Chapter 15 EVE #2
He ends the call and turns around. He sees me now, sees the way I haven’t moved. The way I’m still holding the towel like a shield.
He opens his mouth. “I… the timeline has changed.”
I nod. Without a word. LoverBoy lets out a soft whine near the door.
Adam glances toward him, already moving to grab the leash off the side table. “He needs to go out. I can bring him to the shelter later if—”
“You’re not crating him at the shelter,” I say before I can stop myself. Maybe I’m like Blanche, anxious about crates. She stayed so long at a vet before getting adopted again that she panics when she thinks she’s going to be crated. Or Dorothy and the carriers.
Adam pauses. Our eyes meet.
“Okay,” he says. Quiet. Measured. “I wasn’t going to crate him there.
I was going to double check if anyone had any more information.
We had all his paperwork, so he’s up on his vaccines but his new owners who cannot find didn’t register him.
And his old owners cannot take him back as they’re in a facility that doesn’t accept animals.
A foster family brought him back the other day because he kept escaping.
I’ll bring him back with me to my practice.
We have a daycare there. Then I’ll figure something else out. ”
A knock breaks the tension. Blanche groans but doesn’t move. I grab a robe and wrap myself in it.
“Hey!” Sally’s voice carries in. “I’ve got carbs, gossip, and mild logistical panic!”
Adam opens the door just wide enough for her to slip in with a tray and clipboard.
“Alright, lovebirds,” she says cheerfully, “plumber’s coming tomorrow. Pipe’s cracked deep in the wall, behind the tile, because the universe is hilarious. He says four to five days, maybe a week. Latest until the tree lightning. We’re not booking that suite again until it’s fixed.”
I blink. “I’ll go somewhere else.”
“You can’t,” she says, blunt. “Every other room’s taken. Engagements, the Santa brunch crowd, and one very real reviewer from Travel Lovers in Birch Suite. Do you know what happens if she clocks ‘plumbing disaster’ at a B&B during peak season?”
She holds up her clipboard like it’s a sword.
“I get dragged on Instagram, our winter bookings tank, and I cry into my crockpot until January.”
Adam steps in quickly. “I’ll sleep in my truck.”
“You will not,” Sally says. “Nor will you sneak off to the clinic and traumatize my favorite stray by leaving him in a kennel. I heard your starting date has changed and you’re staying with us for a bit longer.”
“How?” Adam shakes his head.
“Well… I heard it from Jill who told Sarah who told Jen who told me. Jill’s beagle was due for a checkup and she called Dr. Chen very early… her private number and she found out she wasn’t here, yet and had to delay her arrival.”
LoverBoy whines on cue and flops against the bed dramatically.
“Anyhoo. The bed is big enough to fit the cast of a why choose novel,” she continues. “But if the couch is occupied by the dog mafia, I’ll bring up a spare mattress. Late. Quiet. No reviewer eyes. You’ll figure it out.”
I look at Adam. He looks at me.
Neither of us says anything.
Sally raises one brow. “Unless you’d like me to decide where you sleep?”
Adam lifts a hand. “Nope. We’re good.”
Sally winks. “Thought so.”
And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her like punctuation.
I finally let myself exhale.
One week.
One room.
With a man I wasn’t supposed to see again, let alone sleep with, or talk to, or feel anything this dangerous around.
I pull on the hoodie I left on the chair last night. Papet’s heart ornament sits untouched on the desk beside it.
Still intact.
Still here.
Like me.
Adam is quiet, still standing near the window, leash in hand, like he’s waiting for instructions I don’t know how to give. The morning light catches on his jawline, highlighting the stubble I felt against my skin hours ago. One night shouldn’t make my clinical detachment malfunction this badly.
“I can take the floor,” he says finally, his voice carrying that measured control that reminds me of how doctors deliver complicated news. “If that makes this easier.”
“Nope.” The word comes out sharper than I intend, my own defenses rising.
“The mattress, then, that Sally will bring.” His eyes meet mine, studying me with the same careful attention he’d give to a chart with concerning lab results.
“We’ll see. I can take the mattress.” I adjust my towel, suddenly aware of how little it covers.
He doesn’t move toward me.
I don’t move toward him.
The space between us is filled with what we didn’t say last night. And everything we still don’t know how to say now. My brain helpfully diagnoses the condition: emotional constipation with a side of potentially chronic stubbornness.
And apparently we’re getting more time for…
I don’t know what at this point. Nothing?
Yep. Nothing. we’ve moved from a Dateline holiday special to a full-blown Lifetime Christmas movie.
Complete with dogs, emotional backstory, and one stupidly attractive vet who makes Dante feel like a second-rate book boyfriend.
Not that I’m the lead.
Obviously.
I don’t catch feelings. This isn’t a seasonal cold.