Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

“Oh my God.” My voice catches in my throat. “Is he okay?”

“Scared, cold, and hungry, but I’ve warmed him up and given him some food.”

“He’s just a puppy. You didn’t give him regular dog food, did you?”

He chuckles. “It just so happens that I’m a veterinarian, so I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing.”

“Jesus. You must think I’m a horrible dog mom.”

“I’m not here to judge. I’m just happy he’s safe.” He clears his throat. “Though I have to ask why he’s got no identification.”

“I just got him today. The person who came over wasn’t aware I had a dog, and once he was startled, he was off like a flash.”

“Beagles are faster than they look.”

“Yeah. I’ve learned that.”

“Well, I know it’s Christmas Eve. So, if you want to arrange to pick him up tomorrow sometime—”

“No.” I clear my throat. “It was just going to be the two of us this evening, and I really need to see him.”

“Okay.” His voice softens. “I can give you my address.”

Monty yips in the background. Relief flows through me.

“I’m in the car. Can you drop me a pin?”

“I can. How long have you been out searching?”

“Since four.”

“That’s no way to spend Christmas Eve.”

“I think Monty had it worse.”

My phone chimes.

“Okay, I got your pin. I’ll be there in the next thirty minutes.”

“I’ll see you then.”

We disconnect, and the knot in my stomach loosens. It’s going to be okay. I’ll get Monty back, head home, and forget the last couple of hours happened.

AS I PULL UP TO THE white, two-story home with the gray and black stone accents on the bottom, I whistle. How much does a vet make yearly? Pulling into the driveway behind a forest green truck, I put the car into park.

He works on animals for a living, and he rescued a dog from the snow. So, he can’t be entirely awful, right? My mind flashes to Preston, and I cringe. What looks good on paper doesn’t always translate well into real life. I pat my purse reassuringly, thinking of the pepper spray I keep on hand. I’ll go in, thank him, and abscond with my dog. Simple.

Exiting the car, I rush up the walk, grateful for the porch that blocks the wind as I ring the doorbell and wait. The door swings open, and my jaw drops.

“It’s you,” we say at the same time. The insanely attractive, green-eyed man with brownish blond hair that falls artfully across his brow who saved me earlier is standing in front of me with Monty against his chest.

“Faye?” he whispers.

I nod dumbly. The man has caught me in two of the most embarrassing situations of my life. Can I please melt into a metallic puddle like Alex Max and disappear?

“James?”

“Yeah. Wow. What are the odds?”