Chapter Eight #3
Cheeto swiped at me, claws at the ready. I pulled back in time to avoid damage. “You,” I informed him, “are unpredictable, hazardous, and certainly unemployable for what we need.”
He stared at me with the flat, ancient contempt only cats and senior DMV employees have truly mastered.
Then he bit my thumb.
Not hard. Just enough to make his point.
Delaney had now slid approximately four inches down the wall.
I placed Cheeto back in his living space. He circled twice, then curled up with his butt facing us with the deliberate position of an animal who wanted to be clear about where we ranked in his estimation.
“He rejected us,” I said with a half smile.
“He rejected you,” Delaney corrected, pulling herself upright, wiping at her eyes. “I’m pretty sure he and I have an understanding.”
As if on cue, Cheeto turned, looked directly at Delaney, and tipped over his water dish.
“An understanding,” I repeated.
She laughed. “Okay. He rejected us both. But you’ve got to admit he has a personality.”
I grunted. Which was not an agreement.
But I was also fighting very hard not to smile, because Delaney laughing—really laughing, shoulders-shaking, sliding-down-walls-laughing—was doing something genuinely catastrophic to my ability to maintain a neutral expression.
Cheeto was still a risk.
He was also, possibly, my favorite cat in the building.
I was keeping that to myself.
We decided against two more cats. One hissed at everything and another had digestive issues. And we were able to put two of them on our “maybe” list.
At one point, Delaney crouched beside a sleepy basset hound, Droopy, and started telling him about her morning. She was gentle and quiet, as though respecting his peace and not wanting to be rude. He leaned into her while she scratched behind his ears.
I stopped walking.
She paused mid-sentence to check his face, adjusted her hand when he shifted and pulled back, reading him the way you’d read a person who struggled to say what they needed.
My chest tightened unexpectedly, a pressure building behind my ribs that had nothing to do with the shelter’s air quality and everything to do with the woman kneeling on the floor, giving a basset hound her full and undivided attention.
How had I never seen that before?
That she felt just as connected to animals as I did. That she saw them—not as things, but as individuals with their own personalities, needs, and worth.
“Marc?” she said, glancing up. Her eyes caught in the low lighting, and I could see flecks of brown within the green I’d never noticed before. “What do you think of him?”
“I think,” I said slowly, trying to sound professional and not like I’d just had a minor emotional crisis over a basset hound, “he will fall asleep during yoga and not participate.”
“That’s a valid concern.” She tapped her finger against her chin as though she was giving it serious thought, but her half-smile gave her away.
And it humbled me to see this playful side of Delaney.
“But people fall asleep in yoga all the time. Maybe he might be a better fit for yoga nidra.” She grinned.
I raised an eyebrow.
She covered her mouth with her hands, feigning mock surprise. “Oh, so Mr.-Know-It-All hasn’t heard of yoga nidra?”
A tiny smirk lifted the corner of my mouth. “Guess not.”
She smiled wider—one of those that you give another person you’re sharing a humorous moment with. “It’s a guided meditation performed lying down to induce deep relaxation. I think maybe Droopy could be our mascot.”
We both laughed as the dog yawned.
The sound of her laughter lit up parts of myself I didn’t think existed.
“But maybe he’ll be what some of the participants need,” I suggested.
She smiled. “Let’s put him down as a yes.”
I nodded and wrote a note next to Droopy’s name.
She turned toward me, and I noticed the tension around her eyes had eased. The corners crinkled in a way I hadn’t seen directed at me before—not the careful courtesy she usually used like a shield.
The moment stretched between us, fragile and tender, and I was afraid to move. Afraid to break whatever this was.
Theo burst into the room then, breathless, wearing the expression of a man who had drawn the short straw. “Uh, we have a potential problem.”
Son of a bitch. Just when things were going well.
“Your grandmother,” he said, “has taken it upon herself to book the yoga classes.”
My entire body went cold. “What?”
Delaney gasped. “What classes? We haven’t even decided when to start. We haven’t finalized the animals or the space or the—”
“The ones that start next week,” Theo responded with a wince.
We stared at him.
The world tilted slightly. Or maybe that was just my blood pressure spiking to dangerous levels.
“Next week?” I repeated, each word clipped. “There’s no possible way we’ll be ready. We need to set up protocols, finalize animal selection, conduct practice sessions, develop emergency—” My voice was rising. “Just reschedule them, Theo.”
Glamma was like a destructive tornado at times. Beautiful, unstoppable, and utterly devastating to anything resembling a plan.
“I can’t.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looking miserable. “They’re sold out.”
Delaney made a strangled sound. “How can classes that don’t exist sell out?” Her voice had gone up at least an octave.
The sound triggered something protective in my chest, which was absolutely not helpful right now.
I had severely underestimated my grandmother.
“I don’t know,” Theo said, spreading his hands helplessly.
“But apparently, Glamma can sell sand in the desert. She posted it on the community Facebook page this morning and within three hours, all four sessions were full with a waiting list. She even got the mayor to sign up.” He checked his watch.
“Listen, I’m sorry to drop this bomb and run, but I have a delivery I need to help with. ”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He disappeared back through the door, leaving Delaney and me in silence.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Unbelieveable.”
Delaney paced, her movements sharp and agitated. Three steps one way. Three steps back. I found myself unconsciously counting them. “We’re not ready. We don’t even agree on half the animals yet. We haven’t tested anything. We haven’t—”
“We’ll figure it out,” I said automatically.
Because what else could we do? Cancel and disappoint everyone? Risk the grant? Prove to the entire town Delaney and I couldn't work together?
She turned to me, and I realized we were standing closer than I’d thought. Much closer.
Very close.
Close enough that I could see the pulse jump at the side of her neck. Close enough that her breathing had gone shallow. Close enough to notice her chest rising and falling rapidly in a way she probably didn’t realize.
I imagined my heartbeat synced with hers. Doubling its rate. It was that kind of moment. My own breathing deepened as though I’d been running instead of standing completely still.
The freckles at her collarbone caught my attention, small and barely there, just where her shirt collar ended. Her lips slightly parted when she exhaled—like the words she wanted to speak were right there, but she’d decided against them.
The lavender was stronger now. Layered under the animals, the cleaner used in the cages, and her soap.
For one quiet, dangerous second, a thought slipped through uninvited …
If things were different … If we weren’t always at odds.
If I wasn’t trying to control everything because I was terrified of what would happen if I didn’t.
If I was brave enough to want what I couldn’t plan for . ..
My gaze dropped to her mouth.
She didn’t move. Didn’t step back. Didn’t tell me to stop.
Neither did I.
We leaned closer, pulled by the kind of gravity that doesn’t ask permission.
I was approximately two inches away from the least professional decision of my life, which was saying something.
And I didn’t care.
For once in my carefully controlled life, I didn’t care about protocols or appropriateness or what made logical sense.
Her pupils dilated.
My hands itched to cup her face between them.
I just wanted …
“Well, well,” Glamma’s voice rang out behind us. “If I’d known animal yoga meant this kind of stretching, I’d have sold tickets at double the price.”
We sprang apart like guilty teenagers caught behind the bleachers.
My face burned. My entire body burned. I couldn’t remember the last time I was this mortified.
Glamma beamed at us, utterly delighted with herself. She was wearing what appeared to be one of her many vintage, flowy dresses with gold embroidery and approximately seven pounds of rose quartz jewelry. “You two will be at my house tonight. Seven o’clock. Dinner.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Glamma—” I began.
Her gaze swung to me, sharp and knowing, and the words died in my throat. I’d seen that look before. Usually right before she got what she wanted.
“Well, tonight’s not—” Delaney added.
“No arguing. Seven o’clock. Both of you. I’m making my famous cassoulet.” She swept towards the door in a cloud of perfume and fabric. “You’re going to get to know each other properly so you can stop arguing like two alley cats in a rainstorm.”
She was gone before we could object, leaving behind only the faintest scent of Portrait of a Lady and the sound of her low heels clacking down the hallway.
Delaney stared at me.
I stared at her.
Neither of us acknowledged what had almost happened. What we’d almost done before we were interrupted.
“Well,” she said slowly. “That was … unexpected.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, holding the clipboard tight because I didn’t trust myself to not reach for her. “Unexpected.”
An inadequate word. Catastrophically inadequate.
But I couldn’t think of a better one. Couldn’t think of anything except the fact that I’d been seconds away from kissing Delaney Hart in the middle of an animal shelter, and the most disturbing part wasn’t that I’d almost done it.
It was that I wanted to try again.
And—
I wasn’t entirely sure I was dreading dinner tonight.