Page 49 of Grump Hard
“He did mention urgent emails in his text this morning,” I say.
He did, but my spidey sense is still shouting that something’s not right.
“Exactly.” Candy puts an arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. “You’re spiraling for no reason. Everything’s going to be fine. You guys had an incredible first date and days of cutey patootie texts. That doesn’t just evaporate overnight.”
I nod, willing myself to believe her. Friday night was magical, and so were our texts. He flat-out said he liked me, for goodness’ sake, which I know is a huge deal for someone like Luke.
He’s probably just still recovering from being sick and scrambling to catch up on missed work, that’s all.
I know that drill. I was sick during prime pet portrait season two years ago. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck until sometime in February. Getting behind is no joke when you’re a solo entrepreneur.
Or, I would imagine, when you’re the head big boss in charge of a giant international company.
“Right,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “This is silly. I’m going to stop worrying and enjoy the day.”
Candy grins. “As you should. Now come on, let me help you finish setting up your station before I have to head to work. These fur babies are going to need glamour shots to celebrate sealing the deal with their new families.”
We head over to the small tent where I’ve set up a backdrop and lighting for adoption photos to give new families a keepsake of their special day. It’s one of my favorite volunteer gigs, honestly. There’s something about capturing that first moment when a family finds their new best friend that never gets old.
I’m adjusting the backdrop—a cheerful winter scene with snowflakes and pine trees—when Candy coos from behind me, “Well, hello there, Mr. Ratcliffe. Don’t you clean up nice?”
My heart does a gymnastics floor routine as I turn, fighting to keep my anxiety from showing on my face.
Luke stands at the edge of the tent, looking yummier than ever in dark jeans and a cream Fair Isle sweater. His hair is slightly windswept, his jaw shadowed with just enough stubble to remind my cheeks how nice it felt to kiss him, and for a moment, the hormonal storm raging inside me is so intense I don’t notice the stiffness in his posture.
But then our eyes meet, and the rock in my stomach turns into a hunk of lead.
His expression is totally blank.
Not warm, not cold, not happy or sad or nervous or irritated, just…empty.
The thought that he’s been body-snatched by aliens flits through my head as I say in a wobbly voice, “Hey there. Right on time.”
“I said I would be.” His tone is polite, but distant, like we’re strangers making small talk at a bus stop. “Where would you like me to start? I assume I should collect a vest from the volunteer table?”
I blink, my head still spinning.
What do I need him to do? How about be normal? Be Luke? How about giving me the slightest hint what the heck’s going on with him right now?
But I can’t say any of that, not with Candy standing right there and dozens of people milling about, expecting holiday cheer and cute critters, not raised voices and interpersonal drama.
“Um, well, I… I thought,” I fumble, trying to inject some warmth into my voice as I motion to my right. “I told Janet, the organizer, that I thought you would be a great help with the anxious dogs. You did so well with them at the photo shoot, and some of these guys aren’t happy to be in a noisy environment. We just need someone to sit with them, walk them, whatever it takes to help them relax and put their best foot forward for the adopting families.”
“Got it.” He nods. “I’ll check in with Janet and get to work.”
“Great!” My voice is too bright, forced, and I hate it. “Oh, and I heard Elliot, Bran, and Ashton went caroling the other night in Reindeer Corners. Did they have fun? Candy said they swung into the inn for homemade meringue after the?—”
“They had a wonderful time, yes,” he cuts in. “Big fans of the hot chocolate.”
Before I can ask what he did Wednesday night, while his siblings were out having fun, or apologize again for needing to cancel, he’s gone, striding smoothly toward the volunteer table.
I stand frozen, smile crumpling.
Candy sidles up beside me, her voice low. “What the hell was that?”
“I have no idea,” I whisper back, my throat tight.
“His brothers and sister were so nice,” Candy says, shaking her head. “Like, really nice.”
