Trying to, anyway. It's supposed to be easy. The internet said it was easy. The internetlied.”
Soap. Right. The goat milk products she'd mentioned at the market.
Something crashed in the background.
“Are you hurt?”
“What? No. I just knocked over a—it doesn't matter.” She laughed, but it sounded strained. “I thought this would be simple. Melt some stuff, pour it into molds, boom, fancy artisan soap to sell at the market. Except nothing's melting right and I think I used too much lye and now it smells weird and?—”
“Wait. Lye?”
“The recipe said?—”
“You're wearing gloves, right? Eye protection?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Rosie.”
“I have gloves on! Kitchen gloves. The yellow rubber ones.”
“Those aren't—” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What about your eyes?”
“My eyes are fine. I'm being careful.”
The running water sound intensified. She muttered something I couldn't quite catch, followed by a string of creative cursing that would've made Walt proud.
“Okay. I'm coming over.”
