“By buying flowers from me and giving them back.”
“Apparently.”
I stared at him. The logic was so backwards, so unnecessarily complicated, so perfectlyhimthat I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
The laugh won. “That's the most Cal Sterling thing I've ever heard.”
His mouth twitched. I stared at the bouquet, then back at Cal.
Finally, I reached out and took the flowers from him. Our fingers brushed again, brief but warm.
“Thank you.” The words came out softer this time. “They're beautiful.”
“You made them.”
“I know, but—” I held them close, breathing in the sweet wildflower scent. “They're even better now.”
Cal's expression softened, just slightly. Enough that I noticed.
Something warm bloomed in my chest—dangerous and terrifying and impossible to ignore.
Cal Sterling had bought me flowers. My own flowers, yes, but that somehow made it worse. Better. I didn't know anymore.
This gruff, exhausted man who barely strung three words together had orchestrated the world's most awkward gesture just to make me feel better.
And it worked.
If that woman from earlier—the one who'd bought greens and commented on what a lovely couple we made—could see us now, she'd be insufferable about it. Cal buying me flowers, me clutching them like they were precious, both of us standing too close in the fading afternoon light.
We looked like people in love.
Which wedefinitelyweren't.
ChapterTen
Callum
“Sign here. And here.”
The Coopers sat across from me in the clinic's front office, reading through the adoption contract. They were in their sixties, empty nesters looking for a calm companion. The perfect match for Hank.
Mrs. Cooper adjusted her reading glasses. “It says he needs quiet for the first few weeks.”
“He does.” I tapped the relevant section. “Hank's not aggressive, just cautious. Give him space. Let him approach you.”
“Like at the market,” Mr. Cooper said. “That worked.”
It had. They'd sat on the ground near Hank, talking to each other while ignoring him. Within minutes, he'd crept close enough to sniff Mr. Cooper's hand. By the time they left, Hank had been leaning against Mrs. Cooper's leg while she scratched his ears.
Mrs. Cooper signed the last page. “We can't wait to bring him home.”
“He'll be happy with you.” I stood, collecting the paperwork. “Let me get him.”
The barn behind the clinic smelled like antiseptic and the particular musk of twelve dogs. Hank occupied the corner kennel at the back—the quietest spot, away from the younger dogs who barked at every sound.
He looked up when I walked over, bushy eyebrows scrunched in his permanent scowl.
“Time to go, old man.” His ears twitched, interested. I opened the kennel and crouched down. “You're getting out. Real house, real bed. People who won't mind when you grumble.”
