Page 46 of Ruined Vows
And everything slows.
I feel sweat on the back of my neck, the sticky heat of the afternoon, the ache in my calves from the heels I swore I wouldn’t regret. But none of it matters.
Becausehe’s here.
In a place he doesn’t belong. And the only person helooked for was me. He’s out of place. He’s not with bodyguards. He’s not looking to interrupt, but my heart thrums.
He’s everything I want, but shouldn’t—too dangerous, too serious, toohim.
But he came.
Heshowed up. He’s in the one place I swore he’d never be, but he is!
And he’s not making a scene. He’s not throwing his weight around.
My chest squeezes before I can will it away because he’s here to see me.
I don’t know what bothers me more—that he makes me feel seen, or that he’s better at noticing me than anyone has a right to be.
He walks toward me slowly, casual as anything, but there’s nothing casual in how he looks at me. It’s intimate. Direct. Like the rest of the fundraiser could burn to the ground, and he wouldn’t flinch—unless it touched me.
“You,” I say when he finally reaches me, “are wildly overdressed for face painting and free-range glitter.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t come for the glitter.” His eyes are intense. I’m lost in his gray eyes that hint at blue.
“Obviously,” I snark.
I should tease him. I should say something sharp. But all that comes out is the truth: “You didn’t have to show up.”
“I did.”
And that’s it. That’s the three words that silence me.
He reaches out, brushes a speck of something from my shoulder—his touch is soft, reverent—and then his hand lingers.
Not possessive. But protective. And I forget how to breathe. I gulp air because men like him don’t belong here. They select designer dogs and have staff to feed and walk them.
And yet—he fits perfectly into the space beside me.
He doesn’t say anything after I thank him for coming. He doesn’t gloat or make a snide comment. There’s no grandstanding.
He just stands there, still as stone, his hand dropping back to his side like he didn’t just short-circuit my central nervous system with a simple brush to my shoulder.
I shift my weight. I’m uncomfortable in a way I don’t hate.
“You want to see it?” I ask, nodding toward the back. It’s the least I can do. He’s a busy man, and he took time out of his day to be here. And oddly, I’m not upset he entered my space.
“The shelter?” His eyebrows furrow. He’s surprised I offered, and it only endears him to me more. He’s not asking me to entertain him.
I nod again. I’m holding my breath, waiting for his answer.
“The real part,” I explain. “Not the booth with cupcakes and face painting. You know, the actual reason we’re here.”
He doesn't hesitate after that and says, “Lead the way.” He extends his hand for me to lead.
The impromptu, makeshift tour isn’t fancy. It’s a converted space just behind the main event—modular fencing, crates, and kennels. Everything is clean and organized. It’s full of the soft sounds of wagging tails, squeaky toys, and the occasional bark that feels more curious than aggressive.
I glance at him as we walk. He’s looking at the dogs in the kennels, and he slows. His eyes are still sharp, and his mouth is thoughtful. He’s watching everything—especially me.
