Page 50 of Vetted for Vengeance
“Could we get both of you to sign, please?” She turns the card hopefully towards Noah.
“Uh, me?”
“Oh, yes. I absolutely love how well you know all those dogs. And Toffee's puppies. How do you tell them apart?”
“I name them based on characteristics, so whatever they remind me of is their name.”
“So Toffee is her color? That is so clever.”
Noah writes his name under mine, and it's adorable. The N and h look fine, but the o and a loop together in a squiggle that looks suspiciously like a little heart.
“So you don't hate me for working on the farm?”
“You were a hero. An inspiration to all of us.”
Noah signs another card, still looking slightly bewildered.
He still looks surprised every time someone smiles at him, as if he’s waiting for it to turn.
For the moment they realize what he was and take it back. They don’t.
Like someone who expected the world to hate him and hasn’t quite worked out that it doesn’t. We sign cards for another two minutes until our first course arrives and everyone gives us peace to enjoy our food.
“They don't hate me,” Noah mutters. “They actually like me.”
He says it quietly, as if it might break if he says it too loudly.
Like it's something fragile. Borrowed. Temporary.
I’ve seen men beg for their lives with more certainty than that.
I'm not sure anyone could hate him.
Not even the room full of strangers staring at him.
And for once, I realize I’m not watching the room.
Not tracking exits. Not measuring threats.
I’m watching him.
Chapter twenty-six
Noah
I've just had the best evening of my life. Dinner out with the amazing Rhys Calder, treated as his equal by fans. I can't get the grin off my face, and it's making drinking embarrassing as lemonade dribbles down my chin.
“We should leave,” Rhys smiles, tossing me his napkin.
“I feel like I could float home,” I confess.
“I'll tie you down before I let that happen,” Rhys growls, his tone dropping to a more dangerous octave. My eyes snap up, fixing on his. My grin finally drops, but not because I'm afraid.
No. It's something deeper than that, and suddenly the air around us feels warmer.
As Rhys pays and I struggle into my borrowed jacket, I feel eyes on me again. I've dealt with it all night, but the mood has changed. These eyes don't feel quite so friendly. I've braved my fans this evening. It's only fair to face my critics, too. But as I turn, there's no one there, just an empty table and a large window overlooking the garden.
“Ready?” Rhys asks, gently turning me away from the window while his gaze lingers behind me.
