Page 1 of Quietly Falling
PROLOGUE
BODHI
NOVEMBER
The drive from Vetted Paws to the Poppy Seed barely gave my truck time to warm up, a chill slinking down my spine as if I’d lived in Tennessee all my life instead of moving here a few years ago. I’d be disappointed in my New Hampshire roots if I had any good memories to speak of.
But I don’t.
And it pisses me off.
Lucky for me, remembering my past has my blood running a little hotter in my veins as my boots hit the gravel, the cold all but forgotten. Tonight had been a success. The second annual adoptathon at the shelter had been bigger than last year, and I’d relished in being able to work—relatively unbothered—behind the scenes, filling and refilling the tables in the lobby with refreshments, namely pastries Rhea had donated from the Poppy Seed.
I volunteered to make the final run back to the bakery to return all the trays and supplies while everyone else continued to mingle.
I’d been all mingled out five minutes after walking in the door.
This is fine; you made it.
It’s sad I need a little mantra to help me through, but my social battery—apparently that’s a thing—has long since been depleted, and there’s nothing I want more than to just go home to my dogs and sit in the silence for a while.
The thought has the corner of my lips curving up—I’ll be home soon. Where it’s quiet.
The smell of sugar and cinnamon permeates the air as I grab the stack of serving trays from the back of the truck. I round the building to the side door, mindful of the ice on the sidewalk as I go, making a mental note to treat the walkway so no one slips.
Hand on the knob, I’ve barely turned it when the door bursts open, the edge slamming against the trays stacked precariously in my arms.
“What the—” I manage, the force sending me back a step, my balance thrown off as I try to steady myself without dropping everything to the ground.
And I would have.
But the second I step back, my boot lands on the patch of ice, my momentum too much to keep myself upright.
“Oh, shit!” a feminine voice squeaks as I crash to the ground, the trays and remaining pastries landing haphazardly next to me, my dignity gone like a puff of smoke in a windstorm.
Fuck, that hurt.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” It takes me a minute to place the sweet Southern voice tinged with worry and, if I’m not mistaken, a fair bit of amusement. “Are you—” She coughs, undoubtedly trying not to laugh. “Are you all right?”
“Never been better.” I grunt, rolling onto my side and levering myself up, silently cursing when it takes more than once to stop my boots from sliding under me.
“I’m really sorry,” she says again.
“It’s—”
The words die on my tongue as I stare into Ella Crane’s bright, amber-colored eyes, her cheeks flushed as the breeze whips tendrils of her blonde hair around her face.
She’s stunning—stunning in a way I’d never let myself see before, not in all the time I’ve been coming to the Poppy Seed.
“Here, let me help you,” she says, blinking at me before moving to grab one of the trays.
“I’ve got it,” I manage, watching as she floats around, almost like a bird gliding easily through the sky.
With a smile I’m not ready for, she turns and hands me the trays. “I really am sorry,” she says, her lips pressed into the most tempting pout.
“Thanks,” I say lamely, as I accept the trays from her and will my heart rate to return to something normal.What the hell is wrong with me?
“I have to run or I’d stay and help.”
