Page 44 of Jump

“I’m working,” I hiss. Stepping around him and thrusting the front door open, I shiver when the cold rushes in. But I extend my arm in case he’s not sure which direction to walk. “We’re closed, and you need to ask your roommate and property manager for permission to adopt a dog. Since you’ve done neither…” I point my finger toward the dark street, in case he missed my first several hints. “I have to get back to work.”

Unfazed by my rudeness—it’s like a love language for him, I’m certain—he follows me to the door, but instead of leaving through it, he grabs the handle and tugs the heavy steel shut with a bang. Next, he engages the locks and tests them to confirm they’re working. Then he looks down at me, his chest practically touching mine, and grins. “I read your book.”

My heart somersaults and threatens to jump out of my throat. “You…” I swallow the lump that works hard to choke me. “All of it? Already?”

“The shady fire chief annoyed me. He didn’t set the fires, so he wasn’t our ultimate villain, but I want it known that the chief pissed me off.”

“Th-the chief?” I wrack my brain, trying to sort through each player in a book I haven’t read in a year or more. “He was perfectly non-descript. The chief was hardly even a character in the story.”

“Exactly! But it was a firefighter story, Ana. He should’ve been front and center, leading his crew. Then their lieutenant should have taken charge next. Instead, we just have a truck full of firefighters, no leadership, and yet, the hero took on the role of lieutenant, but without the rank or pay that goes along with it.”

“Wow. You’re…” A laugh races along my throat until my chest bounces. “You want complete accuracy, huh? You didn’t even enjoy the rest of the book, because you were nitpicking the technicalities of a firehouse hierarchy?”

“No, I enjoyed it. I was only pointing out that giving a firefighter a love story that includes a firefighter could only lead to me wondering what the fuck was going on when the main male lead is barking orders when that wasn’t his job. Much like you would pick apart a book about a dog rescue facility if they forgot to feed, toilet, or walk their animals for the entire four hundred pages.” He glances over my head and, for the first time, studies my workplace. “We’re not asking for complete accuracy, but a little reality goes a long way.”

“You’re picking fights,” I decide. “And I have work to do.” So I turn on my heels and start back toward the Davieses.

As I come around the corner and into the room lined with cages, I find Phoebe sitting on her butt in the middle of the filthy concrete. Her tan-colored pants are no match for the dirt and grime beneath them, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry about the interruption,” I say. “I forgot to lock the door when you came in. But if you’d like to follow me,” I wait for Grant to pull his wife to her feet, “we can step into reception and get this paperwork sorted. I’ll make it as quick as possible, then you can get on the road, and hopefully beat the next snowfall.”

Ruiz

IT’S A BOOK CLUB

She’s beautiful when she’s angry.

Breathtaking when she’s in charge and ready to defend her little slice of the world.

She was coming to knock an intruder’s head off for daring to bother her after hours, but when she saw it was me, her anger made way for relief. For a second, anyway. For a single speck in time, she was pleased it was me.

Though of course, that was quickly replaced with fire. And the fire she holds in her belly sets me alight the way no damsel in distress ever could.

Seeing her afraid, if only for a moment, guts me. But seeing her ready to fight helps push aside a lot of the anxiety I’ve become accustomed to.

It’s my constant companion these days. My perpetual reminder not to get too close to anyone. But witnessing Viv fighting back pacifies my unease at least a little.

Now she’s calm, so while she signs and stamps adoption paperwork, I stand back and watch the trio—plus a little dog—interact. The wife is excited, energetic and nervous, to take her new family member home. And the dude is merely happy to see his wife happy.

Viv is pleased she gets to offload a pooch to a good family, so when they hand over their credit card to drop a stack of money in her account, she eagerly swipes the plastic and takes what she needs to keep Friendly Paws operational for another month.

By about eight-fifteen, Viv closes the door at the Davieses backs and circles around to work behind her desk. But she keeps an eye on me, too. Nervous because I’m in her space.

“Aren’t you cold?” She huddles into her shapeless coat and shivers as she prints something from her computer. “You only have a shirt on.”

“I wasn’t cold when I got here.” I lean against the back wall, dig my hands into my pockets, and kick one foot over the other. “I was out for a run, so I was pretty hot, actually.”

She lifts a single, challenging brow. “And now?”

I chuckle. “Now, my sweat has turned to ice, and my balls are inside my throat. You nearly done here?”

In challenge, she asks, “Why?”

“Because you’re my ride home. If I start running again now, I might die of exposure. You’re heading the same way I am, and we have things to discuss. So… a dozen birds, one stone.”

“I’d rather we simply didn’t throw rocks at birds at all.”

But she works faster. Signing papers. Punching holes in the side. She drops the sheets in a folder, and attaches the printout from the card machine as an afterthought. Then she snaps the folder closed and shoves it in place on a rickety, overstuffed bookshelf that is no doubt held up purely by its contents.

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