Those late-night 'study' sessions at home. Her head on my shoulder during movies. The way she smelled like sunshine and possibility.
"She said they're your favorite," I manage, setting the container on the nearest surface—a wobbly folding table covered in what looks like a shitload of uncompleted adoption paperwork.
"Lemon blueberry." There's something softer in her voice now, almost wistful. "She always make these. She knows they're my favorite."
"She remembers everything about you."
The words slip out before I can stop them, and Mia's eyes snap to mine. For a second, the walls come down and I see her. The girl who used to laugh at my terrible jokes and steal my hoodies.
But then… the shutters slam back into place.
Dammit.
"That's so sweet of her." She turns back to the kennel, effectively dismissing me. "Tell her I said thanks."
I should leave. Take the hint. Walk away before I make this worse than it already is.
Instead, I take a step closer.
"How's he doing?" I nod toward the pit bull, who's watching our exchange with intelligent brown eyes.
"Poor guy is so scared and confused. Someone dumped him behind the grocery store with a note saying they couldn't afford him anymore." Her voice is steady, professional, but I hear the underlying anger. Mia's always been a fierce protector of the defenseless.
"That's fucked up."
"Yeah, well. People suck sometimes." She glances at me sideways, and I wonder if she's talking about more than just the dog.
"He's lucky he found you," I say quietly.
"We'll see. He might not be ready to trust again."
Yeah. Okay. She's definitely not talking about the dog.
"Sometimes the damage is too deep to fix," Mia finishes with a heavy sigh.
I want to argue, to tell her that's not true, that anything can be fixed with enough time and effort and love. But what do I know? I'm the one who did the damage in the first place.
"Mia—"
"Thanks for the muffins, Ryder." She's already moving toward the front of the shelter, making it clear our conversation is over. "It's late. I should finish up here."
I follow her like a lost puppy, scrambling for something, anything, to keep this going. To prove I'm not the same selfish kid who broke her heart and left town. That I know there is more to life than hockey. That what I did was stupid and immature.
"Listen, I was thinking. If you need help with anything—"
"I don't."
"Mia. I know the community program's over, but I could still—"
"I said I don't need help." She stops at the front desk, putting it between us like a barrier. "I've been managing just fine without you for eight years, Ryder. I think I can handle it. Okay?"
Ouch.Direct hit.
I deserve that. I deserve a lot worse than that, honestly.
"Right. Of course. I just..."
I run a hand through my hair, feeling like I'm seventeen again and asking her to prom. God, she looked beautiful that night. That emerald green dress that made her eyes shine, the corsage I fumbled with for ten minutes before my dad stepped in to help,the way she'd laughed when I nearly tripped walking up her porch steps.
