Page 100 of The Mistletoe Kisser
“Come on, Stan,” he said. “We have some phone calls to make.”
The sheep pranced ahead of him on the way back to the house while Ryan pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Hey, Mom. I know it’s not Tuesday, but…”
27
It was after seven by the time an exhausted Sammy found a parking spot two blocks from One Love Park. Her muscles sang, her head ached, and her heart… well, it felt a bit dented. She’d been tempted to go straight home and dive headfirst into a shower. But missing out on the Winter Solstice and Multicultural Holiday Celebration wasn’t an option. She’d never missed a year. And despite her weary body and belly full of murdered hope butterflies, the lights and laughter coming from the park were too much to resist.
Besides, she wasn’t ready to face the ghost of naked Ryan in her bedroom… and living room… also the dining room.
She’d grab a bite to eat, a hot chocolate for old time’s sake, avoid Mistletoe Corner, and head home when she was too tired to remember how much she liked Ryan Sosa.
Solid plan.
It had been a long, tough day. The farm had been a series of dilapidated outbuildings, each one in worse disrepair than the one before. The owner was a frail seventy-year-old suffering from a mental illness.
Love hadn’t been the issue. But resources and cleanliness had.
Thanks to the efforts of dozens of people—some professionals, some volunteers—forty-two animals were in safe homes that night.
A local farmer with two daughters in 4H had taken the four painfully thin Jersey cows. An organic lavender farm stepped up to take the goats and chickens. Two dog groomers showed up with their mobile grooming van and volunteered for several hours. Once checked and groomed, the dogs and cats—so many of them—had been divvied up between three foster rescue networks.
Best of all, thanks to the Blue Moon gossip group and a sympathetic TV news reporter, adoption applications were already pouring in.
The helpers, the people who showed up and stepped up, were what gave Sammy hope for the world. Especially on her darkest days. But today, she couldn’t help but think how much closer she’d be to making a bigger impact if she’d prioritized those grant applications.
It was a painful lesson learned.
If Ryan Shufflebottom had helped guide her toward veterinary medicine, Ryan Sosa had dragged her to a mirror and made her take a hard look at her priorities. She would do better and have Wrong Ryan to thank for it.
“Happy Solstice, Dr. Ames,” Mrs. Quan trilled from the other side of the street. She had a wreath looped over her arm like a gigantic purse. It jingled with every step. Apparently, the festival committee had found a more reliable wreath maker.
“Hi, Mrs. Quan,” she called back with a weary wave. She turned the corner and let Blue Moon in the middle of a good time draw her back to the present. The drumming circle was working their way through holiday classics. The scents of roasted peanuts and wood smoke mingled together while thousands of Christmas lights glowed above and around the festivities.
“Sammy!” Layla, in her deputy’s uniform, waved her down.
Sammy crossed the street. “Hey,” she said, hunching her shoulders against the cold. They hadn’t talked since the lecture at Peace of Pizza and she didn’t have it in her to jump into an argument.
“So listen,” Layla began, falling into step with her. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”
Someone walked by eating a slab of lasagna out of a biodegradable container. Sammy’s stomach grumbled. She’d missed lunchanddinner and had been forced to break into her protein bar stash between animal exams.
“Apology for what?” Sammy asked.
“For the tough love routine yesterday,” Layla said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her Blue Moon Sheriff’s Department coat.
Sammy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was overdue.”
“I also wanted to say that Ryan seems like a pretty decent guy,” her friend said, keeping an eye on a toddler trying to gnaw his way through the child safety tether attaching him to his father’s parka.
Sammy wondered how long it would take before she could hear his name and not feel painfully disappointed. Or think of him without her vagina rising for a standing ovation. It had only been about twelve hours since he’d last wowed her. She’d give it some time.
“Yeah. He was pretty great,” she said lamely.
“Was?” Layla asked. There was something inappropriately smug about her smile.
“His old job called him this morning and wanted him back. He’s probably deplaning right about now,” she guessed.
