Page 44 of Dear Pink

“No. Stay.” I shout the demand like a dog command. I change to a softer tone. “Really, stay with your friends. Have a beer.”

Before he has a chance to argue, I dash out of the bar, already calling for an Uber.

Chapter 13 - Hannah

3. Adopt a pet. Fill your house with life. I see you panicking from way up here (a little death humor). It doesn’t have to be a puppy or a kitten. Get an older animal. Someone to talk to instead of yourself. I can’t haunt you forever.

I sip my coffee and reread the bucket list. Libby grew up with a pack of greyhounds. Of course, she’d demand I get a pet. Dad’s severe allergies and Mom’s dislike of indoor pets ensured we never adopted a four-legged friend. As an only child, any kind of animal would have been nice.

I walk to the kitchen to check my wall calendar. I should ride this morning, but I haven’t planned anything else for the rest of the day.

Go to pet adoption day.

I ignore Libby’s persistent voice and open my new sketchpad.

You can’t avoid me all day.

I shake off Libby’s nagging and draw a girl with long braids and tall Doc Martin boots, her eyes wide and searching. I add a unicorn on a leash. I sigh, disappointed there won’t be unicorns for adoption, turn the page, and begin another illustration. This time a new image emerges from under my pencil. The shoulder-length hair falls in wisps across the side of the face. The strong jawline and full lips shout sexy. I study the page, and Gabe stares back, irresistible even in charcoal.

You want to see him. And you have to adopt a pet. This is excellent timing. Go.

Libby’s blunt voice pokes me. She’s right. The timing is convenient. But what if I drive there and Elise is the head volunteer? Her glowering at me everywhere I turn isn’t my idea of fun.

So, glower back. Libby insists.

I snort in hysterics because she understands I long to shoot actual daggers at the woman.

I flip the notebook page and focus on an empty space. I draw a catapult filled with metal daggers. In front, stands a tall willowy woman. Her sunglasses hide the menace in her eyes, but her mouth betrays her evil intentions. A petite woman with short pink hair works the catapult. She releases the lever and the silver spikes fly, impaling the woman. How do you like those apples, Gweny? I hold the drawing and cackle maniacally. Not so docile, am I?

After releasing my frustration onto the page, I close my sketchpad and rise. “Okay, fine. I’ll go to adoption day and check out the pets, but after I get my morning bike miles.” Libby’s silent because she’s familiar with my procrastination tactics, but if I don’t train for this race, I won’t make it 100 yards.

***

After my ride, my Honda is hot and sticky. It’s noon and already 105 degrees outside. I blast the air conditioning and stick my face in the vent. Perhaps they'll cancel the function on account of the heat. Knowing Gabe, though, I bet he set up canopies and fans galore. He did say adoption day was his favorite event. Ugh. I drive away and head to Gabe’s clinic.

When I roll up to the parking lot facing McKinney Avenue, I spot cages under several tents, masses of people milling around, and a food truck. Bright colored balloons and streamers decorate everything. The clinic parking lot is gone and a street festival stands in its place. The only detail missing is bouncy houses.

I assumed there’d be a handful of people, so I’m unprepared for a crowd. I examine my pink bike gear and though the sweat dried, I stink. I should go home and change, but with the temperature already steaming, I’d melt into a hot mess in seconds. Maybe I won’t run into Gabe. He’s probably busy anyway.

I stroll among the animals, smiling at volunteers in bright green T-shirts with Russo’s Animal Clinic on the front. Every cage I pass, an eager worker asks if I want to walk a dog or play with the puppies in the fenced pens. I politely wave them away. Libby’s list requires a pet, but my work schedule keeps me away from home most of the day. A dog would be alone too much. I shouldn’t get attached to a sweet-eyed puppy I can’t adopt.

I head to the cat section. Cats are comfortable alone. I can adopt two. I discover a cage in the corner with one small cat inside. A mangy, white kitten with a black spot on its head and bright green eyes pleads with me to love him. I read the sign posted on his cage: “My name is Otis. I love my chew toy mouse.”

He draws me in, and I kneel in front of the metal cage. “Oh, sweet kitty,” I say to the small ball of fur. I poke my finger inside to touch him, and the fluffball hisses. His quick paw strikes, and I stumble backward, sucking on my bleeding finger.

A Green T-shirt runs towards me. “Don’t touch that little guy. He’s unaccustomed to humans and in rehabilitation. In a few weeks, he should be ready for adoption, but only limited exposure for today.”

“Okay,” I say, and grimace. Yikes. This is an ominous sign. The one pet enticing me is anti-human and scratches eyes out for fun.

As I leave the cat area, I spot Mr. Fancy. He sports adorable blue animal paw scrubs, and I itch to grab his thick blond hair pulled into a ponytail. He doesn’t see me yet. I could sneak off undetected, except my feet are full of gorilla glue.

Gabe holds two tiny grey kittens, one in each hand. He kneels in front of a little girl and her mother. Oh, geez. The girl has to choose between the two kittens. This will end in disaster. I bet they take both. The mother frowns because she recognizes the writing on the wall too. The girl snuggles the two kittens under her neck and seals the deal. When she hands her mother one, the puff ball licks her face, and the mother laughs, nuzzling him as her daughter did. Yep, done deal. Gabe beams. I remember he told me the adoption fair is like witnessing magic, love at first sight. I agree. The beautiful moment makes my heart sing. Gabe does too. My legs turn mushy.

I left the bar last night with no plan of contacting him. His intentions aren’t clear, and I won’t get stuck in the middle of a ridiculous love triangle with his ex, Elise. I thought for a moment he used me to make her jealous, but he didn't even realize she was at the bar. He focused only on my eyes. Last night, Elise targeted me with her scary glares, meaning to intimidate. I’m embarrassed to admit she achieved her goal.

My face reddens remembering it. Who wouldn't be intimidated by her? Elise must be a supermodel, and with my terrible luck, she’s probably also a nuclear physicist or a research scientist bent on ridding third world countries from disease and famine. How can I compete with a woman who’s won the Nobel Peace Prize and graced the cover ofVogue?

Self-doubt creeps up my neck. I can still sneak away before Gabe spies me. He didn’t invite me. He might not even care if I’m here. I ran out of the bar without much of a decent excuse. He probably thinks I’m a spaz.

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