Chapter 8 #2
Evan glanced at the women, then back at me. “You two friends?”
“We're...” I hesitated. What were we? Rosie had barged into my life a few days ago and somehow convinced me to attend a farmers’ market. “She's one of my clients.”
Evan's eyebrow climbed. “Right. Client.”
The skepticism in his voice made my jaw tighten. “I do farm calls, had to check on her uncle’s horse.”
“Must be a special client if she dragged you to the farmers’ market.”
I shot Evan a look. “She offered to help with adoptions.”
“Of course.” Evan's mouth twitched.
Before I could figure out what that meant, Nate crouched down beside Daisy. “These the dogs you're trying to place?”
“Yeah.” I watched Daisy immediately roll onto her back, offering her belly to Nate like they were old friends. “This is Daisy. Two years old, beagle-lab mix. Food motivated, friendly, zero personal boundaries.”
Nate scratched her belly, and Daisy's tail thumped against the ground. “She's adorable.”
“She is.” I cleared my throat. “The rescue takes in strays, dogs whose owners can't keep them. We try to find them good homes.”
“How many do you have?”
“Thirteen now.” The number sat heavy in my chest. “Including Pudding, the puppy we just took in.”
“That's a lot of dogs.” Nate looked up at me, still scratching Daisy's belly. “You run the rescue yourself?”
“Yeah.”
Nate's attention returned to Daisy, whose entire body wiggled with joy. “She's really sweet.”
I recognized that look. The soft expression, the way his hand lingered on Daisy's fur. I'd seen it a hundred times right before someone said they wanted to take a dog home.
“She's great with people,” I said carefully. “Needs regular exercise, puzzle feeders to slow her eating, and—”
“Nathaniel Westbrook, don't even think about it.”
Emily appeared beside us, her expression the kind mothers wore when catching their kids eyeing candy before dinner.
Nate looked up, his hand still on Daisy's belly. “I wasn't—”
“We're building a house.” Emily crossed her arms. “We don't have room for a dog.”
“We have acres of land.”
“But the house isn't built yet.” Emily gestured sharply. “We're living in my apartment and your cabin while construction happens. There is no room for a dog.”
Nate looked back at Daisy, his expression resigned but good-natured. “Worth a shot.”
Daisy, oblivious to her missed opportunity, continued wiggling under his hand.
“She'll find the right home,” Nate said, meeting my eyes with an easy smile. “Someone with a finished house and room for all that enthusiasm.”
The kindness in his voice caught me off guard. Like he understood the weight of wanting to help every single one and knowing you couldn't.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Hope so.”
“We should probably let you set up.” Emily turned to me. “Good luck with the adoptions.”
“Thanks.”
Evan gave me another chin lift. “Later.”
“Yeah.” I returned the gesture, still not entirely sure what I was doing but apparently doing it correctly.
The four of them wandered off toward the other booths, Emily already pointing at something that caught her eye. Scout trotted beside Evan, perfectly behaved, while Nate cast one last longing look at Daisy before Emily pulled him along.
I exhaled slowly, tension draining from my shoulders.
“That went well.”
Rosie appeared beside me, her voice bright with approval.
I glanced down at her. “They didn't run away screaming.”
“It's a good start.” Her eyes danced. “Did you make plans to hang out? Grab a beer sometime?”
I stared at her. “You want me to what?”
“You know.” She made a vague gesture. “Guy stuff. Whatever it is men do when they socialize.”
“I just met them.”
“So?”
“So I can't just...” I shook my head. “That's not how it works.”
“Why not?” Rosie tilted her head, genuine confusion on her face. “You seemed to get along.”
“We exchanged maybe ten words.”
“Perfect foundation for friendship.”
“Rosie.”
“Cal.”
She was smiling at me like I was the most ridiculous person she'd ever encountered. Which, given the week she'd had with escaped goats and a broken irrigation system, seemed unfair.
“I'm not inviting near-strangers to hang out,” I said flatly. “That's insane.”
“It's called making friends.”
“It's called moving too fast.”
She patted my arm, her touch light and infuriatingly patronizing. “Baby steps. We'll work on it.”
Before I could respond, she was already heading back to her booth, that red dress swishing around her legs.
I looked down at Daisy and Hank. “She's exhausting.”
Daisy wagged her tail. Hank yawned.
Helpful.
I moved to the shaded spot Rosie had designated for the adoption setup, setting up the folding chair Sharon had insisted I bring and positioning it where I could keep an eye on both dogs.
Daisy sprawled in a patch of sun, already making friends with every person who walked past. Hank remained under Rosie's table, watching the crowd with wary eyes.
The market bustled around us—families browsing produce, kids chasing each other between booths, the steady hum of conversation mixing with birdsong from the trees lining the square.
Rosie laughed at something a customer said, her voice carrying over the noise. Bright. Easy. Natural.
I watched her arrange flowers in a mason jar, her hands quick and confident. A few days ago, I'd been driving to Sullivan Farm expecting Walt's familiar gruffness and Buddy's routine checkup.
Instead, I got Rosie. She crashed into my life—literally—and now I was standing at a farmers’ market with two rescue dogs, making awkward small talk with strangers, and it didn't feel terrible.
It felt...
Rosie glanced over, catching me staring. Her smile was instant, warm.
My chest did something complicated.
I looked away before she could see what I was thinking.
That was the problem with sunshine. It made you forget you'd been surviving just fine in the dark.