Page 71 of Fixing to Be Mine

“New articles about me were posted. They’re lying about me and saying I’m having a mental breakdown, that I’ve been unstable for weeks.” She pauses. “I’mpissed.” Her jaw tightens, and she blinks hard, like she’s trying to push the sting back where it came from. “They’re rewriting what really happened. They’re rewriting the whole damn story because I’m easy to villainize.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightens. I don’t know what I dislike more—that people are lying about her or that she’s been carrying this alone since she walked out on what should’ve been the happiest day of her life.

“Fuck ’em,” I say. “The truth always comes out. You’ll make it through this triumphantly. Promise.” I pull into the parking lot outside the shelter. “And if not, I’ll happily kick someone’s ass,” I offer.

“Not needed,” she says, chuckling, then finally turns her head to meet my gaze. “Thank you for everything. For accepting me and my mess.”

“I’m not here to fix you, darlin’. I want to be the man who stands beside you while you figure it out.”

“You’re not real,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“Ah, well, I can guarantee I’m not a figment of your imagination,” I say, and her smile is enough for now.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

STORMY

The gravel crunches beneath our boots as we walk across the parking lot to the front of the shelter. I swing the bag of money in my hand like it’s laundry and not twenty grand. It’s just money, and I genuinely love giving it away, especially to a good cause.

The building is small but clean, with flowerpots lining the windowsills. A bulletin board is near the entrance, covered in laminated flyers of lost pets and photos of animals available for adoption. A handwritten sign taped to the glass door reads in big red letters:The first weekend of the rodeo auction broke all records!

Colt holds the door open for me, and the blast of cool air makes me realize how hot it is outside. I might be getting used to this heat. Inside smells like dog shampoo, floor cleaner, and something warm and comforting, like sugar cookies. A candle flickers on the countertop. The receptionist’s head pops up from behind the desk, her smile wide and immediate.

“Well, lookie who the dog dragged in,” she says in a thick Southern accent. She’s older, very cheerful, with a bright smile, and bleached-blonde hair. Her name tag says Jenny. “It’s Mr. Valentine and the woman who nearly gave the entire town aheart attack last night. Everyone’s still talkin’ ’bout that—and may be until the end of time. Honey, I hope he gives you the date of your life.”

I chuckle.

“Oh, I’ll make it worth every damn penny. That’s a Valentine guarantee.” Colt rests his hand on the small of my back, and the simple touch has me buzzing.

“Thought I’d stop by and fulfill my obligation,” I explain, lifting the bag onto the counter.

Jenny raises both of her penciled-on eyebrows. “Sweetie, you don’t have a money order or a check? This is a lot for me to be carryin’ to the bank.”

“No, ma’am,” Colt replies, fighting a smile. “Never heard anyone complain about cold, hard cash. What’s this world comin’ to?”

He’s being playful, and I love it.

Another woman, who’s taller and younger, wearing a Valentine Animal Shelter T-shirt, emerges from the back room. Her eyes widen at the stacks of money. When she sees me, she smiles wide, like I’m an old friend.

Jenny fans herself with a manila folder. “Ember, come help me, please. I think I’m having a hot flash.”

As they count the donation, Ember chats freely. “You have no idea how much this will help us. It’s very generous of ya. Everyone round here is sayin’ you’re some sorta heiress or something. Maybe a princess.”

I freeze for half a second, then nervously laugh. Colt notices my unease, even though I believed I was a professional at hiding it. The subtle shift of his thumb brushing once over my back is enough to let me know he’s still right here.

“No comment,” I say lightly, trying to be playful. “But if I were a princess, I probably wouldn’t stay in an unfinished house with questionable central air.”

Jenny laughs. “Well, regardless of what you are or aren’t, we’re thrilled you’re here either way. Now, do y’all want to take a picture for our monthly newsletter? It’s optional, but I warn you, if we don’t get one, Maviswilltrack you down. She takes her manager job very seriously.”

“We’ll take our chances.” Colt leans against the counter, adjusting his baseball hat, like he’s done this a thousand times. “Mrs. Mavis will have to get over it. Don’t want to distract from the real stars in this place—the animals.”

“She’ll call your mama,” Jenny warns.

“Call her,” Colt says back.

“Oh, while you’re here,” Ember says to Colt, rushing down the hallway.

The door in the back opens, and before I can say anything, something soft and wet brushes against the back of my calf. I turn around and see a Border collie mix with oversize paws and caramel eyes, wagging his tail like we’ve been friends forever.

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