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“Then change what you can anyway. Appointments, routines, routes to and from work. Stop for coffee somewhere different. Don't go anywhere alone.”
“Pretty sure Alexei has that last one covered.”
That earns the smallest hint of a smile. “Thank God for overprotective Russian billionaires.”
I snort, but the humor doesn't last. “What about the doctor appointment?”
Jules sighs heavily. “Honey, the only thing you can do about that right now is take the test.”
I stare at a spot on the floor. “I'm not arguin’ with you.”
Jules reaches across the desk and squeezes my hand.
By the time Jules and I leave the office, my mind is a mess. No matter how hard I try to focus on work, I can't escape reality. The worries chase each other through my head for the rest of the afternoon while I move through the shelter pretending everything is normal.
The problem is that normal doesn't exist anymore.
The shelter is busy enough to keep me distracted most of the time. Several adoptions are scheduled throughout the afternoon, volunteers are sorting donations in the storage room, and two new dogs arrive before lunch after being surrendered by an elderly owner moving into assisted living. One of them is a golden retriever with arthritis and the saddest brown eyes I've ever seen. The other is a beagle who has escaped his kennel twice and stolen three tennis balls.
Jules is currently negotiating with the beagle like they're participating in international peace talks. He crouches beside the kennel, a clipboard tucked beneath one arm, and points accusingly at the dog as several volunteers stop to watch.
“Sir, your behavior has been deeply disappointin’.”
The beagle drops a slobbery tennis ball at his feet.
Jules presses a hand to his chest. “And now you're mockin’ me.”
A volunteer laughs. “He likes you.”
“He’s manipulatin’ me.”
“You're arguing with a dog,” she adds.
“Because the dog started it.”
She walks away shaking her head while I laugh. It feels good to laugh. Lately, those moments have become rarer than I care to admit.
I'm halfway through reviewing adoption paperwork at the front desk when my phone vibrates against the countertop. I don't even need to look at the screen to know who it is. At this point, Alexei checks on me so often that I know it's him before I look at my phone.
Alexei: How's the shelter?
I try not to smile. It doesn't work.
Me: Still standing.
The response arrives quickly.
Noted.
Across the room, Jules notices. The man misses absolutely nothing when it comes to me. He wanders closer, carrying a fresh cup of iced coffee, and peeks at my phone before looking back at me with a grin.
“Was that our favorite billionaire?”
I shake my head. “Since when is he our favorite billionaire?”
Jules waves a hand. “Fine. Your favorite billionaire.”
I snort and return to the paperwork, feeling a little better than I did ten minutes ago. It annoys me that three simple texts from Alexei can improve my mood. It annoys me even more that Jules knows it.
