Page 85 of You and Me, For Real
Another waiter comes behind him with a tray of drinks. “Would you like a drink, Miss? We have Pawsome Punch or Furtinis.”
“What’s in them?”
“The punch is just punch, and the Furtini is a regular martini.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I select a punch.
He nods and walks away.
I study the guests at the party, trying to decipher who might be best to approach. Which ones look the most likelyto support a rescue foundation? My eyes keep darting to the patio, nervously waiting for Griffin and Scarlet’s reappearance. Instead, Wren appears.
Her smile is bright, even in the dim lighting. She’s wearing a bright kelly green dress with buttons down the front. Her hair is curled in loose cherry waves down her back. Churro complements her by wearing a green bandana. She peers out into the party, squinting slightly. Her eyes land on me, and she waves.
I give a quick, subtle wave back.
She makes her way through the crowd toward me. She greets multiple people, saying a brief comment to a few here and there before she reaches me.
A frown mars her face. She stops at the foot of my chaise lounge and places her hands on her hips. “What are you doing over here, missy?”
“Um, sitting?”
She perches on the edge of the chair next to my hip, Churro in her lap. “This is not the socializing we talked about.” Her tone is firm but teasing.
“I know. I’m just…studying my targets. Looking for my window of opportunity.”
She arches an eyebrow.
“Stalling?” I ask.
“There it is. Well, your wing woman is here now.” She stretches her neck, looking over the hedges. “Where’s Griffin?"
“He’s having a private chat with Scarlet.”
Wren quirks her head and studies me.
“I’m fine.” I infuse as much confidence into the statement as I can.
“I see. Well then, girls’ night it is.” She stands, brushing the non-existent dirt off her dress and looks at my elevated ankle. “How’s your ankle?”
I shrug. “It’s tolerable.”
She digs into her tiny purse. “Here, I brought you some ibuprofen just in case.”
My heart swells. Who knew having a girlfriend would be like having your own fairy godmother?
“Bless you.” I take the pills and pop them in my mouth, guzzling the rest of my punch.
The temptation to stay put glues my butt to the chair. History has taught me to avoid people. They only cause hurt and pain. But as I look at Teddy, one of my few constants over the last five years, and then at Roxy, my resolve to help other dogs like them pushes me to stand.
Wren holds out her hand.
I grasp it and I clasp it like the life raft it is.
“You ready?”
No. “Yes.”
“That’s the spirit! Okay, walking in, I saw Cynthia Martin. She’s obsessed with adopting rescues. Let’s start with her. You’ve got your cards, right?”
