Dance With Me (With Me in Seattle #12)(38)

“Well, hopefully, it’ll get better,” Starla says as Joy comes walking out. “Your parrot is awesome.”

“Hey, guys. He has a bit of a potty mouth, but he’s a staple here now. Good boy, Bill. Come on back.”

We follow Joy through the doors to the area of the clinic that most people don’t get to see. Cages of all different sizes line one wall, most containing cats and dogs that Joy and the other vets are treating.

“I love animals,” Starla says with excitement. “Your job is so cool.”

“Thank you,” Joy says. “Come on into my office.”

“What do you need fixed?” I ask her.

“Oh, nothing.” She reaches into a bed and takes out the kitten she’s been nursing. “You haven’t checked on your kitten in a while. She misses you.”

“Wait. We’re getting a kitten?”

Starla dances in place and reaches out for the baby, cradling it against her face.

I’m stuck on the we. We’re getting a kitten.

“I told Levi he needs to adopt her,” Joy says. “He needs something to love.”

“I have plenty of love,” I object, but Starla is already kissing and hugging the little feline.

“Oh, you’re the most precious cat to ever be born, aren’t you? Baby mine . . .”

“She’s singing a lullaby,” I inform Joy, who just smirks at me. “You did this on purpose.”

“She needs a home,” Joy says. “And you’ll give her a good one. She’s the sweetest thing.”

“Yes, she is,” Starla says, kissing the baby’s cheek, then lets it nuzzle down against her neck. “Look, she’s already attached to me. I’m her mommy.”

“Christ.” I rub my eyes and then glare at Joy for the ambush.

“She can’t go home for another four weeks or so,” Joy says as she reaches out to pet the kitten. “She still has some growing to do.”

“She’s so sweet,” Starla says. “I’ll name her Felicity Mae.”

“Oh, what a precious name,” Joy says with a grin. “I’ll start calling her that now. Do you want to see some puppies?”

“YES!”

“No,” I say at the same time, shaking my head. “Hell, no. She’ll want one of those, too, and that’s a hard no.”

“Why do you hate fun?” Starla demands, passing the sleeping kitten back to Joy. “I’m not taking one home, I’m just going to enjoy them for a minute. Don’t kill my thunder.”

“Come on,” Joy says, leading us out of the office and back to the main animal area. She opens a cage, and six lab puppies come lumbering out and straight to Starla, who just sits on the floor and opens her arms wide.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathes. She pulls two in for kisses, while the others climb over her and nibble on her jeans. “This is what heaven looks like. This is it.”

“They’re cute,” I concede, but narrow my eyes at Joy. “And I’m not taking any of them.”

“They’re all spoken for,” she says with a laugh. “But who doesn’t like playing with a whole herd of puppies?”

“I sure do,” Starla says with a laugh as she tumbles backwards, three puppies all trying to lick her face at the same time. “Oh, Lord, this is the best way to start the day. We should do this every day.”

“I’ll stick with coffee,” I say, but can’t help but laugh as the puppies continue playing with her. They are funny. “I hate to break up this lovefest, but I have to go to work.”

“Fine.” Starla sits up and sighs, but the puppies attack again, and she falls onto her back in a fit of giggles and sloppy puppy kisses. “Give me a minute.”



“I have to work tonight,” Starla says with a frown two days later. I just arrived at her house after work and brought Caesar salads with blackened chicken from Salty’s with me for dinner.

“What kind of work?” I take a bite of my salad and decide it needs more lemon, so I squirt some on top.

“Fan mail.” She swallows a piece of chicken and takes a drink of water. “I have so much of it piled up, and I’ll have another delivery next week. I need to get caught up.”

“People still send actual letters?”

“Some, yeah. Or cards. Gifts. It’s nice of them, and I want to read it myself, so my publicist’s office sends me a weekly box. If there’s not much to send, they’ll wait a week or two.”

“Interesting. Okay, I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’ll be fun. Where are they?”

She shoves a big bite of salad into her mouth and walks to a spare bedroom, coming back with the biggest-sized flat rate mailing box in her arms. She sets it down on the floor between us and then sits in her chair, her feet pulled up under her.

“That’s them.”

“Okay, as we read, I suggest we make piles, sorting them out. We’ll do one for things you want to respond to, another for gifts, and a third for miscellaneous.”

“You’re ridiculously organized,” she says.

“You’re welcome.” I wink and reach for an envelope. There’s a card inside. “It says Just a note to make your day brighter.” I flip it open and then snap it shut again.