Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
My only real mistake was forgetting that, even for a moment.
And I won’t forget again.
Fourteen
Holly
The “Home for the Holidays” Pet Adoption Drive is exactly the kind of event that usually warms my cockles in the deepest way.
The community center parking lot has been transformed into a wonderland of hope—colorful banners flutter in the December breeze, and portable heaters circle the pavement like sentries, guarding our charges against the cold. There are older dogs and puppies tumbling over each other in fenced-in play areas, kittens batting at dangling toys in the cat encounter pavilion, and even a pair of rabbits who seem deeply unimpressed by all the fuss.
Hopeful pet parents wander the lot, their faces lit with that special glow that comes with knowing they’re about to add a new member to their family. Just in time for Christmas.
It should be perfect. And it would be, if my stomach wasn’t currently doing its best impression of a rock.
A stressed-out rock, considering hurling itself into the frozen river across the street and sinking to the bottom…
“Stop chewing your thumbnail,” Candy says, appearing at my elbow with two cups of cider. “You’re going to draw blood.”
I drop my hand guiltily, accepting the hot drink. “How long was I gnawing?”
“At least five minutes. The entire time I was in line for drinks.” She gives me that look, the one that says she can see right through me. “He’s going to show up, Holly. And when he does, everything will be fine. I’m sure he’s just been busy the last couple of days. That’s all. He’s a billionaire, girl. You don’t get that filthy rich without being a workaholic.”
I want to believe her. So badly.
But Luke’s texts since Wednesday have been different. Shorter. More formal. The kind of messages you’d send to a business associate, not someone you danced with until midnight and super-steamy-kissed on their front porch.
Thursday morning, on my way to another vet photo shoot in Bellows Falls, I texted him good morning with a coffee emoji and a heart. Then, a few hours later, I sent over several shots from my session.
He responded six hours later with—Looks like it went well.
That’s it! No commentary on the cuteness of the cats or the puppy with one blue eye and one brown eye. No sharing about his day.
No heart emoji in return…
Then, this morning, I shot over a meme about gingerbread houses and asked if he wanted to grab lunch before the event. He replied—Attending to some urgent email. Will meet you at the community center at two.
“He did mention urgent emails in his text this morning,” I say.
He did, but my spidey sense is still shouting that something’s not right.
“Exactly.” Candy puts an arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. “You’re spiraling for no reason. Everything’s going to be fine. You guys had an incredible first date and days of cutey patootie texts. That doesn’t just evaporate overnight.”
I nod, willing myself to believe her. Friday night was magical, and so were our texts. He flat-out said he liked me, for goodness’ sake, which I know is a huge deal for someone like Luke.
He’s probably just still recovering from being sick and scrambling to catch up on missed work, that’s all.
I know that drill. I was sick during prime pet portrait season two years ago. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck until sometime in February. Getting behind is no joke when you’re a solo entrepreneur.
Or, I would imagine, when you’re the head big boss in charge of a giant international company.
“Right,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “This is silly. I’m going to stop worrying and enjoy the day.”
Candy grins. “As you should. Now come on, let me help you finish setting up your station before I have to head to work. These fur babies are going to need glamour shots to celebrate sealing the deal with their new families.”
We head over to the small tent where I’ve set up a backdrop and lighting for adoption photos to give new families a keepsake of their special day. It’s one of my favorite volunteer gigs, honestly. There’s something about capturing that first moment when a family finds their new best friend that never gets old.
I’m adjusting the backdrop—a cheerful winter scene with snowflakes and pine trees—when Candy coos from behind me, “Well, hello there, Mr. Ratcliffe. Don’t you clean up nice?”
My heart does a gymnastics floor routine as I turn, fighting to keep my anxiety from showing on my face.
Luke stands at the edge of the tent, looking yummier than ever in dark jeans and a cream Fair Isle sweater. His hair is slightly windswept, his jaw shadowed with just enough stubble to remind my cheeks how nice it felt to kiss him, and for a moment, the hormonal storm raging inside me is so intense I don’t notice the stiffness in his posture.