CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A few minutes later, we’re in the closet, sitting on a stool, the necklace box in my hand, as he changes into jeans, a black T-shirt, and black biker-style boots. Dash pulls on a sleek black leather jacket and says, “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
I push to my feet and reluctantly offer him the necklace, which somehow feels like letting go of a piece of myself. He slides it into the pocket inside his jacket and folds me close. “Instead of sitting in front of the computer, why don’t you look around your new home?”
It’s an obvious invitation to be nosey, his way of telling me he has nothing to hide. I’ve found his secrets already. Only, I’m not sure if that’s true. His real secret, or secrets, amount to what really drives him to fight. And I can only hope that one day he’ll trust me enough to share that with me. “I’ll be sure to dig in your underwear drawer. That’s where all secrets are kept.”
His lips curve. “Is that right?”
“Of course it’s right, though, on second thought, I think I’ll just work on the charity event. I’d prefer you tell me your secrets, not Tyler, and not your underwear drawer.”
His jaw grits. “My underwear drawer would be more accurate than Tyler. Remember that.”
I wrap my arms around him. “Don’t let him get to you, Dash.”
“He’ll be hard hit to get to me today, Allie. I have you here waiting on me, in our home.”
My heart softens. “Dash,” I whisper.
He kisses me. “See you soon, cupcake. And try to stop obsessing over Allison. Obsess over me.”
“That’s an easy request to grant.”
“Prove it when I get home. I’ll lock up as I leave.” He winks and releases me, disappearing outside of the closet. I follow him and catch up to watch him exit the front door. I’m alone in his apartment. Okay, our apartment. That’s trust. That’s an invitation to really be a part of his life. And all of this, after what I saw last night.
Allison left this life behind. She clearly had nothing enticing her into staying. She didn’t know the appeal of staying around for Dash Black, but I do.
For this reason, I fully intend to do as I’ve promised Dash by working on the charity auction, but when I sit down at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, I’m back on Instagram. There’s a photo of Allison, holding her cat on her shoulder. Her comments read: In life, we find good days and we find bad days. We find laughter, but there is also heartache, sorrow, and loss. We feel confident and beautiful and then awkward, confused, insecure, and vulnerable. In my life, I’ve found only one friend who loves me just as much on my good days as on my bad days. That’s my girl, Mandy. If you don’t know the unconditional love of an animal, consider finding out. That kind of love can change your life. Four Paws, a charity I volunteer for and love, is having an adoption day on Halloween. Please consider taking home a furry child that day.
The post touches me, it connects with me and speaks to me, on so many levels. We are all human. We are all insecure and lonely at times. She’s just described every reason I want to adopt a cat. And she just gave me my only clue to find her. I quickly google the animal rescue and key the number into my cellphone. After two rings a machine picks up, but the website says they’re open. To my surprise, they’re located right up the road. I’m already on my feet, headed upstairs to change clothes. It can’t hurt to just go to the shelter to see if Allison is there or if they know how to reach her. I do have a necklace to return to her. And I’m not against giving the kitties for adoption a little look-see. I can’t get one for me just yet, but my mother has actually been talking about one for a while now.
Either way, nothing can go wrong.
It’s just a trip to an animal shelter.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After changing into jeans and a cozy teal-colored sweater, paired with cowboy boots, I bundle up, pack up my briefcase in case I need it, and head to the shelter. Since it’s close, the chilly day makes for a brisk walk, but fortunately not a brutal walk. Soon I discover that the shelter is next to a coffee shop I enjoy, and apparently, I’ve walked by the shelter and thought it was a pet store many times in the past. Nestled in between rows of offices, stores, and restaurants, it’s painted adorably with brightly colored animals playing on the pop of green grass. I open the door and enter a small lobby. A blonde woman I place in her late thirties, maybe forty at most, pops to her feet to greet me. “Hi, I’m Jessie. Can I help you?”