His lips quirked. “Willing?”
Eager. Desperate.I couldn’t give him that kind of leverage, though. “Yeah. Those puppies won’t be ready to adopt out for two months. I promise I’ll stick around long enough to get them to new homes.”
“You’re staying for the puppies?” A hint of wariness squared Theo’s shoulders.
Enough.I grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him closer, and kissed him right there on the sidewalk outside a law office. “Just the puppies. You’re a side benefit.”
For an instant, I worried he’d believe me. Then he laughed, slid a hand behind my head, and pulled me down into a longer kiss. When we took a breath, he said, “That gives me two months to work on your priorities.”
No work required.“I guess I can do the secretary thing,” I added, dizzy and happy enough to be stupid with it. “I need to put your address on the form, though.”
“You can totally use my Gaynor address. I’ll put down my San Diego one, then we won’t look related on the paperwork. Whatever Wynn thinks will be best.”
I kind of wanted to see us listed in the same place on an official document, but I could see where three people who weren’t fucking might look like a better nonprofit board. “Sure. Whatever. As long as we go back there together after we sign our names.”
“I promise. I can’t wait to see you back laid out on that big bed or under the rainfall shower with me, with a side order of you eating lunch in the kitchen and playing with your cat on the obnoxious white couch.”
The sun was dazzling my eyes, making the world too bright and refracted. “And cleaning the dog’s butt in the spare room,” I added. “Let’s go sign the damned papers.”
CHAPTER18
THEO
I hadn’t lied.Watching Shane move around the rental house was a series of little jolts of pleasure. Each time I glanced away from my computer screen, there he was, taking a mug out of the microwave, or watching Mimsy catch bugs in the back yard, or walking Foxy. I’d see him and have a moment of,there’s Shane. He’s still here with me.When he looked up and caught me watching, and smiled from under that unruly fall of brown-blond hair, it was like someone took my heart and squeezed.
I’d called that local realtor to get the ball rolling on a new house-flipping project in Gaynor Beach. No rush, though, because I’d decided to start remodeling the venue while waiting to turn it over to Arthur. Getting a head start on the renovations let me put the last of my grandparents’ money into the cash-strapped new shelter and would speed up the opening. That felt better than just handing Arthur a chunk of change once the nonprofit went through, like some benevolent benefactor.
And the project was fun. I didn’t have an architecture degree, but I did have a lot of experience. Shane had helped me look at a bunch of shelter layouts, to see what elements we needed. Figuring out a useful rearrangement of that damned place— tearing out a set of mirrors, putting in new walls where wine coolers would never again fit— was better than therapy.
“Hey,” I said to Shane, who was returning a book to my shelf. “What do you think about the dividing wall in the front room between the client lobby and the cat space? The ceiling’s nine feet but if I make the wall just seven feet tall, there’ll be more air circulation over the top and the lobby will feel roomier than if the divider goes all the way up.”
Shane glanced over. “Nope.”
“Huh?”
“Cats, dude. Smells, hair, plus if the room’s used for cats, there will be loose cats. Some will climb. I don’t care if that wall is seven feet tall, they’re gonna go over it. Then you have scared loose cats in the lobby. No bueno.”
“Seriously? Seven feet?”
Shane raised an eyebrow, then called, “Mimsy, come?”
The cat stood on the back of the couch, stretched, then trotted over. He gave her a treat, then pointed at the six-foot bookcase across the room. “Top!”
Mimsy sauntered over to the base, looked around, then took two fast leaps. Side table, then some kind of scramble up the side of the bookcase and she was on top, peering over the edge at us.
Shane made a click sound and reached a treat up to her. “Piece of cake.” He looked closer at the side of the bookcase and wet a finger, rubbing at a tiny scratch. “Sorry.”
“I think I’m going to buy this house,” I told him, even though that decision had just crystalized in my brain.
“Really?”
“I like it. I already feel more at home here than in my condo. I feel good about the solar and the gray-water system, like I’m living a bit more lightly on the planet.” I didn’t tell him that I liked seeing him in it most of all.
Shane turned in a circle, taking in the decor. “It’s kind of white.”
“Paint. Easy fix. New furniture. A couch Foxy won’t ruin if she climbs up on it.”
Shane’s eyes widened. “Are you keeping Foxy?”
