An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(30)

I meant it at the time.

But then…

Cal smiled at me.





Chapter 10





I’m covered in cats when I get a text from Cal a week later on a Sunday afternoon.

Cal:



Meet me at the shop in an hour.





Blinking down at my phone screen, I shoot him a reply.

Me:



I’m volunteering at the moment. :)





I send him a selfie of me and Mr. Perkins, a black and white domestic shorthair, for good measure.

A few minutes skip by before Cal says:

Cal:



Please





The “please” gets me, just like he knew it would. Whatever it is, it must be important. Sending back a response riddled with exclamation points, I stroke Mr. Perkins’ fur as he croons in my lap with contentment. One of the other volunteers, Gemma, sits beside me in the cat room, leaning back on her palms as her auburn hair glows with red streaks beneath the eclectic Ikea light fixture.

“Looks like I need to head out early today,” I tell her, glancing at her profile.

Gemma is beautiful; a little older than me, pushing thirty, and engaged to a guy named Knox. I was invited to her December wedding, and I’m looking forward to the winter event that will ring in the holiday season—my favorite season.

She looks over at me with shimmery green eyes, laughing lightly when a cat named Lima Bean clasps her wrist between two paws. “Emergency?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s my boss, but we’re closed on Sundays. He asked me to meet him at the shop in an hour.”

Knowing a little bit about my working relationship with Cal, she, of course, gives me an eyebrow wiggle. This is why Gemma and Alyssa get along so well.

“Could be something simple. Could be scandalous.”

“It’s not scandalous.”

“Show me a picture before I decide,” she grins.

I balk at her. Then I relent, scrolling through my cell phone in search of the Google photo Alyssa texted to me with a million melting and drooling emojis.

Sighing, I show her the screen.

Her eyes pop. “Scandal is imminent.”

“No, it’s not.” I can’t help but snort, shaking my head through the smile as my cheeks flush crimson. “It’s not like that. Cal is…uninterested,” I settle on. “In everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything except for his job and…” I scrunch up my nose. “Orchids, apparently.”

She shrugs. “So, he’s a hard worker who will always bring you flowers. Sounds like a winner to me.”

We share a laugh as I unravel myself from the half-asleep cat and rise to my feet, brushing the tuxedo fur off the front of my leggings. I volunteer here almost every Sunday, cuddling cats, walking dogs, refilling food and water bowls, and deep-cleaning kennels. The animal shelter is called Forever Young—it’s a sanctuary for senior dogs and cats; a place where they can live out their geriatric years and not have to worry about sitting on death row at animal control or a high-kill shelter.

The cause spoke to me.

I’ve always been a sucker for the things deemed less desirable. The overlooked. Growing up as a child with medical issues, I was never Miss Popularity. I was either teased or ignored through most of grade school, often absent from classes due to surgeries and procedures, and sometimes forced to carry around a heart monitor. I was always picked last for gym class activities, and that was on the days I was even able to participate. Most of the time, I’d become too breathless and have to sit it out. My classmates complained that I was getting special treatment—they had to run laps, while I sat on the sidelines. But, little did they know, I’d have done anything to run laps with them.

It took years for me to feel like my condition wasn’t an actual “disability”—it was just a part of me. A different part. A unique part. Sometimes that part hindered activities or plans, but it never hindered how hard my heart loved. And that’s what it’s all about, after all. Loving other people, loving our blessings, loving ourselves.

Honestly, the more my peers claimed I was less of a person, or lacking in some way, the more love I wanted to give. The more I appreciated everything good around me.

That’s why I choose to spend my time with the senior pets who get passed over for the young, energetic puppies and kittens. It doesn’t seem fair that these sweet souls are disregarded because their age makes them “less than” in the eyes of many.

Old age is not a disability; it’s a gift.

And I’ve finally embraced the fact that I am, too.

Waving goodbye to Gemma, I promise to fill her in on the Cal updates before leaving the room and breezing down the main hallway toward the front of the building. Vera is perched at her desk, munching on one of the oatmeal cookies I made for the staff of volunteers. She is the incredible founder of this nonprofit sanctuary, having built it from the ground up with generous donations and her own personal savings.

Vera pokes her head up from a magazine when I sweep by, running a hand over her short, cropped hair. “Leaving already, honey?”

“I am, unfortunately. I got called into work today.”

“Oh, I understand. You work so hard. See you next week?”