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“Pembrooke Animal Shelter, how may I help you?”
The woman on the phone asks what our hours are tomorrow.
“Tomorrow, uh, Saturday?” I rub my forehead, conscious of the strands that have fallen out of my messy bun. Keeping my gaze on the desk calendar instead of anywhere else. Anyone else. “We’re open from ten to four.”
The woman thanks me, then hangs up.
I pull in a deep breath before doing the same.
My steps are slow and reluctant as I leave the barrier of the desk, wishing I wasn’t wearing old athletic shorts and a ratty t-shirt. Thoroughly annoyed he managed to catch me off guard—twice.
Jackie is enthusiastically telling Holden the story of how Willow ended up here.
I recognize the way she’s looking at him.
The same starry eyes I aimed Holden’s way when I was her age. And when I was twelve. Sixteen. Twenty.
The same way I look at him now, even after everything.
“Cassia’s done really amazing work with her.”
I smile automatically in response to Jackie’s comment.
It’s an overstatement, since Willow was dropped off by loving owners moving to an apartment that didn’t allow pets. She hasn’t suffered the same trauma a lot of our other residents have, just confusion.
“So have you,” I say.
Jackie blushes, then looks at Holden. “Are you here to volunteer?”
I tilt my head, curious what his answer will be. When we first started dating, he would come here a lot. Pick me up, drop me off, but also spend time in the kennels.
And then, gradually, things shifted. We left for college and there were different schedules.
Different responsibilities.
Different priorities.
“No. Not today.” Holden shoves his hands into his pockets, gaze only on me. “Just here to talk to your boss.”
“Oh,” Jackie says, glancing back and forth between us.
And I realize that they’ve never met. That Holden hasn’t visited me at the shelter since Jackie started working here.
I’ve been in a basketball arena countless times in the past year.
“Nice to meet you, Holden,” Jackie says.
“Yeah, you too.”
She rushes outside, like she’s suddenly aware of the simmering tension in the air between us.
The bell above the door tinkles cheerfully, like it’s not.
“Hi,” he says.
I kind of want to snort at the unoriginality. Months of silence. Years of dating. All I get isHi.
At least we’re conversing, I guess.
