He actually stopped by my boutique. I don’t know what to make of that. I’m not normally a shy person, but in between our goodbye last night and seeing him this morning, I fear the seeds of a crush have been planted, and now I’m a little nervous around him.
“Hi yourself.” His deep green eyes are steady on mine. I don’t know how to read his face. Is he happy to see me? What does he think of the boutique? He’s a pretty stoic guy.
Abruptly, he says, “Your hair. It really is pink.”
I tug at a long strand curling around my elbow. “I mean, it doesn’t grow out of my head that way, but yes.”
“I thought it was part of your costume.”
“Nope.” I feel my face heating up and I know I’m about to start babbling, the way I do when I get nervous. “I’ve had my hair all kind of candy-colored shades, but I’ve stuck with thisone the last few years. I think it’s my favorite. Took me a minute to get the shade just right. Rose gold.”
Slade doesn’t say anything. Just examines me with that enigmatic, deep green gaze, like he’s taking in every little detail. The gold earrings climbing up my earlobes. The shimmery pink gloss on my lips. The lacy top and tight jeans I’m wearing.
“At least I don’t wear a bunny costume every day, right?” I laugh awkwardly.
“It suited you.”
With the neutral way Slade says it, I have no idea whether that’s a compliment… or very much not.
I realize I still have my hand in his and pull it away before he notices my blush. “Want a little tour of the space?” I ask.
“Sure.”
Glancing backwards every once in a while, I give him a the tour of my boutique. I point out the rough-hewn wood tables and handmade pottery, the various rustic treasures I’ve collected on my travels.
Slade doesn’t comment on much, but I catch him looking with confusion at an antique lamp with the base of a peacock and a shade made of faux feathers.
“That doesn’t seem fire-safe,” he says dubiously.
“It wasn’t,” I say cheerfully. “It’s more of a statement piece than a working lamp. It’s for those who enjoy whimsy.”
“Hmm.”
I might not be able to read him very well yet, but I’m willing to guess Slade is not the whimsical type. He and I really could not be more different. Opposites, really.
But he’s here. He didn’t have to drop by in person, unless it was just out of pure morbid curiosity.
I clear my throat. “So, did you talk to the vet?”
“I did. The dog is doing good. She’s stable and they’re getting a prosthesis ready for her.”
“Did an owner come forward? Did they find a microchip?”
I hope not, only because a dog in the state she was in doesn’t deserve to go back to anyone who would let her get that way.
He shakes his head. “No microchip. No owner. She’s yours, if you want her.”
After an initial burst of excitement, I feel my face fall.
“I do want her,” I tell him. “The problem is I live in a third-floor walk-up apartment. Not even a service elevator. With her recovering from surgery and losing her leg, the stairs might be too much.” I wring my hands. “The animal shelter is a great one, but I hate to think of her scared and alone after all she’s been through.”
He sighs. Scrubs a hand down his jaw that sports two days of dark stubble, almost a beard now. It looks really, really good on him. I look down before he notices me staring.
“I’ll take her,” he says at last. “Temporarily. Until we find her a permanent home. I’ll have to hire a dog sitter, though, since I’m working on the ranch all day.”
My spirits lift instantly. “You could drop her off here during the day. She can hang out with me and have company all day long.”
I pause, realizing I’m asking him for quite a lot, to drive back and forth from here every day, to entwine himself with me as if we’re sharing custody of the dog.
