2. Ella
2
ella
The photo shoot was winding down. The animals were tuckered out. Dogs were a lot like kids in that respect. Full of energy and excitement, and then they crashed—hard.
I was glad for it. The Cecilton Animal Shelter was one of the better ones. They had nice areas for the animals to sleep and plenty of space out back for exercise and play time. But the facility, like everything else, was feeling the strain of the economy. The number of animals coming in was more than the number going out, and that just wasn’t sustainable, especially when the cost of food, supplies, and medical care continued to rise at an alarming rate.
Hopefully, the charity calendar would bring much-needed attention and donations. Maybe even some adoptions, if we were lucky. The photographer seemed to know what she was doing, and the community in general seemed supportive. The models were certainly scenic. I might even buy a calendar myself—to support the cause, of course.
I pressed a kiss to the head of the husky mix in my arms and placed him into a crate for safe transport back to the facility. Almost all were accounted for. Only one crate remained empty. Looking back, I searched for the lone holdout.
The tiny black-and-white puppy was still securely in the arms of the firefighter. The same firefighter who had pinned me with the gaze of a predator, as if he’d selected me as his next conquest. I imagined he did that to a lot of women. To be fair, he had the kind of masculine perfection that was nearly irresistible.
But resist I would. I’d seen plenty like him. Handsome, charming types who wielded their good looks and desirability like weapons. A sexy, practiced curve of the lips. A heated look, filled with the promise of passion. A seductive, come-hither crook of a long, tapered finger.
Men like him were all the same.
Women fell for it too—hook, line, and sinker—because they believed they’d been chosen because they were special.
They weren’t though. Their time in the spotlight was short-lived because the players were accomplished actors. A Casanova’s interest was short-lived. Once those men got what they wanted, the women were forgotten. Inconsequential. No more memorable than the last glass of expensive liquor or imported cigar.
Been there, done that. Or had almost done that, I supposed. Men like that hadn’t appealed to me then, and they appealed to me even less now.
These days, I preferred to spend my time and attention where it was appreciated, and for me, that was the shelter. Animals didn’t care about your social standing, the size of your bank account, or whether you were arm-worthy enough to be the envy of their friends. Dogs, especially, were loyal and loved unconditionally. They didn’t have secret agendas.
That was the only kind of relationship I was interested in. Simple. Uncomplicated. Real. And if I could make their lives better in the process, I would, without hesitation. But men who thought they were God’s gift to women? Hard pass.
The hot firefighter glanced my way again, catching me eyeing him. Admittedly, he was smacked together nicely. Lean. Muscular. About my age, give or take, with black hair, dark eyes, and the skin tone of my ancestors. My breath hitched without my permission, and that was when I decided the game had gone on long enough.
His eyes widened when I set a course in his direction, and then his lips curled ever so slightly into a triumphant smirk as I neared. My blood chilled instantly. Giorgio had had that same smirk whenever he knew he’d made another successful conquest. Seeing it on this guy was more than enough to douse any temporary flare of physical appreciation I might’ve had.
I kept my expression impassive until I reached them, and then I focused on the puppy, sound asleep in the guy’s arms. At least the guy had put on a shirt at some point. Not that it lessened his attractiveness. The soft cotton clung to the ridges and dips that had been on glorious display earlier.
Good thing I wasn’t influenced by such things.
“Time to go,” I said and held out my hands expectantly.
Instead of handing Oreo over, he said something I didn’t quite catch. Since he didn’t relinquish the pup, I figured it was a protest of some sort.
How typical of him to want to control the situation. Then again, he was probably used to getting what he wanted.
It wasn’t worth making a scene. I turned and walked over to the van, acutely aware of him trailing behind me. He had presence , as my grandmother would say, and it bothered me that I noticed. I wasn’t interested in him or his presence.
When we reached the transport van, I stopped and turned to face him, hands on my hips.
“I’m Dom,” he said.
He obviously expected me to respond in kind and introduce myself. I didn’t.
He was not deterred.
“This is where you tell me your name,” he said with a boyish smile that, in another life, I might have momentarily found attractive.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Why do you want to know my name?”
He seemed briefly taken aback, but rallied quickly, flashing those pearly whites my way again. Clearly, he took his dental care seriously. “Because we haven’t officially met and I’m trying to rectify that.”
I was tempted to ask if he knew the name of every woman in Cecilton, but based on what I’d witnessed this afternoon, that was a distinct possibility.
Thankfully, I was spared from answering when Ben, the shelter’s vet, joined us, tapping lightly on my shoulder to get my attention. Ben had an easygoing manner that made him popular with the animals. And me, if I was being honest. The man was safe and nonthreatening, and he understood boundaries. He was a golden retriever in male form.
As usual, Ben was cheerful. “Hey, Ella. Ready to go?”
The firefighter’s eyes lit with triumph. I took some satisfaction in the fact that I hadn’t been the one to provide the information. So he knew my first name—or at least, the name that I went by these days. Big deal. It wasn’t like it was a state secret or anything.
“Almost.” I inclined my head toward the guy with an armful of black-and-white fluff in explanation.
“Oreo is working his magic again, I see,” he said with a warm smile. Turning to the firefighter, he asked, “Are you considering adoption?”
The firefighter blinked, as if using the pup for anything other than garnering female attention hadn’t occurred to him.
Ben nodded knowingly as he reached out for the pup. “It’s a big decision. Think about it, but don’t take too long. Someone else might beat you to it.”
The firefighter— Dom —reluctantly relinquished the cuddly bundle to Ben, who then handed him to me. Immediately, my irritation faded at the feel of the warm, sleepy creature in my arms.
I promptly walked away, holding Oreo close and murmuring soft words, nuzzling my nose against the silky fur of his ears. In addition to his sweet puppy smell, I detected the hint of something spicier. Like cedar maybe. Or sandalwood.
The hot firefighter’s scent, no doubt. On top of everything else, the guy had to smell good too.
I took Oreo around to the other side of the van and got him situated, then climbed into the passenger seat without a single backward glance.
Ben got behind the wheel moments later. “Good to go?”
I nodded, and we were on our way. I liked riding with Ben. He didn’t try to fill the silence with inane chatter.
Once we were back at the shelter, there was a flurry of activity as we unloaded, fed, and got our charges settled in. Normally, I didn’t participate in the daytime care of the animals. That was what we had staff for. With all the excitement, today was an exception.
The controlled atmosphere and repetitive routines soothed me, even with the peopling. The wagging tails, cold noses, and gentle nudges made me feel appreciated in a way no human had.
I felt safe here.
There was a lot of chatter among the others. Judging by the bright eyes, excited faces, and hand gestures, I knew the hot topic was the men who’d posed for the calendar.
I didn’t participate. No one expected me to. I’d set realistic expectations early on and stuck to them. I was polite. I did my job and treated my coworkers with kindness and respect, but that was as social as I got. It wasn’t a problem since my responsibilities mostly entailed working in the office.
Silence—or in this case, the pleasant background noise of unintelligible conversation—was golden. I didn’t need to hear an explicit play-by-play or graphic descriptions of the men who’d modeled. I had been there. Besides, while I could appreciate a pretty face and a fine male form, it didn’t go beyond surface-level admiration and was easily forgotten. No, a man would have to have more than good looks to capture my attention. He’d have to be attractive on the inside.
What could I say? I was a closet romantic at heart, destined to be disappointed because, one, such men were rarer than female enforcers, and, two, I wouldn’t let anyone get close enough to find out.
I guessed some part of me had assumed that once I got out of the world I had been born into, things would be different. That people would be different. Seven years later, I was ready to admit that wasn’t the case. Sure, I had personal freedoms I hadn’t enjoyed before, but my chances of encountering someone I felt an immediate connection with remained as abysmally slim outside the family as it had within it.
You felt something when you locked gazes with that hot firefighter, a voice piped up in my head.
A purely physical reaction, I countered silently. Nothing but a brief flash of biological imperative or primitive instinct, driven by the subconscious predilection to choose a mate who was strong and capable. I hadn’t been alone in that, based on the way other women had been falling over themselves for attention at the photo shoot.
I was stronger than any lingering trace of cavewoman instinct. Romantic fantasies aside, I didn’t need to mate with anyone. I was doing just fine on my own, thank you very much. My life was simple and uncomplicated, and I liked it that way, even if it did get lonely sometimes.
Besides, I’d overheard enough to know that Dom was Dominic Cerasino . Even I knew the Cerasinos were well known and held clout in the community—basically everything I’d risked my life to get away from. I still bore the scars from my desperate escape, both mental and physical, and had no desire to reopen old wounds.
I relegated those thoughts to the back of my mind and made my way back to my office in the older wing, where I would remain until everyone else left for the night. I concentrated instead on adding items to my ever-lengthening mental purchase list. Between casing yard sales every weekend for inexpensive pet items and buying doggy treats in bulk, I spent more money on them than I did myself. I didn’t mind. The shelter was struggling financially, and I didn’t need much.
A few hours later, I looked up to find Ben in the doorway. He looked as tired as I felt.
“Heading out?” I asked.
He nodded. “Thanks for all your help today. You’re good with the animals.”
“My pleasure,” I replied, and I meant it. I loved the furry creatures, even the grumpy ones.
“I keep telling you, you’d make a great veterinary assistant.”
I shook my head. I appreciated the thought, but I didn’t have the stomach for medicine. “No thanks. I’ll stick with treats and cuddles.”
“Need anything before I go?”
He asked every night, and my answer was always the same.
“I’m good.”
“All right then. Call if you need me.”
“I will.”
“Good night, Ella. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Ben.”
As Ben walked away, I exhaled, then got up and stretched. I was more than the office manager. I was the night watchman as well. It was a mutually beneficial agreement. I got a small studio-type living space rent-free, and Ben got the peace of mind that came with having someone here twenty-four/seven.