Page 24 of All You Need Is Love

Chapter 5

This morning was soooo not the time for a lack-of-sleep headache.

But it seemed Shannon’s body didn’t care that the foster care agency’s social worker would arrive for her interview any minute. Her temples went right on throbbing.

Groaning, she flopped onto the edge of her lavender couch, accidentally pulling a folded quilt from its spot on the worn arm. Lucky trotted over and placed his head in Shannon’s lap, whining to show his sympathy.

“Whatever.” She leaned down and touched her nose to his. “You slept hard all night. I heard you rumbling away.”

Lucky’s snores had served as background music for the movie playing over and over in Shannon’s head—the one where she had been the star for once.

And, oh yeah, had also totally embarrassed herself in front of the entire family.

It hadn’t mattered that after her and Marshall’s performance, she’d been overrun with compliments from cousins, uncles, aunts, her parents, and her grandma. She’d seen the accusation in Quinn’s eyes right before she’d very obviously claimed her man with a kiss.

Thing was, Quinn had been one hundred percent right.

“I should have said no to the whole thing, right, Luck?” And yet, it had felt good to sing in front of everyone. Scary, but good.

Even better to sing with Marshall.

Her stomach grumbled, protesting Shannon’s lack of breakfast. But with an hour of sleep before her alarm had angrily awakened her this morning, she’d pushed Snooze one too many times before realizing the social worker was due to arrive in thirty minutes—barely enough time to shower, get dressed, and blow-dry her hair.

She glanced at the distressed vintage-looking white clock above her television. The social worker would be here in about five minutes. Maybe she could just ease back and close her eyes …

Insistent knocking and a bark made her jolt. Shannon’s eyes burned with dryness. What was going on?

Shannon glanced at the clock. Five minutes past nine. Oh no. She must have fallen asleep.

Lucky paced at the top of the stairs, which led down to her front door. The ringing of the doorbell echoed through the apartment, and more knocking followed.

Someone was definitely here. The social worker. How long had she left him standing out there?

Bolting to her feet, she stumbled, grabbing her still aching head. Shannon took Lucky by the collar, shoved him into her bedroom, and hurried down the stairs to the front door where she found a scowling middle-aged man with a phone against his ear.

He shoved the device into his pocket. “Are you Shannon Baker?”

“I am. And I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

The squat man wore a short-sleeved, button-up shirt tucked sloppily into khakis, and his right hand clutched a file folder. “I’ve been standing here for five minutes and thought I must have the wrong place. Of course, all of these condos look the same.”

His nose wrinkled as he looked past her. All that was visible at the moment was worn carpet and family pictures lining the walls as the stairs ascended.

“Sorry again. Please come in.” Shannon stepped aside. “Mr. Peters, isn’t it?” How her muddled brain had managed to remember that, she had no clue, but she shot up a prayer of thanks.

“Yes. Arnold Peters.” He stood there, obviously waiting for her to shut the door and lead the way.

Shannon’s movements were slower than she’d like—oh, why hadn’t she taken the time for some tea or even coffee this morning?—but she managed to close the door without incident. “Follow me, please.”

She started up the stairs and her vision blurred for a moment. Shannon tilted sideways on one of the steps. Pausing, she rubbed the corner of her arid eyes.

“Are you all right?”

If she tried to look back at him, she’d fall for sure. “Mm-hmm.” After a deep inhale, she took the steps slowly and finally made it to the top. Steadying herself, Shannon crossed the room—past the couch, past the mantel and bookshelves, past the built-in corner desk—and arrived at the small, circular table next to the tiny kitchen, where she slid into one of the four chairs.

Mr. Peters dawdled along, taking in the home with sweeping glances. The condo may be small, but Shannon hoped that everyone who entered her home felt a sense of calm and peace, which is why she’d chosen to decorate with pastels in a shabby chic style. It made her happy to see the wooden side table she’d found at a garage sale and refinished herself, the walls she’d covered in light floral wallpaper, the knickknacks and photos she’d arranged in a collage on the dining area wall.

But what did Mr. Peters see? Judging by his frown, he wasn’t impressed.

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