Page 18 of From Nowhere

“Got it?” Ozzy asks.

After a quick adjustment, I nod. “Yeah.”

As we make our way back to Reagan’s, Ozzy says, “Don’t forget to pet Kentucky.” He strokes Slim’s back.

“I’m too afraid to loosen my hold. Poor Kentucky will just have to settle for an emotionless rescue. Besides, should we reward them for running away?”

“You’re a real hard-ass.” Ozzy laughs.

“I’m decisive and firm. That’s what my boss says about me.”

“Well, my boss says you’re a badass.”

I glance up at him. “Taylor said that?”

“He sure did.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from overflowing pride. It’s always gratifying to hear men compliment women in jobs that have been dominated by men forever.

“You found my little rascals! I was about to give up. Thank you so much.” Reagan opens the door to the pen.

“You’re welcome,” Ozzy says while we set them on the ground. “Maren spotted them. She’s got a great eye.”

I roll mygreateyes. It was luck. “Good night,” I say to Reagan.

“I owe ya, neighbor.”

“You don’t,” I say while pivoting and leading Ozzy back to my house.

“I wondered what dating would be like after all these years,” Ozzy says. “It’s a lot different than I remember.”

I giggle, kicking off my sneakers and heading to the kitchen to wash my hands while he follows me. “Our pizza is cold.”

“Who cares? I’d eat anything. Wrangling chickens works up an appetite.”

I pass him the dish towel, and his hand touches mine. For a few seconds we stand idle, both holding the towel, skin on skin. It’s simple and innocent, yet electrifying. Attraction is addictive. It’s a slow dance to a favorite chorus, one note—one heartbeat—at a time.

Before my blush hits the boiling point, I turn and sit at the table.

He joins me. “I have to leave soon,” he says before eating his pizza.

I glance at my watch. It’s nine fifteen.

“I said I’d be home by ten.” He corkscrews his lips.

“Well, your clothes should be dry.”

He nods. “We should do this again.”

“Minus the chickens?”

“If being with you involves chickens, then I’ll deal with chickens.”

Tipping my chin to hide my smile, I murmur, “For someone who hasn’t been on a date in years, you’re pretty good at it.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” I lift my gaze. “It’s effortless. You say all the right things, not because you’re trying. It’s just”—I shrug—“kind people say nice things, and you’re a genuinely kind person, Ozzy Laster.”

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