Page 40 of Tricking an Introvert

Tessa

Tessa took the weekends off, generally, for her sanity and to ensure she spent some time chilling out.

Today, she wished she were working.

She clock-watched, glancing at her phone, pacing her living room, trying to watch a show without managing to concentrate on it.

She had to admit that she’d expected Cole to get in touch, or come in out of the blue. And the fact that he didn’t—that he hadn’t by eight o’clock—was so very disappointing.

She shook her head in disbelief at her own neediness. Some guy spent time with her six days in a row and she considered herself entitled to news? How spoiled she was.

Fuck it.

She grabbed her phone and sent a damn text. Why the hell would she wait around on him.

How is it going?

Yes, it was lame. No, she didn’t care.

The response was almost immediate.

I was about to contact you…I didn’t know where to start.

Uh-oh. That was never a good sign. Never.

I have a huge favor to ask.

Tessa closed her eyes. She should have known this week was about some sort of endgame.

He was typing, according to her phone. She watched the oncoming train wreck, her heart beating too fast, too hard. How stupid had she been? She felt so very involved.

Some asshole dumped a dog out of their car right in front of us. We called the emergency vet, I brought him over, but Michael is allergic. My apartment complex doesn’t accept pets. Would you mind taking him in, just until I sort something out? I promise it’s not for long. I just don’t know many people who own their own house.

Wait, what?

Tessa stared at the screen in total shock.

If it’s too much, no problem, he sent as she remained stupidly wordless. Well, textless. I can find a shelter.

She finally unfroze.

You’ll do no such thing. Of course you can bring him. I’ll get treats and food. And a bed. How old is he, roughly? Dietary requirements? I can get a leash and collar or a harness too, what’s best?

Realizing it was eight o’clock on a Sunday night, she typed again.

Well, maybe not, if I can’t find a dog store now.

There are treats and food and leashes at the vet, I’ll get that. He just needs a roof over his head. Thank you so much.

A quick search revealed that a store on Broadway was open until ten; she ordered a ride there immediately, and shopped as fast as possible, unsure how long Cole and the poor baby would take at the vet.

She was back at her place, a heated bed, water bowl, food bowl, toys, and blanket under her arm, and she resumed her pacing around the room and ignoring the show on TV until Cole finally rang the bell.

The dog was a puppy with soulful brown eyes and a dopey smile. Also, he was her dog. She'd have to inform Cole of that eventually.

"Hello, my baby. How's the pretty puppy?"

He was perhaps six months old, and his fearfulness broke her heart.

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