Page 3 of Rookie's Redemption
I've been circling the block for ten minutes like some kind of baked-goods stalker, and I'm pretty sure Mrs. Henderson has been watching me through her window.
The shelter's mostly dark except for the warm glow from the main room. Mia's car is still here. That beat-up Honda withthe rescue organization stickers covering half the bumper. She's probably doing evening rounds, making sure everyone's settled for the night, taking care of everyone else except for herself like she always does.
I could just leave the muffins on the doorstep. Knock and run like I'm twelve years old.
But that would be the coward's way out.
And I've been a coward for eight years already.
"Fuck it,"I grunt to myself, grabbing the Tupperware and forcing myself out of the truck before I lose my nerve.
The bell above the door chimes when I walk in, but there's no sign of Mia at the front desk.
I look around and peer through the narrow hallway until I can hear her voice coming from the kennel area. She's got that soft, soothing tone she uses with scared animals tonight… The same voice she used with me the night I told her about my dad's heart attack junior year.
I take a quiet step closer, letting her voice lure me forward.
"I know, baby. I know it's scary being somewhere new. But you're safe now, okay? No one's going to hurt you anymore."
I follow the sound and find her crouched beside a kennel in the back corner, coaxing a trembling pit bull mix with gentle fingers through the chain link. Her hair's falling out of its ponytail, and there's a mysterious smudge of what might be kibble... or dirt... or—sweet baby Jesus, is that animal shit?
The forensic evidence on her cheek suggests this woman tackles literal crap that most people run from. Whatever it is, it's smeared on her left cheek and I just want to reach out and help her clean it off.
She's wearing that same faded flannel she had on in high school, the one that's too big and tousled at the edges. She's completely in her element. Beautiful in that effortless way that used to make me forget my own name.
Still does, apparently.
She looks up and sees me standing there like a goofy idiot, and something flickers across her face.
Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance.
Whatever it is, it's gone too fast for me to read.
"Well, well." She sits back on her heels, wiping her hands on her jeans. "If it isn't Iron Ridge's golden boy, making house calls again."
Her tone is dry as bone, but not cruel. Just careful. Like she's handling something that might bite.
I should be used to it by now. It's been this way since I got back to Iron Ridge. Mia trying to hide behind that wall she's built, pretending she doesn't feel anything when she sees me.
But I caught it at the Icehawks Community Outreach program when we were paired up by Big Mike, forced to work together as a team, like science glass in the tenth grade all over again.
That flash in her eyes when I walked in with the team. The way her lips twitched when I face-planted at the pet parade while juggling ten different leashes, looking less like a volunteer hockey star and more like a human kite being dragged by a canine mafia.
I managed to make her laugh, really laugh…twice.
Yes. I counted.
Because that's the thing about Mia Harper: she might act like I'm just another guy who passed through her life, but her eyes can't lie. They never could.
"I, uh." I hold up the container of muffins. "Mom made these. For you. The muffins, I mean. She made muffins. For you."
Cool. Coolcoolcool. Real smooth, Casanova.
Maybe next time I’ll just throw the muffins at her and sprint back to my truck.
"Muffins." Mia raises an eyebrow. "How thoughtful of her."
She stands, brushing dog hair off her knees, and I catch a whiff of her shampoo. Something citrusy and clean that brings back a rush of memories so strong I almost stagger.
