Page 46 of Borrow My Heart

“No, he was getting off work when I was picking up Bean. He asked. I figured we could use an extra body.”

I studied Asher’s face for a reaction, but there was none.

Bean became restless at my feet and tugged on the leash to head back to the table.

“Oh, now you want your drink?” I asked him. He smiled up at me. “If only you knew we were doing this all for you, you cute little jerk.” I met Asher’s eyes and nodded toward the others. “Shouldwe…?”

“Yeah.” He lingered for a second longer, like he wanted to say something. But Bean was tugging my arm and instead Asher laughed at him and led the way back.

“Who won anyway?” Brett asked when Asher and I reachedhim.

“I think Bean did,” Asher said.

“I think that dog lost big-time,” Chad said. “Not sure there will be many prospects with that footage.”

I bit my lip. He was probably right.

“The only loser today is my pants,” Dale said.

That earned a laugh from Kamala.

“I heard they were expensive,” Brett said.

Dale threw his empty doggie coffee cup at him.

“Will you AirDrop me the video?” I asked Kamala.

“Yes, of course.” She pulled out her phone and pushed several buttons.

“Ooh, I want it too,” Brett said.

Then everyone had their phones out and were accepting the video from her.

“Just don’t post it anywhere,” I said. “I have to mess with it.” The whole point of this activity was to show Bean looking lovable. I had my work cut out for me.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dale said.

“We better get Bean back to the shelter,” I said. It closed at five on Saturdays and it was almost five.

“Bye, Wren,” Asher said, squeezing my arm again, his eyes twinkling.

“You’re such a punk.”

Rule:The only person who should give you butterflies is an entomologist.

I was curled up on the couch cradling my stomach when my dad walked in a little after seven o’clock. He was late.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, hanging his keys, then sitting on the bench and unlacing his boots.

“I ate dairy a couple of hours ago and now it’s rotting in my stomach refusing to come out.”

He tucked his boots under the bench. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

He sat down next to me smelling of grease and sweat. He reached for my head like he was going to pat it, but he must’ve noticed the condition of his hands, lined with grime, because he dropped them into his lap instead. “Can I do anything for you?”

“When the time comes, just let me die. Don’t resuscitate.”

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