Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(61)
It was strange. She wasn’t asking his permission or apologizing. Yet at the same time she was giving him a way out, a way to blow this popsicle stand and not be the bad guy. As though this were a breaking point for most people.
Like Shay, he too wasn’t most people. In fact, around her, he was the best version of himself.
“I know exactly what I am getting into,” he said, cupping her face and drawing her in. “You are the most complicated woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He was close enough to see the stubborn determination flash in her eyes—but also with a deep sadness that came from somewhere else. A place of experience that prepared her for the blow of not being embraced. “Yet when I am with you, nothing seems complicated.”
Her eyes became a sea of confusion and hope—he could see the hope hiding way in the back. “What does that even mean?”
“That what I told you last night hasn’t changed.” He brushed her lips and definitely tasted strawberries. And maybe a little chocolate, and a whole lot of trouble. “I want you.”
Then, being a man of action rather than words, he decided to show her just how much.
By the following Tuesday, the old barbershop was beginning to look like an actual shelter. The debris had been carted away, the walls of the meet-and-greet room were now a welcoming terra-cotta, and there was a friendly turquoise throw rug and matching pillows Shay had picked up for half price at St. Helena Hardware and Refurbish Rescue to add a pop of playful. The open-air kennels Ida and Clovis had donated had arrived yesterday and were the perfect solution to containment without the downside of confinement.
The shop was ready for the construction crew to come in next week and build out the rest.
And the good news kept coming. Harper had collected nearly one hundred checks from people who had preregistered for the charity walk. At thirty bucks a head, Shay was three thousand dollars closer to St. Paws being a legit shelter. All that was left was to pick up the official permit from town hall. Shay was just waiting on the call.
“Good thing since we only have twelve days until animal control rolls up and starts asking for papers,” Shay said to the two wet black eyes blinking back at her.
With Boss now settled happily in his forever home and Jabba already outfitted in his Saints baseball uniform, complete with a bat to keep his mouth busy for the charity walk, Shay needed to make sure Socks looked—and felt—her best for the big day.
A white ball of fur with barely-there legs and haunting doe eyes, Socks was tiny, too cute for words, and terrified of just about anything that made sound. She was also the biggest love bug on the planet and would make someone a wonderful companion, as long as they whispered.
Socks was one of those dogs that, because of a rough start, was sensitive to loud noises. And Saturday she was going to be walking up Main Street in a jungle of shoes and paws clicking the asphalt, with hundreds of mouths moving. Not the best situation for a dog who jumped every time Shay so much as hiccupped.
Shay gave a little clip at the fur around her ears so they would lie flatter. Satisfied, she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a knitted onesie and held it up for Socks to see.
“Here is what I was thinking,” Shay said in her best quiet-time voice. “Saturday, you go as a sock monkey.”
It turned out June Whitney didn’t just crochet oven mitts on her YouTube channel—she also did specialty items on commission. And Shay had commissioned her to make Socks a couture sock monkey costume with a headpiece specifically designed to block the noise.
“It will muffle all the sound. And . . .” She pulled out the rest of the costume. “It comes with matching little booties, so you don’t have to hear your paws click on the asphalt.”
Nose twitching with conviction, Socks craned her neck and took a tentative sniff. When she was acquainted with her new outfit, Shay scooped her up and put the little booties on her feet. Once back on the ground, Socks picked up one foot, then another, trying unsuccessfully to shake off the offensive trappings.
“You have to get used to them,” Shay said, getting down on her knees. Carefully she slipped the onesie over Socks’ head and body, making sure her booties didn’t come off as she slid her munchkin legs through the leg holes.
“You make the most adorable sock monkey.”
Socks wasn’t sold. Not even close.
“I promise. Go look in the mirror.” She set Socks on the ground. Socks took one step and fell sideways. Flat as a board, boom, right to the floor. Then lay there. Unmoving. Like roadkill, her little feet sticking straight out to the side.
“It isn’t that bad.”
It was actually awful. A herd of rabid dogs could have blown through the shop and Socks wouldn’t have budged in protest. The door opened and Socks’s eyes went wide. People! People I don’t know. Making sounds . . .
“Yeah, yeah.” Shay picked her up and took off the onesie. “But you have to give the booties a try.”
Socks hightailed it to the back of the shop, her feet moving so high she was like a dwarfed Clydesdale.
Shay turned around and found Emerson in the doorway, her food cart parked at the curb. She was apparently headed for work—which, based on the red rubber nose and rainbow afro, was a kid’s birthday party. “If a single Bozo or Ronald McDonald comment leaves your mouth, I will punch you. In the throat. Understood?”