Page 25 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Each item hit like a dart—small and impossible to ignore. By the time he got to ‘emergency protocols,’ my teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached. My pulse kicked up, thrumming in time with my heartbeat. Heat crawled up my neck. “Emergency protocols,” I repeated. “For yoga?”
“For animal-assisted yoga, yes.”
“With cats, dogs, and bunnies?”
“Yes, and we need to evaluate if we’ll allow small animals like guinea pigs or any other breeds the animal shelter has.”
I had a sudden image of a bunny in a vest marked EMERGENCY COORDINATOR and had to bite the inside of mycheek. It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help my imagination from running away from me.
“This is serious,” Marc said, and I realized I must have made a face.
“I know. I know it is.” I did know.
His jaw clenched and his fingers tightened on that stupid list. This mattered to him. The animals mattered to him. It was the way he showed he cared, by creating color-coded categories and what was probably a separate document for equipment, which would drive me crazy.
“I’ve run yoga sessions before,” I said, trying to sound professional and less annoyed.
“I know?—”
“With animals.”
“I know that, too.” He pushed up his glasses. “But not with these animals. I’m familiar with them in ways you’re not. I’m at the shelter weekly for checkups and emergency situations. And we’re going to be in front of the entire town who will be judging every decision we make.”
Oh.
Was he nervous about how it would look to the residents of Ruby River, too?
“We need to remember that animals under stress act unpredictably. I need to ensure their safety.”
“I get that.”
“But it’s not your area of expertise,” he stated. And the matter-of-fact way he said it just rubbed me the wrong way. It didn’t matter that part of me understood he spoke differently than me, that facts were his go-to, but when he pointed out my failings, I just felt attacked.
I drew in a deep breath, my anger rising and simmering inside me. “And I need to make sure people feel welcome and comfortable,” I shot back.
“I’m aware.” An emotion flickered across his face—frustration, annoyance that I wouldn’t just fall into place, or maybe something deeper.
“Are you?”
Marc looked at me then—his gaze settling on me instead of the ground or that stupid piece of paper—and his expression shifted. Not soft or warm. More conflicted.
“I’m not trying to undermine you,” he said.
The reasonable part of my brain knew he meant it. The rest of me—the part that remembered every dismissive comment, every skeptical look over the past two decades—didn’t care. “Then what are you trying to do?” The question came out quieter than I intended.
“I’m trying to prevent a situation that could hurt someone. Or an animal.”
He was being logical. Responsible, even. But it didn’t make me feel any better. It was just one more thing he was using against me. And at this point, I wasn’t thinking as rationally as I would’ve hoped.
“And I’m trying to build something here,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “Something that matters.” And even if I disagreed with the way Sofia Kingsley tossed this at me, I was going to do a damn good job.
His gaze flicked to my hands, which were now clenched at my sides.
“I won’t let this fail,” he said quietly.
The words should’ve reassured me.
They didn’t. Instead, they were like a warning shot. And somewhere beneath the anger and fear, they did—just a little. Because if there was one thing I knew about Marc Kingsley after twenty years of antagonism, it was this: when he committed to a purpose, he saw it through. Even if that was making sure I—we—didn’t fail in front of the entire town.
