Page 261 of Small Town Firsts
In truth, I didn’t care what they used the donation for. The wing that bore my name was new and they used it to care for the most critical cases. It seemed improbable that it would require anything this soon. But the shelter always needed supplies. Food, medication, incubators for the ill kittens, stuffed mama cats with soothing heartbeats, toys. The list was endless. Donations also went toward the cost of spaying and neutering and vaccines so when they had low-cost adoption events, the kittens were ready to go to their new homes right away.
“Oh, we appreciate this so much. You have no idea how many kittens you’re helping. How many families will gain treasured pets because of your kindness.” She couldn’t swipe and type fast enough. “We have coffee and donuts,” she added hastily. “Take anything you’d like.”
Probably leftover from earlier in the day. My mouth watered just the same. I did enjoy the occasional sugary treat, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I’d avoided April all week so I hadn’t had much opportunity to be tempted by her lunches.
That perfectly grilled burger and glass of Scotch would go down smooth.
I signed the credit card slip and made small talk for a few more minutes before I went out to my Lexus. Slipping behind the wheel into the cool air-conditioned silence normally soothed me. Eased some of the jagged edges of a tedious work week dealing with irate spouses and innumerable facets of marital law.
Add in a good bit of disgust at how humans treated other humans they’d once claimed to care about, and it was no surprise I made no time for relationships.
I’d wanted to go into entertainment law once upon a time. Preferably on the west coast where the sun never set and winter was rarely any colder than light jacket weather. LA had once lured me, the home of the fascinating world of the music and film industry.
Instead, I’d ended up working in my father’s firm handling cases where I made more money the more I screwed over the other client. Meanwhile, my carefree younger brother did the bare minimum and lived his own sun-soaked life no matter the season in central New York. Dex never seemed to notice the rain or the cold. In fact, he loved both. Loved every damn thing.
I was the grump tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel as I sat at a light on another lonely Friday night in my silent, barely driven car. I didn’t have time for leisurely drives anymore. I spent my life shackled to a desk.
And that was quite enough of my morose thoughts. I was free—for two days at least.
A short while later, I parked at the end of the long driveway of my home on the outskirts of Crescent Cove. On a clear night, I could see the glimmer of the lake from the second-floor balcony. I had a telescope out there and liked to check out the stars before bed. Sometimes I’d lower the scope and study the flickering lights in homes around the lake, wondering who lived there. What they were doing.
If anyone was looking out at me.
Blowing out a breath, I loosened the top couple buttons on my shirt and climbed out to walk up to my big, quiet house, looming in the near darkness with lights glowing against the glass. Every lamp in the place was lit, thanks to timers. I couldn’t stand coming back to a dark place.
I stepped onto the huge wraparound porch and debated sitting on the swing for a few minutes before heading in. It was a gorgeous August night, with the hint of chill in the air that reminded the summer-weary the sweetness of fall would soon be here.
And after that, the isolation of a frigid winter. The lake would be a gleam of ice then, deceptively beautiful.
My stomach growled as I gave the swing one last long look as it drifted in the slight breeze.
Later,I promised myself.
Dinner and Scotch first. A shower after that. Then I’d come out here and hope the creak of the swing could drown out my restless thoughts.
I went inside and poured my drink before heading out to grill on the back half of the porch. Soon, the scent of sizzling meat and vegetables filled the air, and the Scotch settled warmly in my belly.
Everything seemed a little easier when the edges disappeared.
When I’d sated my hunger and cleaned the kitchen—God knows I didn’t ever leave a dirty dish behind—I finally found my way to the swing. That shower was sounding better and better, but I needed the crisp breeze against my skin. The air was tinged with a hint of woodsmoke now.
Finally, I could fully unwind in peace.
So, why did I pull out my phone and scroll to a document I had deliberately not looked at all week?
Possibly boredom. Maybe self-destruction. Or my endless desire to prepare for what lay ahead.
As if I even could.
There wasn’t much on the page. Three references on the bottom, starting with April Finley. Her name and address on top.
Ryan Goddess Moon.
Alone in the darkness, I laughed out loud. I’d wondered if her last name was fictitious before. Now I knew it had to be.
Or my name was really Preston Lovechild Shaw.
The apartment she listed was a couple miles from here, closer to Syracuse and just outside Kensington Square, where my office was located. Well, wasn’t that handy?
