“Chlo, I took my dad with me the first time I bought a car. Hell, I took him with me the first three cars. It’s kind of a big deal, and you want to make sure you’re not getting, well, taken advantage of,” he said softly, tapping on the hood of the car. A bit of rust fell onto the asphalt.

Ah, fudge, what had I done? I’d been excited to get this car, but I did have a funny feeling afterward that maybe I’d acted too impulsively. And now that funny feeling was back in the pit of my stomach.

“I just wanted to take care of it on my own, you know?” I asked, turning toward him. He wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t mad, he wasn’t making fun of me. “That’s all.”

And then the tears came. Oh, for God’s sake. Between the emotions of picking up the dog this morning, the conversation with my mother, the excitement over getting the car, and now this . . .

“Hey, c’mere,” he murmured, and just like that I was in his arms.

And now that affected me. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the tears spill over.

“So stupid,” I sniffled. I nuzzled into his shirt, not caring that I was in the middle of the parking lot, just needing to be held. Was that so terrible? I couldn’t admit earlier that I needed someone’s help, but I could totally and completely admit that in this moment, in this space, I needed to be in someone’s arms. His arms, specifically. “Oh, God, I totally just sold my car for this beast didn’t I?” I laugh-cried, clutching his back.

He said nothing, which was wise. He merely pulled me closer, rocking me as I cried. When there was a tear stain the shape and size of Florida on his shirt, I finally pulled back. Clutching his arms, I blinked up at him. “What in the world am I going to do?”

“We’re going to go back there first thing tomorrow morning and get this worked out. Don’t worry about it,” he said, wiping away a lingering tear.

“Are you sure? What if they don’t take it back?”

“They will. We’ll work it out.”

“Sorry about your shirt,” I said, brushing at the wet spot.

“No problem. At least you managed to cry in the shape of a giant dick.”

“That’s Florida!” I cried out, no longer brushing but slapping.

“No, it’s not,” he insisted, holding my hands to stop the slapping.

I stopped and gazed up at him. “I’m so embarrassed. It’s just been a weird day.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, and I looked down at our held-together hands.

“Not really,” I whispered, and let go. “Sorry for busting in on your day like this.”

“Are you kidding? This was way more exciting than what I have planned next. I’ve got an owner who thinks her Chihuahua is depressed.”

“Does she want to buy him a car?” I joked.

He smiled, then changed the subject to a happier one. “Sammy’s doing well, by the way. He’s still under sedation, but you should be able to pick him up tomorrow.” As I started to clap my hands, he said, “After we get this car sorted out.”

“Thank you, Lucas,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”

“You’ve certainly made it interesting around here,” he said, his voice soft.

“Interesting good?”

“Hell, yeah, chickie baby,” he replied, his face lighting up.

I laughed, but he laughed even harder when I tried to roll up my stuck window. Ah, well—it was a nice day.

Chapter ten

Several weeks later

“No, no, you can’t put that there. You need to unload those around back in the shed.”

“You got it, Chloe.”

“Chloe, the Mitchells’ home visit went great! Can we approve them?”

“Do it! Let’s get Rocky outta here and on his freedom ride!”

“Got those flyers back from the printer, Chloe, you want them in the office?”

“Yeah, set them on my desk, would you?”

I blew the hair from my eyes, wishing I’d grabbed a headband this morning. Although, to be fair, when that alarm went off at 5 A.M., I hadn’t been thinking too clearly.

Might have had something to do with all that wine last night.

More likely, it had something to do with all that vomit last night. Not my own, thank you. Doggie vomit. Which you tend to step in when one of your charges sneaks a giant bag of Doritos, and then yaks it all up.

I blew my hair once more, mentally promising myself I’d grab a headband when I got back to the house for lunch. Right now, I had more pressing things to deal with.

“Hey there, cutie pies, how we doing today, hmm?” I cooed, leaning over the whelping box and counting puppies. Still six, and that was good. First litter delivered at Our Gang, which brought our in-house total to twenty-seven. Twenty-seven . . . wow.

We’d been officially open for business for a few weeks now, with the grand opening party tomorrow. And Our Gang was booming busy! We popped our doggie cherry with the wonderful and talented Sammy Davis Jr., and just kept on going. This latest population expansion was a surprise, the result of a stray we’d picked up that was pregnant and due any minute. She’d delivered two weeks ago, and my team had celebrated with an impromptu party and cherry Coke as a stand-in for champagne. Speaking of which . . .

“Hey, Jenny! Did you get beverages ordered for the grand opening?”

“Of course; you gave me that list weeks ago,” she called back, reminding me once again that I worked with the best. “How’re they doing?” she asked, appearing around the corner of the barn.