When he let her go she gave him a smile. “Sorry about the freak-out.”

“I guess you were due,” he said. “I’ve never seen you do that. Not with all the stuff you have going on. You keep it pretty cool.”

She nodded. “I think this just snuck up on me. I let my guard down. I’m usually better at remembering that the next mess is just around the corner.”

“You are my favorite cynic,” Max told her. He kissed her forehead then pulled her car door open for her. “See you tomorrow?”

“For sure.”

“If you need to get drunk tonight, I’ll be at Granny’s.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

13

As she drove out of the parking lot and headed for Sunny Orchard, she thought about just heading straight for Granny’s afterward. She might be better off with tequila with Max tonight. That, after all, was a much more stable long-term plan than whatever game she and Dax would play tonight.

She walked through the doors of the nursing home, her heart still beating faster than the walk from the parking lot should have caused. She hadn’t been for a run all week because she’d been up late with Dax and because rolling out of bed was a lot harder with him lying next to her. Still, she wasn’t that out of shape.

No, the increased heart rate was still about realizing she was in big trouble. But it wasn’t totally her fault she hadn’t seen what was happening. After all, Cinderella’s benefactor had been a fairy godmother. A nice older matronly woman if she remembered correctly. Even in the Anne Hathaway version, Ella Enchanted, the fairy godmother had been the, albeit gorgeous, but very female Vivica A. Fox. That Jane had assumed the handsome and charming Dax was the prince in this story was a fair mistake.

And by the way, where the hell was her prince in this little analogy, then? Was she only going to get a platonic prince in Max or something? She stopped just outside of her dad’s room and took a breath. Maybe her prince was her dad. Maybe this was a reverse Cinderella story, and her dad was the one getting the makeover—of his attitude and outlook—so he could find his happiness. Maybe Dax was Jack’s fairy godfather, and Jane was just… one of the mice that turned into a coachman for the night. Or something. The metaphor was a little fuzzy there.

She pasted on a smile and ducked into her father’s room. “Hi—”

But he wasn’t there.

She frowned. His wheelchair was parked in the corner of the room, but Jack was absent. She knew he didn’t have any appointments today. She hadn’t seen him out in the lobby area. Of course, she’d been very distracted by her thoughts about Dax when she’d come through. She pivoted and headed back for the front.

But no, he wasn’t in the lobby or in the dining room or in the community room. She approached the front desk. Taylor, the girl who manned the desk after school and on weekends, was there.

“Hi, Taylor, have you seen my dad?”

Taylor looked up. “Hi, Jane. Yeah, he’s in Dax’s office.”

Jane nodded. “Oh okay.” She started to turn away. “I’ll just—” She swung back. “Who’s office?”

“Dax’s.” Taylor pointed down the hall. “It’s by Ken’s office.”

Ken was the nursing home director. “Dax who?” Jane asked. Dax was an uncommon name. At least in Appleby. And she knew everyone who had offices in this nursing home. She’d made a point of that. So she already knew what Taylor was going to say, but Jane needed a little time to process.

“Dax Marshall. The new owner.”

Okay, that hadn’t been enough time. Evidently. Because as Taylor’s words hit Jane’s ears, she felt a wave of shock course through her that actually made her feel numb.

“The new… what?” Jane asked, aware that her voice sounded weird.

Taylor gave her a look that confirmed she sounded weird. “Owner.”

“Right.” Jane nodded. “So Dax is the new… owner. He bought this place?”

Taylor shrugged. “I guess. I got a raise, and we have a cappuccino machine now, so I’m cool with whatever happened.”

Of course she’d gotten a raise. That alone probably would have convinced Jane that Dax really had bought the place, but the moment Taylor said the words cappuccino machine, Jane knew it was all true.

“I don’t suppose there’s a new Ping-Pong table somewhere?” Jane asked, trying to calm her breathing.

Her heart was pounding again, but this didn’t feel like panic. This felt like anger.

Taylor gave her a huge grin. “There is. How did you know? They put it in the rec room.”

“Lucky guess,” Jane muttered.

So this was his new project.

He’d given up snack cakes, gotten bored, and bought a nursing home. That made sense.

At least in Dax Marshall's world, it did.

“By Ken’s office, you said?” she asked Taylor.

“Yep. Just down the short hallway behind Ken’s office, actually.”

“Thanks.”

Jane started in that direction, trying to get her emotions under control. Dax was a good guy. He made people happy. It was his singular goal in life, in fact. He had good intentions here, she was sure.

But she couldn’t quite calm her heart rate or the thick, heavy, rough rope of stress that had twisted and pulled itself into a massive knot in her gut.

This was her father. This wasn’t just a way to kill some time while Dax was hanging out in Appleby.

She heard her father’s stilted speech as she passed Ken’s office. She couldn’t make out what he’d said, but she heard Dax’s answering laugh. Then she heard another voice. It was Ken, the facility director, but even more important was what he said.

“What about birds?” Ken asked. “We can start with an aviary. I’ve seen those in other places.”

“The article specifically mentions rabbits and guinea pigs,” Dax said with a shrug.

“And d-d-dogs,” Jack added.

“Definitely dogs,” Dax said. “We’re absolutely doing dogs.”

“There’s just a lot to think about,” Ken hedged.

“Ken, people go out to shelters and adopt dogs on a whim every single day. Rabbits and guinea pigs too, I’m sure. I don’t really think there is that much to think about.”

Jane rolled her eyes. Thinking things through wasn’t exactly Dax’s strong suit.

“And who will be taking care of the animals?” Ken asked. “The nursing and housekeeping staff are already—”

“M-me,” Jack said.

“And others,” Dax said. “That’s the point. Residents take care of them.”

“But—”

“They’re dogs and rabbits and guinea pigs,” Dax said. “They’re not nuclear reactors. And most of our residents have had pets in the past according to the survey. For those with dementia and memory issues, the research shows caretaking tasks come back to them almost miraculously. And those who don’t have those issues are fine.”

“So what about the goats and the chickens?” Ken asked, his voice a little weaker.