Page 45 of Ruined Vows
I smile.
Let the game continue. I’m curious what he’ll pick for our next date.
It’slate in the afternoon when I head to the fundraiser.
The center is already buzzing with activity by the time I arrive. The long tables are draped in white, and shelter dogs in bandanas walk around on leashes and are in a makeshift pen in the courtyard.
I nod to the volunteers, who wear branded T-shirts and heart-shaped sunglasses. The theme was my idea: hearts. Quite simply, it’s chaos. Kids are running around on a mission to find their next best friend. Pop music adds another layer of noise.
I’m happily surprised that more donors gave than I expected. I nod to board members and say hello to familiar faces.
Someone hands me a clipboard. I slide into action.
I focus on the dogs to keep my mind off the man who has disrupted my life.
Their wagging tails.
The way a little girl beamed when I handed her a leash.
And for a while… I forgot to be angry. I forgot to be on guard.
I justexist.And it feels good. It feelsreal.
The scent of kettle corn wafts in the center—the refreshing scent of a medicated dog shampoo clings to the air. I haven’t sat down in four hours. I’m so immersed, I didn’t realize it’s getting late.
I’ve taken exactly three sips of lukewarm lemonade, stepped in something suspiciously sticky near the puppy kissing booth, and I’m starting to get glitter in places I didn’t know could sparkle.
And then I feel it—that shift in the air. I brush it off. It’s my imagination. He wouldn’t be here. This is a place for smiles, cotton candy, and sticky fingers.
The hair on the nape of my neck spikes.
It’s as if gravity has decided to lean left, and now the Earth’s axis is in question. I turn—because, of course, I do.
And thereheis.
Vukan Petrovic. Dressed in black like the reaper himself. Like a seasoned veteran who just decided to show up at a PTA bake sale. Only it’s an Adopt a Dog event.
And it just so happens to be a cause that’s close to my heart. The fact that he is here must mean hell has frozen over.
This is an event that he wouldn’t know I would be at.
Or did he?
I take him in. Dark jeans. Black boots. A charcoal-gray button-up rolled to the elbows. His sleeves strain over inked, meaty forearms.Hisbody. A body that has no business looking that good in daylight. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but I don’t need to see them to know they’re locked on me.
Of all places.
This fundraiser. These families. This mess is controlled chaos filled with noisy kids and barking dogs! This is not where a man like Vukan goes willingly.
And yes, he walks through the center like he owns it—and somehow he doesn’t disrupt a thing as he moves through it. He’s the calm in the middle of chaos.
The crowd parts instinctively, like even strangers recognize he’s not the kind of man you bump into casually. And he’s not the type of man one would want to piss off.
He doesn’t say anything when he reaches the donation table.
Just slides an envelope across the surface, gives the coordinator a single nod, and turns to leave, except he doesn’t go.
And that’s when his eyes meet mine.
