Page 41 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Cheryl.”

“She’s lovely. You’ll have a great time,” she said and Irma’s eyes were bouncing back and forth between them. Not wanting to further embarrass herself, Sutton said, “Well, I’d better go. I want to call Dr. Porter and schedule a meeting to pick his brain about the fundraiser. Then I’ll call Aiden to see if he wants me to drop off the kittens or pick them up.”

Colter growled lowly in his throat, barely loud enough to be heard but Sutton heard it all the same. And by the amused look on Irma’s face so had she.

“Fine,” Colter finally said. “But if he steps over the line, you let me know.”

“I can handle myself.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he said over his shoulder as he headed toward the exam room.

Sutton didn't ask who he was worried about. She had a feeling the answer involved Aiden's kneecaps.

An hour later, Sutton set the carrier of kittens on the front counter and clipped all the paperwork neatly on top when a man walked in, all relaxed confidence and a charming grin, like he hadn’t come to collect a box of feral chaos.

“Hi, Aiden,” Sutton said.

He took one look at her and his expression brightened in a way that had nothing to do with the kittens.

“Hey, Sutton. You’re looking pretty today.”

Sutton waited for her stomach to flip flop over the compliment from such a handsome man. But not a single flutter. “Thank you.”

Which, fine, was information. Handsome, charming, employed, kind to kittens. On paper he was a walking green flag with a veterinarian degree. Her body had apparently decided green flags weren't the assignment.

“Are those for me?” he asked, nodding toward the carrier. “Because if I showed up just to see you and leave empty-handed, that’d be embarrassing.”

Sutton didn’t miss a beat. “They’re yours. Six strays, approximately five weeks old, eating on their own, and already plotting a coup.” She slid the clipboard toward him. “Intake forms are on top.”

Aiden laughed softly, signing without breaking eye contact, then handed the papers back and rested an elbow on the counter. He leaned in, in that flirty way that guys who knew they were hot shit did.

He was the kind of man people meant when they said conventionally handsome, as if he’d checked off all the universally agreed-upon boxes without trying. Tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut in a way that felt intentional rather than boring. His dark hair was neatly trimmed and his easy smile came with the confidence of a man who knew exactly how well it worked. Even standing there holding a carrier of hissing kittens, he looked put-together and dependable, the kind of guy parents trusted, donors adored, and volunteers inevitably crushed on.

“You make it sound so clinical,” he said with a wink. “Ruins the fantasy that you’re secretly running an underground kitten rescue.”

“I’m running a fundraiser,” she said, deadpan, even as one corner of her mouth threatened to lift. “Try to keep up.”

He popped the carrier open just long enough for a tiny black head to hiss bravely in his direction. Aiden’s smile turned tender, then immediately mischievous as he glanced back at Sutton. “Feisty. Guess they take after the vet tech.”

She ignored this. “They take after being hungry and unsocialized.”

“Sure are cute,” he said, closing the latch. “There seems to be a lot of cute going around.”

“Must be something in the water,” Sutton said, slapping the clipboard against her palm. “Or maybe it’s kitten season. Happens every year.”

Aiden grinned like she’d just lobbed him a softball. “Funny, I was thinking more along the lines of good company.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked from the carrier back to her face.

“Pretty sure the kittens are the draw,” she said. “They’ve got a whole fan club.”

“Hard to compete with that kind of charisma,” he said, shifting the carrier to one hip. “But I like a challenge.”

Sutton slid the intake form across the counter. “Sign here. Initial there. And if you’re flirting to get out of cat sitting a coven of mischievous kittens, it won’t work.”

He leaned in just enough to lower his voice. “What if I’m flirting because I enjoy it?”

She met his gaze, unimpressed but not unamused. “Then you’re flirting with the wrong woman during business hours.”