Page 7 of Can't Help Growling in Love
Of all the days to ask this question…
Most days, I love it. I’ve never regretted choosing this career. But today was hard. Nobody died, but sometimes, it’s just as bad to see a person lose their ability to work or take care of their family.
I close my eyes for a second, then type some more.
I rode past the radio station today. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not a crazy stalker, I swear. If you never want to talk to me again, just block me, I’ll understand.
I send the message off, a ball of regret sitting in my stomach. Then I remember something else and add another line of text for Asher.
Missed theS&Schapter today. Hope it was a fun one.
I return to work, and the trajectory of my night turns upward. I help deliver a baby, a tiny bean who will no doubt grow up to be well over six feet if his grizzly shifter parents are anything to go by. I wouldn’t have been called in if it wasn’t for an emergency C-section that the OB/GYN team on call had to perform tonight. The Harmony Glen Hospital is small, so we all pitch in when needed. I stare with gratitude at the wriggling baby as I help measure and weigh him, then wrap him in a swaddle and hand him over to his mother.
“Good luck,” I murmur at the door as I’m leaving. “I hope you get some rest.”
It’s nights like this that are both the hardest and the most rewarding. The emotional roller coaster takes it out of me, and the thought of returning home to my cold, empty house is almost enough to make me consider just crashing here for a few hours.
I open my locker to change, and find another message waiting.
I’ve never had a stalker before. Makes me feel important. Here.
Pasted below is a link to a download site. I hover my thumb over it, then reconsider.
My mother taught me never to open strange links. (This is a lie. She would absolutely click on it without checking.) What is this?
Asher replies immediately, as if he’s been waiting for my answer.
Today’s chapter ofS&S.
My heart leaps at the thoughtful gesture. But I can’t resist sending off another text.
How do I know I’m talking to the real Asher Summers? You could be impersonating him. This could be a phishing scam to get to my bank account information (spoiler alert: don’t waste your time if that’s the case).
I shove my phone into my jacket pocket and stroll out into the parking lot with a renewed sense of optimism. It’s not flirting, exactly, this texting thing with Asher, but it has me feeling giddy all the same.
My phone pings as I’m navigating morning traffic on Lakeview Avenue, but I don’t stop to check my messages. Instead, I make myself wait, stretching out the anticipation. I even lock my bike on my covered porch, put away my helmet,and start the electric kettle for a cup of tea before I give in to temptation and open the message.
It’s a photo—but not the selfie I was hoping for.
Asher sent me a shot of what must be his recording studio at the station, featuring a battered copy ofSense and Sensibility, a pair of professional headphones, a complicated microphone, and a Monster Tunes coffee mug. But there’s also the reflection of the man behind the camera in the studio’s glass window—enough to get the general idea of his bulky shoulders and short-cropped hair, but not much more.
Tease. I grin at my phone like a fool and tap the link to download the chapter he sent me.
Chapter
Five
ASHER
Thank you for the recording, I loved it.
If you ever miss a chapter, let me know. We’re recording these to do replays later. All these old books are in the public domain.
Cool! Thank you. And if you ever need stitches… Wait, that sounds weird. Please don’t need stitches anytime soon.
I’m not a fan of needles anyway, so I tend to stay away from hospitals.
Oh, sorry. It’s a more common fear than you’d imagine. We see it all the time.
