Page 3 of Almost Yours
“Hey, Larkin.”
No one calls me by my last name buthim.He used to say it with that lazy smile, that same tilt to his lips. Usually when I wastripping over my own feet or getting tongue-tied or sitting beside him, pretending I wasn’t completely, hopelessly in love with him.
His eyes slide from me to the dog.
The dog. The poor thing’s massive, a hulking creature with thick black fur. It’s panting heavily, its head drooping low.
“She’s hurt,” Rowan says, his voice rough but steady. “Found her on the side of the road.”
I nod slowly, glancing back to the dog. Her dark eyes are full of pain, and my heart clenches in a way that feels like it might pull me apart. “What’s her name?”
“Don’t know. Like I said, I just found her.”
“Right. Okay…” I step around the counter. My fingers brush gently over her trembling side, and she doesn’t flinch. She just watches me, her eyes tired, worn down by whatever she’s been through.
I soften my voice, the way I always do when I’m speaking to an animal who’s been through too much. “You’re safe now, girl. We’ve got you.”
I glance up at Rowan. “This way.” I move toward the exam room, slipping into work mode to keep the nerves at bay. I hold the door open to room three, but Rowan hesitates, his gaze sweeping over me, lingering a beat too long. His blue eyes flicker before he nods once and follows me into the room.
I focus hard on the floor, making sure not to trip over thin air as I move ahead, but when I glance up, I find him setting the dog down on the table. Rowan’s movements are careful, with a tenderness that doesn’t fit the hard edges of the man he’s become.
His large hand lingers on the dog’s back, and he mutters in a low voice, “You’re okay. Violet’s gonna take good care of you.”
The sound of his voice carrying my name so easily has me longing for the past. I stare at the scruffy mutt, trying to function as my mind stumbles backward into memories of high school hallways, late-night drives with the windows down, and thequiet, lingering look he used to give me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I focus on the supplies, hands moving on autopilot. Gauze, ointment, whatever I can grab to fill the empty space. The table. The dog. Anything but him. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers feeling clumsy and stupid, like I’ve forgotten how to be normal around him. Then I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, desperate to fill the silence.
“She seems to trust you.”
Rowan’s gaze flickers down to the dog, then back to me, his lips curling up just a little in that way that used to drive me crazy. “She didn’t bite me.”
Well, that’s one way to measure trust. No biting equals a friendly temperament. I can work with that.
My brain picks the absolute worst moment to short-circuit, offering up the utterly inconvenient observation that his eyelashes are way too long for someone who might get into the occasional bar fight.
Then there’s the way he smells—pine, earth, and something wild, like the woods after a storm. It’s the kind of scent that makes you want to lean in just a little closer before you realize,wait, what are you doing?
Which I do not do. Because I am a professional.
I glance at the dog, her soft panting the only thing breaking the silence now. She’s calm. Probably becauseshe’snot the one trying to keep her pulse from racing in the presence of six feet of tattooed intimidation with bone structure that should be illegal.
I turn my focus back to what I know. Heartbeats. Breath sounds. Fur under my fingers. All the things that keep me grounded.
But the whole time, I can feel him watching me. Every shift of my hand, every breath I take, he’s there. Like he’s waiting for something I don’t even know I’m offering.
And I don’t know how to ignore it.
two
. . .
Rowan
Violet’s more beautiful than I remember, and that’s saying something because I remember everything.
The blonde hair that used to fall down her back in messy waves is piled on top of her head now, but a few strands have slipped free, curling around her neck. Her eyes—still that impossible green—get me every damn time. I used to catch myself staring when she wasn’t looking, convinced no one could have eyes that color naturally. She’d laugh when she was nervous, tuck her hair behind her ear, and look anywhere but at me.
Now she’s all grown up, but I can see the flicker in her jaw. She’s rattled. Trying to keep it together, but I can tell.
