Unfortunately, since her parents died, there had been no one like that in her life, which was a depressing thought and one she usually chose not to dwell on.
Lindy’s gaze rested on the orange-and-black-striped cat sitting elegantly on her fence post—Cass, Emily’s cat. Emily adored him, and the feeling was clearly mutual.
There was an idea, Lindy thought suddenly. What if she got a cat, or even a dog? She’d always liked pets, although they’d never been able to have one when she was growing up, because of how much they’d travelled. But why not now? She had time on her hands and was home during the day, unlike when she’d been living and working in Manchester, when a pet hadn’t been a possibility.
But now…she could have a companion; dog or cat, it didn’t really matter. She liked both equally well. The idea filled her with pleasure, and more importantly, with hope. She didn’t have to be alone. She didn’t have to sit here stewing in her cottage, struggling not to feel lonely when all she wanted was to be happy and get on with her life. Why not get a cat or dog, even today?
*
“Hey there, boy.”
Roger stroked the greyhound’s sleek head as he gave him a sympathetic smile. Toby had only just joined the rehoming centre, and he was still a bit skittish. Roger knew the feeling.
He straightened and closed the door to Toby’s kennel before moving on to the next one. He volunteered twice a month at the Blue Cross Rehoming Centre just outside Burford, and he loved the quiet hours he spent there, helping to socialise animals and occasionally dealing with people. He preferred the animals. He knew what to do with them, how to make them happy, and it was an added bonus that they didn’t talk.
He’d considered taking a break from volunteering after his mother’s diagnosis, but she’d been insistent he continue.
“You love it so much, Roger, and you’ve already sacrificed so much for me. I don’t want you to sacrifice anything more.”
Roger wasn’t sure he’d sacrificed all that much—a soulless flat in Oxford? He much preferred his cottage off the high street, just around the corner from his mother’s. Admittedly the commute was a bit more substantial, but he could live with that, and it got him on his bike, which took care of exercise…along with the ballroom dancing he’d been doing once a week.
Roger winced as he remembered Monday’s rather excruciating lesson. Lindy had tried to apologise for whatever had happened in the teashop, and Roger hadn’t been able to stand it. It had been such a small thing anyway, at least small to most people.
In any case, he’d brushed off her apology and done his best to avoid her for the rest of the class, which was somewhat difficult when she was the instructor and he was a rather poor pupil. Still, he’d managed it, and he’d wondered if Lindy had been relieved. She certainly hadn’t tried to seek him out again, which was fine. Fine.
His mother had noticed, however, and asked him if anything had happened, to which Roger had replied, rather sharply, that of course nothing had. And nothing ever would.
“You are enjoying the classes, aren’t you, Roger?” Ellen had asked anxiously, and Roger had forced a smile. Normally his nature compelled him to an often awkward honesty, but with his mother he could lie, because he loved her.
“Actually, I am,” he said, and she gave a sorrowful little laugh and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“Oh, Roger, I know you’re not, not really, but thank you for saying so. And thank you for going to the classes with me. You’re the kindest and most loving son a mother could ever ask for.”
Which was the kind of talk that alarmed Roger, along with the C-word. So he’d muttered something about it being nothing, and his mother had just smiled, and the conversation had thankfully moved on, without Roger having to mention either cancer or Lindy, which was a plus.
Having said hello to the dozen or so animals currently in residence at the centre, Roger retreated to the front desk to greet any enquiring customers who might come through the door and also to look through the charity’s books, something he did for free since he was an accountant.
He’d been sitting there for about twenty minutes, scanning the monthly figures, when the door opened and he heard an audible gasp. He looked up, and felt that weird heart thing—a flip, a flutter, a jolt or jerk, maybe all four—as he saw Lindy Jamison coming through the door.
Chapter Five
The look of horror on Roger Wentworth’s face was comical. Almost. Lindy suspected she had a similar expression on her face, although she quickly masked it with a smile. At least, she hoped she did. She realised she was actually rather pleased to see him, despite what had and hadn’t passed between them before.
“Roger! What are you doing here?” she asked as she came into the reception area of the rehoming centre, a small space with a couple of chairs and a counter that Roger stood behind.
“I volunteer here,” he answered in a well-duh sort of tone. “Two Saturdays a month, afternoons only.”
“I didn’t know,” Lindy said, and Roger gave her a blank look.
“That is to be expected, considering I never imparted the information.”
“Right.” She smiled, struggling not to laugh, because his deadpan manner was surprisingly charming if still slightly odd. “I suppose there’s a lot I don’t know about you, except that you don’t like dancing. I haven’t changed your mind on that one yet?”
Roger managed a tight smile. “No, you have not.”
“It’s very kind of you, to come with your mother.”
He inclined his head, saying nothing, and Lindy wondered if that was something of a no-go area. He was a very difficult man to read.
“You do like animals, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Have you got a pet of your own?”
“No, that would be quite impossible, with the amount I work.”
“What do you do?” Lindy was starting to feel like an interrogator, but she really was curious.
“I’m an accountant.”
“Oh, wow, are you? That’s what I did up in Manchester, before I started Take a Twirl.” He gave her a look of blank incomprehension, as if he could not imagine such a thing, and Lindy let out a gurgle of laughter. “What, do I not seem like an accountant?”
“I did not consider your previous employment one way or the other,” Roger answered.
“Still,” Lindy teased, “you seem surprised.”
“I confess, if I’d had to take a guess as to what profession you’d been involved in formerly, I would most likely not have considered accountancy.”
“Hmm.” Lindy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You don’t seem like a man prone to taking guesses.” She realised, with an electric jolt of shock, that she sounded as if she were flirting, but she couldn’t be, surely. Roger Wentworth was, after all, so unsuitable.
Colour had risen in Roger’s cheeks, and Lindy suspected he didn’t know how to respond to her flirtatious manner. She didn’t even know why she’d adopted it; it really wasn’t like her. She’d had precisely one romantic relationship in her life, and it had fizzled out after just a few months. Flirting was not her forte, and that was probably obvious, even to Roger.