“Green.”
“Oh, yeah, he said if it did that, to just bring it back; they’ll top something off.”
“Chloe, you really should have taken someone with you,” he said, shaking his head. “This is a piece of shit. They saw a pretty girl with a nice BMW, and they totally took advantage of you. We need to go back and get this straightened out. You can’t keep this car.”
“Like hell I can’t!” I climbed out of the car. He was taking away my buzz and I was started to get pissed. “I know what you think: stupid, pretty Chloe can’t handle her own problems. But I got this, okay? I’m not taking the car back.”
“I’m not trying to start a fight here. Of course you can take care of your own problems. But have you ever done this before? Bought a car?”
“No,” I allowed, the spike of anger giving way as quickly as it came.
“Chlo, I took my dad with me the first time I bought a car. Hell, I took him with me the first three cars. It’s kind of a big deal, and you want to make sure you’re not getting, well, taken advantage of,” he said softly, tapping on the hood of the car. A bit of rust fell onto the asphalt.
Ah, fudge, what had I done? I’d been excited to get this car, but I did have a funny feeling afterward that maybe I’d acted too impulsively. And now that funny feeling was back in the pit of my stomach.
“I just wanted to take care of it on my own, you know?” I asked, turning toward him. He wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t mad, he wasn’t making fun of me. “That’s all.”
And then the tears came. Oh, for God’s sake. Between the emotions of picking up the dog this morning, the conversation with my mother, the excitement over getting the car, and now this . . .
“Hey, c’mere,” he murmured, and just like that I was in his arms.
And now that affected me. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the tears spill over.
“So stupid,” I sniffled. I nuzzled into his shirt, not caring that I was in the middle of the parking lot, just needing to be held. Was that so terrible? I couldn’t admit earlier that I needed someone’s help, but I could totally and completely admit that in this moment, in this space, I needed to be in someone’s arms. His arms, specifically. “Oh, God, I totally just sold my car for this beast didn’t I?” I laugh-cried, clutching his back.
He said nothing, which was wise. He merely pulled me closer, rocking me as I cried. When there was a tear stain the shape and size of Florida on his shirt, I finally pulled back. Clutching his arms, I blinked up at him. “What in the world am I going to do?”
“We’re going to go back there first thing tomorrow morning and get this worked out. Don’t worry about it,” he said, wiping away a lingering tear.
“Are you sure? What if they don’t take it back?”
“They will. We’ll work it out.”
“Sorry about your shirt,” I said, brushing at the wet spot.
“No problem. At least you managed to cry in the shape of a giant dick.”
“That’s Florida!” I cried out, no longer brushing but slapping.
“No, it’s not,” he insisted, holding my hands to stop the slapping.
I stopped and gazed up at him. “I’m so embarrassed. It’s just been a weird day.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, and I looked down at our held-together hands.
“Not really,” I whispered, and let go. “Sorry for busting in on your day like this.”
“Are you kidding? This was way more exciting than what I have planned next. I’ve got an owner who thinks her Chihuahua is depressed.”
“Does she want to buy him a car?” I joked.
He smiled, then changed the subject to a happier one. “Sammy’s doing well, by the way. He’s still under sedation, but you should be able to pick him up tomorrow.” As I started to clap my hands, he said, “After we get this car sorted out.”
“Thank you, Lucas,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”
“You’ve certainly made it interesting around here,” he said, his voice soft.
“Interesting good?”
“Hell, yeah, chickie baby,” he replied, his face lighting up.
I laughed, but he laughed even harder when I tried to roll up my stuck window. Ah, well—it was a nice day.
chapter ten
Several weeks later
“No, no, you can’t put that there. You need to unload those around back in the shed.”
“You got it, Chloe.”
“Chloe, the Mitchells’ home visit went great! Can we approve them?”
“Do it! Let’s get Rocky outta here and on his freedom ride!”
“Got those flyers back from the printer, Chloe, you want them in the office?”
“Yeah, set them on my desk, would you?”
I blew the hair from my eyes, wishing I’d grabbed a headband this morning. Although, to be fair, when that alarm went off at 5 A.M., I hadn’t been thinking too clearly.
Might have had something to do with all that wine last night.
More likely, it had something to do with all that vomit last night. Not my own, thank you. Doggie vomit. Which you tend to step in when one of your charges sneaks a giant bag of Doritos, and then yaks it all up.
I blew my hair once more, mentally promising myself I’d grab a headband when I got back to the house for lunch. Right now, I had more pressing things to deal with.
“Hey there, cutie pies, how we doing today, hmm?” I cooed, leaning over the whelping box and counting puppies. Still six, and that was good. First litter delivered at Our Gang, which brought our in-house total to twenty-seven. Twenty-seven . . . wow.
We’d been officially open for business for a few weeks now, with the grand opening party tomorrow. And Our Gang was booming busy! We popped our doggie cherry with the wonderful and talented Sammy Davis Jr., and just kept on going. This latest population expansion was a surprise, the result of a stray we’d picked up that was pregnant and due any minute. She’d delivered two weeks ago, and my team had celebrated with an impromptu party and cherry Coke as a stand-in for champagne. Speaking of which . . .
“Hey, Jenny! Did you get beverages ordered for the grand opening?”
“Of course; you gave me that list weeks ago,” she called back, reminding me once again that I worked with the best. “How’re they doing?” she asked, appearing around the corner of the barn.
“They look great, very wriggly.” I laughed as I was professionally nuzzled by one of the puppies determined to climb inside the neck of my shirt. They were just beginning to open their eyes, and their collective adorableness was off the charts.
“You want me to change out the bedspread?” she asked, and I nodded. Jenny was a veterinary student, volunteering her time in exchange for extra credit in her program. Bright and cheery, she added a bounce to everyone’s step. Especially Tommy, a local guy who went to the local community college and helped us out nights and weekends.
Nights and weekends. Well.
Since Our Gang officially became open for business, Lucas and his father had thrown the full weight of their animal hospital toward helping us get on our feet. They donated their time and services to any dog that came in, making sure they were healthy and doing any spaying or neutering for free. They also continued to spread the word in the community, and we’d already had three adoptions.
And Lucas? My nights and weekends were still spoken for.
We were spending a lot of time together. We’d fallen into this easy pattern of having dinner together, either on the patio at my place or on the deck of his, which had a killer view of the bay. We’d told each other stories about our exes, almost exorcising our collective demons. It had been many weeks since I’d walked out on my wedding, longer still for Lucas. We were divinely attracted to each other—and yet.
We had never moved beyond friendship, although I thought about that almost-kiss in the barn all the time.
We had never moved beyond friendship, although if I leaned across him to grab something o
ff the kitchen counter and accidentally-on-purpose brushed my breasts across the back of his hand, his breath would catch and he’d clench his fists as if stopping himself from touching me.
We had never moved beyond friendship, although if he was helping me with my jacket on those chilly evenings out on the patio and accidentally (pretty sure also on purpose) pressed his body against my back while straightening out my sleeves, breathing magical puffs of salty, woodsy-scented Lucas air all around my head and pretty sure also nuzzling against my ear, sending a shockwave of sizzling heat straight to my bloodstream, enough so that I pressed back against him, feeling his warm body connecting to every part of my now very overheated body . . . wait, what?
Still just friendship. Rebounds without benefits.
Why weren’t we taking this relationship to the next level? A question with several answers.
Part of it was that he was getting ready to leave for another tour with Vets Without Borders. In a matter of weeks he’d be in Belize, and I’d be here. Okay, something to consider.
Part of it was the fact that in the beginning, I’d been adamant that this was friendship alone, because I needed time and space to process my breakup with Charles. Though I hadn’t regretted that decision once, I also didn’t want to jump willy-nilly from one relationship to the next. I almost wished I’d met some delicious and dumb guy that I could be all whammy bammy with, getting the rebounding done with someone I didn’t care about, and could then leave behind for someone pretty much like . . .
Oh, hell. Someone exactly like Lucas Campbell. Because there’d be no halfway, no “just for the sexing” with him. Hell, no. We’d be all in, 100 percent. I could fall for this guy—and he was leaving. I’d miss the fudge out of him. Speaking of which . . .
“Jenny, I’ve got to run into town. Carousel Candies is holding ten pounds of fudge under my name for the party tomorrow.” I set the puppy down reluctantly.
“Make sure I get to help taste test,” she said.
“Done!” On my way to my new truck, I signed off on two deliveries and took a call from a bakery that specialized in all-natural dog treats and was donating the tasty biscuits for the grand opening.
Hopping into my truck, I said another silent thanks to Lucas, who’d wrangled the car dealership into something much better. When we’d walked in they immediately knew who he was; the benefit of a small community. Within a couple of hours, my original contract had been torn up and I was back on the streets with a not-so-old Land Rover Discovery, with a custom cage in the back for transporting my four-legged residents. A car I truly loved and that fit my new lifestyle, which now included a rack on the top for my new kayak—something else Lucas had introduced me to.
As I was driving, I got a call from my cousin Clark, who was on his way down to Monterey with his fiancée for the grand opening, and to look at the puppies.
“Babies need a dog, Clark,” I heard her instructing him the last time we were on the phone. And with the new litter, it was perfect timing.
“What time do you think you’ll get in?” I asked, glad that Lucas had installed a new stereo system with Bluetooth.
“Looks like we’re due in around five, is that okay?”
“Perfect, cocktail hour.” I pulled into the parking lot by the candy store. “What’s Vivian drinking these days?”
“If you’ve got sparkling water, she’s fine with that.”
“She’s fine with root beer too!” the woman in question chimed in.
“Vivian, we’ve discussed this. Too much sugar can make the baby—”
“Oh, can it, Clark. A soda every so often isn’t going to make the baby anything. How’s it hanging, Chloe?”
I smothered a laugh. “It’s hanging great, Viv; I’ll be glad to see you. And I’ll get your root beer.”
“See, Clark, all you have to do is ask. People will do anything for a pregnant woman.”
“I realize that, but you shouldn’t be so presumptuous as to think that Chloe will just drop everything to run out and get you—”
“She offered!”
I pressed end; they no longer even knew I was there. Once they got going, they tended to tune everyone else out. It’d be a fun weekend, they were my first houseguests. On impulse, I called Lucas.
“Hey, Rebound, how’s your day?” he answered, and I chuckled.
“You want to come over for dinner tonight? Although I should warn you, it won’t be just us.”
“I love an invitation that comes with a warning. What’s up?”
“Clark and Vivian are coming for the opening, and to check out the new litter.”
“Sounds like fun. What time?”
“Whenever—they’re getting in around five.”
“Cocktail hour. Perfect. Need me to pick anything up?”
“Nope, I’m heading into town to get the fudge for tomorrow, and I’ll grab what I need at the store while I’m there.”
“I should be finishing up here around four thirty, so I’ll head over then. Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” I agreed. I hung up, wondering if he was wearing his navy blue scrubs. Mmm. I rolled down the window to get some air. Must be the weather heating up . . .
The day got away from me, as it often did when there was so much going on. I’d managed to grab a quick shower after heading back into the house from the barn, something that was always necessary after spending time with my critters. Dogs tended to smell like corn chips, and while I enjoyed a good Frito like everyone else, I didn’t want to smell like one.
As I stood in the bathroom after my five-minute shower, I looked at the bottles cluttering the counter: styling gel, pomade, thermal protectant, mousse, plumping serum; to say nothing of the teasing combs, round brushes (one inch, one and a half inch, one and three quarter inch, two and a half inch), flat irons, curling irons, and even a dusty old set of hot rollers. None of which had been touched since I’d moved to Monterey.
And let’s talk Caboodles. I had several, filled with every color eye shadow imaginable, false eyelashes, lipstick, lip gloss, lip plumping gel, lip liner, and enough blush to supply an entire dance team for the next two years. Hardly any of it touched since I came here.
I needed to get rid of all of it; it was just taking up space. When you’ve got a bunch of dogs to feed and walk and play with, your beauty routine gets whittled down to the basics. Good shampoo and conditioner, some sunscreen, and maybe a pinkish lip balm. Where it used to take me at least ninety minutes from stepping out of the shower to stepping into the car with Charles, now I could manage in twenty, if I hurried.
And I was hurrying. It was almost five o’clock, and I’d just finished toweling off my hair when I heard—
“Chloe? Hey, you here?”
“Lucas?”
“Yeah, where are you?”
“Back here, getting—”
Lucas appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, holding a bottle of wine and wearing an astonished expression.
“—dressed! Hey!” I scrambled for my towel.
“Oh, boy.” Lucas backed out of the door. Standing just outside in the hallway, he called, “Sorry!”
“Really! What the fudge, Lucas?”
“The front door was open, so I just—wow. So sorry.”
“If you wanted a peep show, you could have just asked,” I chided, hurrying into a bra and panties.
“Would that have worked?” he asked, and I poked my head around the doorframe.
“Might have,” I teased, and grinned when his eyebrows went up. “Now you’ll never know.” I disappeared and headed into my closet to grab some clothes.
“Peep show now; I’m officially requesting,” he said as I pulled on a sundress.
“Too late, that window has closed, that door has been shut,” I said, going to the door again and stretching one bare leg around the corner. “Besides, you just saw everything, right? Now there’s no mystery.”
“I saw nothing, I promise. It was like a fleshy blur and then a towel.” r />
“Fleshy blur—you sure know how to flatter a girl,” I scolded, and heard him groan.
“Does this help?” he asked. Seconds later his own leg, with his jeans rolled up to his knee, came around the corner.
“Nice.” I laughed, and thank goodness the next thing around the corner was his face. “Very nice.” His eyes twinkled down at me, an easy smile on his lips.
“When I said fleshy blur, I meant it in the best possible way.”
“I totally believe you.”
“Seriously, Chlo, I didn’t see anything. Which is a good thing.”
“I literally have nothing to say to that.” I frowned, reaching out and pinching his cheek. His hair was spiky and still a bit damp, from the shower, maybe? Didn’t matter, this kryptonite was pinging.
“It’s a good thing, because had I seen anything, your dinner party might have been wrecked.”
“Wrecked?”
“Wrecked. Because who knows might have happened. Your cousin could have walked in on something very different than what he was expecting.” His eyes flashed fire, and I had a sudden vision of being turned the other way in this very doorjamb, the slip of a sundress I was wearing being thrown up, and a very sexy veterinarian thrusting into me from behind.
“Fudge,” I breathed, my face suddenly flaming.
He chuckled. “Mm-hmm, exactly what I was thinking.”
Oh!
This could go two ways.
I could make a joke, back away, and let things go on as they had been. Great friends, unresolved tension.
Or, I could lean in and finish that kiss in the barn.
I . . . leaned.
He leaned.
“Chloe? We’re here!” Clark called.
Damn! I’d forgotten there was a third option.
“And where’s the bathroom? This pregnant lady needs to pee like a racehorse!”
“That’s charming, Vivian. We just got here.”
“Oh, shush, Clark, she doesn’t care about— Seriously, Chloe, where’s the bathroom?”
I turned my lean-in to a lean-on, and pressed my forehead against the column of his throat. “They’re here.”
“It would seem,” he murmured, running his hand down my spine. Fuuuuudge.