Doggy day care was almost full. Her rescued Lab-mix and two senior cats had finally been adopted into their forever homes yesterday. Sophie ran some calculations, hoping that would be enough to cover Erin’s and Troy’s overtime. One day she wouldn’t have to budget by the hour. At least that had been the plan. In a notebook upstairs in her third-floor apartment, she’d designed an area for more kennels to offer long-term boarding services and allow her to take in more animal rescues. She’d mentally renovated the empty second-floor apartment for a vet’s office. She’d drawn the layout for her modern storefront. She’d visualized the growth of her business, visualized making the Pampered Pooch a full-service one-stop that catered to a pet’s every need, both house pets and service animals. Unfortunately, she’d never visualized the disappearance of all her money that’d ensure her future vision.
And, worse, she’d never visualized not living and working here, in this space. Their home. That rapping on the glass increased, the terrified tempo tripping through her. No, she wasn’t that forgotten little girl. She’d find her money and save everything.
Stepping around a crate of dog treats in the storage room, she texted an SOS to Ruthie Cain, her best friend since freshman year in high school. They’d bonded while waiting to be picked joint last for the volleyball team in PE. She strode through the cramped kennel area and pulled up short to avoid slamming into the male back filling the doorway. The man’s broad shoulders looked as if he could hold the weight of the world without stumbling.
But physical appearance wasn’t an indication of the size of one’s heart. She’d witnessed more strength of character in a thirty-pound toddler than in most grown men. That same toddler now stood just over four feet—a compact package of bravery, kindness and a pure heart who reminded Sophie every day that good still existed.
Her cell phone vibrated and she opened a new text from Ruthie. Help was less than ten minutes away.
“Excuse me.” Sophie stuffed her phone into her back pocket and squeezed around the man in the archway, but she didn’t manage to avoid contact. She popped out into the storefront and caught her running shoe on the wheel of the rolling cart. What was happening? She confronted the stranger, the rolling cart the only barrier between them. “This area has to remain clear.” And it wasn’t just for fire-code reasons.
“I’m attempting to clear the area now.” The man grinned at Sophie.
There was nothing symmetrical in the small smile that lifted only one side of his mouth, backed up into a sculpted cheekbone and sparked into his more green than brown eyes. She’d never quite understood that centuries-old fluttery feeling women described until now. She’d never liked being too warm or too queasy or too aware of those complicated emotional spots deep inside her. She blamed the single dimple denting his left cheek and wished he’d step behind the storage-room door. Instead, he studied Sophie as if she might be his next task on his own private to-do list. And made her wonder if she ranked first. Sophie told herself to focus and cleared her throat. “You need to move.”
“If you step aside, the cart and I can clear the doorway.”
Even his smooth voice appealed to her. But good-looking men were like designer shoes in the department store. She’d notice, acknowledge and keep moving. Designer shoes busted her budget; good-looking men busted more than her bank account, like her heart.
April slid a dented, damp cardboard box across the counter where she perched. “He offered to shelve the dog food in exchange for these little guys.”
Sophie held the man’s gaze and willed April not to open the box. Prayed April wouldn’t open the box. Sophie didn’t want to know what little helpless guys shivered inside. She couldn’t accept any more rescues. “Our kennels are full.”
“But there’re five wet and dirty babies in here.” April spread a lavender Pampered Pooch towel across the counter. “Five teeny, tiny kittens that can’t be more than four weeks old.”
Sophie gripped the metal handle on the rolling cart. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to look. It was a school day. She was losing her employee. And she had to find her father. Wasn’t that enough for a Friday?
Mewling and scratching sounds drifted from inside the cardboard and stuttered against her heart. She didn’t have time to call Dr. Bradshaw to examine the kittens or search for the heat lamp in the basement or reorganize an already too-crowded kennel. She had to save her home, not add more dependents to it. “We don’t have room for your kittens.”
“They aren’t my kittens.” He pointed over her shoulder. “I found them outside on your doorstep when I arrived.”
“I’m sure your vet will take them in.” Sophie tore off a corner of the waterlogged box flap and crushed it in her fist. That was the closest she’d get without risking her resolve. Neglectful pet owners, even the good-looking ones, made her tired and angry. “And while you’re there, pay to have your adult cat spayed to prevent this from happening again.”
“I’m not a cat person. I prefer dogs.” He shoved his fingers through his chestnut hair, creating spikes on top of his head. “Those baby kittens would be invisible next to the size of dog I prefer.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” she said. He was more appealing with his disheveled hair and earnest tone and tense dark eyebrows over his hazel eyes. He didn’t like to be doubted. Sophie didn’t like mistreated animals. Even more, she didn’t like that this stranger made her want to check her teeth for spinach from last night’s salad, pinch her cheeks for color and take off her baseball cap to fix her hair. Notice, acknowledge and move on. She’d noticed his charm. She’d acknowledged his good looks. Now she needed to move on. “I’m not accusing you of neglect or being a bad pet owner.”
“Suggesting is almost the same.” He rubbed his cheek, erasing his dimple. “In fact, suggestion is often confused with accusation.”
Tension sharpened his voice and narrowed his eyes. Being accused of lying did not sit well with him. Sophie didn’t care about preserving his pride. She was the voice for the abandoned and mistreated and neglected. “And we’re thankful you’re willing to surrender this litter.”
Her placating tone hit another mark. He thrust his arm out and pointed at the corner behind the counter. “If your security camera was installed and not lying on the floor like a forgotten doorstop, you’d have the footage to show that I picked up the box outside your door.” He leaned across the rolling cart toward her. “You’d also have the footage of the actual cat owner and you could harass that individual, instead.”
Sophie leaned toward him, dropping her voice to a low menace. “I haven’t even begun to harass you.” That might be laying it on a bit thick, but she wanted him as unsettled as he made her.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider it harassment.” His voice softened, the edge receding from his words. “You’re the self-appointed guardian of helpless animals.”
Sophie stretched into every inch of her five-foot-five-inch frame. “Seven years ago, I opened the doors to this pet store and doggy day care to give working pet owners affordable and safe options for their apartment pets. I offer training and socialization classes. I foster and meticulously match every pet to each family. I’ve never denied a return or surrender. If there’s a rescue organization in northern California, I’ve partnered with them. There’s no ‘self-appointed’ about any of it. This is my business. My life.”
“And my life is not animal neglect.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head, his gaze fastened on Sophie.
“There’s an all-white one in here.” April interrupted their stand-off.
Sophie held her breath. Don’t let it have blue eyes. Please, no blue eyes. Sophie needed the cart moved. Needed this man and his kittens gone. She couldn’t afford another rescue. She held the man’s gaze, refusing to even