“I will tell you tonight,” he says.
I blink. “Tonight?”
“At my house. Six o’clock.”
I let out a frustrated breath and drag a hand through my hair. “You’re askin’ me to wait?”
“I’m asking you to trust me until then.”
“That’s a lot to ask right now.”
His eyes drop quickly, like he regrets how much he’s asking from me, before his eyes lift back to mine again. “I know.”
His answer takes some of the fight out of me, and I hate that too because part of me expected him to argue back or try to overpower the conversation entirely. Instead, he stands there looking tired beneath all that control, admitting he knows he’s asking too much from me while danger keeps circling closer around both of us. Walking away from a man like that suddenly feels a whole lot harder than it should.
“I have things to handle first,” he says. “Then I will tell you what I can.”
“What you can?” I repeat.
“What will keep you alive.”
Before I can answer, he closes the last bit of space between us and pulls me to him. His hand slides into my hair, firm but gentle, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss hits me hard and fast. There’s nothing gentle about it. It’s the kiss of a man who just heard me threaten to leave and decided the world could burn before he allowed it. My hands lift to his chest, ready to push him back, but the second my fingers twist into his jacket, every ounce of resistance starts unraveling.His arm wraps tightly around my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel the hard beat of his heart beneath my palm, fast enough to betray how much control he’s actually holding onto.
I kiss him back just as fiercely. Then he pulls away first, breathing harder than before, his forehead nearly touching mine.
“Six o’clock,” he says.
I swallow hard while staring up at him. “You better actually tell me the truth this time.”
His hand remains against my face, warm and possessive enough to make my pulse stumble again. “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
I let out a frustrated breath and shake my head. “You keep sayin’ that like it’s supposed to reassure me.”
He doesn’t look away. “It’s the most honest answer I can give you right now.”
Then he steps back, opens the office door, and leaves me standing there with my lips still tingling and my whole heart acting like it’s lost its blessed mind.
For the next several hours, I throw myself into work to keep my thoughts from spiraling completely out of control.
The shelter hums with nonstop activity as volunteers make final preparations for tomorrow’s adoption event, hauling folding tables across the lobby, stacking donated pet food near the entrance, organizing raffle baskets, and taping handwritten signs to kennel doors. Dogs bark constantly from the back hallways while someone wrestles with a balloon arch near the front desk that keeps leaning sideways like it has given up on life.
This is always my favorite part of any event. The final rush always brings a strange energy into the shelter that I love because everybody works harder and cares more, and even the animals seem to sense when extra people and excitement fill the building. Today feels different.
“Maggie.”
I glance up from the clipboard in my hands to find Jules standing beside the supply shelves, holding three rolls of streamers and one deeply unimpressed expression.
“What?”
“You have reread that inventory list four times.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You absolutely have.” He pulls the clipboard gently from my hands before pointing toward the front lobby. “Go supervise people before you spiral into a stress-induced coma.”
“Iamsupervisin’.”
