“Aren't you just the sweetest little thing?”
I shoved my notes into my bag and bolted for the door.
ChapterThree
Rosalie
I leanedthrough the open truck window, pressing closer to peer at the tiny ball of fur tucked into the far corner of the crate.
“Hi there, sweetheart.” I tried to keep my voice gentle and failed completely. “What are you doing all the way back there?”
The puppy didn't move. Just a trembling lump buried in an old towel, its face turned away from me.
“You don't have to be scared. I know this is all very overwhelming, but?—”
“Step back.”
I jerked upright, nearly smacking my head on the truck's doorframe.
Pressing a hand to my chest, I willed my heartbeat to slow. “You scared me.”
Cal stood three feet away, breathing hard like he'd sprinted from the barn. In the daylight, I could see him properly—sharp jawline covered in stubble, shoulders broad under a faded work shirt, brown hair sticking up like he'd been running his hands through it.
“The puppy needs quiet,” he said flatly.
“I was just?—”
“You're stressing it out.” He moved past me, checking the crate through the window. “It needs to be left alone.”
I stepped back, watching him adjust the towel in the crate without touching the puppy. His movements were careful, gentle. Completely at odds with the blunt edge in his voice.
“Is it a boy or girl?” I asked quietly.
“Didn't check.”
“Oh.” I tilted my head, trying to see into the crate. “What's its name?”
“Doesn't have one.”
“You didn't name it?”
Cal straightened, fixing me with a look that was part exhaustion, part exasperation. “Found it less than an hour ago. Been a little busy since.”
“Sorry. I just...” I bounced on my toes, unable to help myself. “Can I name it?”
His eyebrows drew together. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it's not yours.”
“Well, is it going to beyours?”
His jaw tightened. “That's not?—”
“Because if you're rescuing him, then technically it's not anyone's dog, right? It's a temporary rescue waiting for a forever home.” I crossed my arms, channeling every bit of confidence I could muster. “So if it's not yours and it's not mine, what's the harm in me suggesting a few names?”
He stared at me. Not like he was thinking it over, more like he was trying to figure out why I was still talking.
