Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(61)

“I do,” I agree. But this can’t just be any apology. I need to do something special, something to show Cassie just how much she means to me.

Thoughts spinning, I head through the woods with George in my arms, swearing on everything he holds sacred that I will buy him a fanny pack and phone of his very own as soon as I make things right with Cassie.

As if he understands, somehow, he quiets down, nodding in sober approval as I tug my cell from my pocket and make an InstaChat post. It’s short and sweet, but it makes my point. At least I hope it does.

I don’t know if Cassie will forgive me. I don’t know if I can forgive me.

But I’m not giving up. And I hope Cassie will see that even when I’m an idiot, she’s not alone.

That she’s loved.

That she’s wanted.

And that she has a home.





Thirty-One





Cassie





* * *



I spot the sheriff crossing the square toward the bakery shortly before noon. My belly’s full of delicious carbs—Savannah’s right, this is totally the way to combat heartbreak—and my throat and lungs are less scratchy now, thanks to Gerald’s honey tea.

“He’s not taking you anywhere, hon,” Ruthie May assures me.

“Not without going through me first,” Gerald agrees.

I haven’t called Savannah, and I’m not going to until I absolutely have to. Which is apparently going to be sooner rather than later.

“Maybe he’s coming to tell me Steve gave him a full confession, and he’s sorry,” I say, but I don’t believe it.

“Don’t say a single word,” Savannah’s lawyer, Deborah, advises. “Anything you say in this town will get taken the wrong way.”

“That’s not true,” Ruthie May objects.

Deborah clicks her manicured fingertips against the table and arches a thin blond brow.

“Okay, that’s possibly true,” Ruthie May concedes. “But we assume the best misinterpretation almost as often as we assume the worst. Look at all those people who didn’t believe Steve would screw a sheep.”

“And therefore assumed Savannah was making the entire thing up?” I remind her.

She pulls a face. “Bad example.”

The sheriff reaches the door, then frowns and tilts his head toward the radio clipped to his uniform shirt. His voice—but not his exact words—carries through the glass door, and there’s a muffled squawk back on his radio.

He pushes into the bakery and points at me. “You. Stay put.”

And then he turns and hustles back the way he came.

“That was…unusual,” Maud says.

“Maybe he got a call that his hemorrhoids are infected,” Ruthie May says.

We all look at her.

She smiles sweetly. “What? That’s not a good twist on a bad situation?”

I shove up from the table. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”

“If you’re sneaking out the window, let me know. I’ll meet you in the alley with the getaway car,” Ruthie May offers.

“I’m not running away.”

Her sweet smile widens. “I’m just assuming that if you were, you’d trust me to be your sidekick.”

I fight a smile as I head to the bathroom. It is nice to have friends with their hearts in the right place.

Even if they can’t erase everything that’s gone wrong between Ryan and me.

When I get back to the table, Ruthie May and Maud are pressed to the window. “What on earth is that boy doing now?” Maud murmurs.

Gerald peers over their heads. “Can’t be good if he’s bringing the raccoon into it.”

My heart stutters and my belly flips like I’m careening over the first big hill on a roller coaster.

I’m going to miss George.

“And what’s the clothesline for?” Ruthie May says. “Why’s he flapping his arms like that?”

“Where are all those people coming from?” Deborah the attorney asks.

Gerald starts to grin. “Cassie, hon…I think you need to see this.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to see.

Because if I see, I’ll start to hope, and if I start to hope, I’ll get crushed all over again.

“Come, come.” Ruthie May dashes to my side and grabs one arm.

Maud takes the other.

“What—” I start.

“We’re assuming the best about people,” Ruthie May announces.

They pull me out the door to look at the square, which is slowly filling with people. Most of them are coming from the direction of the factory, but they’re also coming from other directions too.

Ryan’s in the center of the square, which he’s divided with a clothesline. Even though he’s half a city block away, the determination in the set of his jaw when our gazes lock makes the breath rush out of my lungs.

“I have an announcement,” he calls. His voice carries, and the murmurs of the growing crowd settle down.

“Oh! He put it on InstaChat,” Ruthie May whispers. “Everyone come to the Square. I have a big fucking announcement.”

“Shh!” Maud hisses.