“Guesses should be based on probability,” Roger replied after a moment. “And so I’d consider them rather as informed estimations, which are perfectly reasonable to give.”
“Spoken like a true accountant.”
He gave a little nod, and Lindy wondered what she was hoping to achieve through this conversation. A smile, she supposed, would be nice.
“I presume you’re here for a particular reason?” he asked, and it was clear their conversation, such as it had been, was over.
“Yes, I am, actually. I was hoping to adopt a pet. A cat or a dog, in particular.”
“You wish to rehome one of our animals currently in residence?” he verified, and Lindy nodded.
“That is correct.” She realised she might sound as if she was mocking him with her serious tone, but she wasn’t. It was just difficult not to talk like Roger when she was with him. It was similar to how she felt after watching a Jane Austen adaptation on the BBC—she suddenly had an urge to say things like ‘prithee, sir’ and to curtsey.
“The process must begin with you filling out an online application, which is then reviewed by the staff,” Roger explained, sounding slightly censorious of her ignorance of this matter. Lindy supposed she should have looked it up online before haring out here, but she’d been so excited to enact her plan.
“I see,” she said after a second’s pause. “Could I do that now?”
“I suppose that would be possible, but as I have already said, the application will need to be reviewed by a member of staff. I’m only a volunteer.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Lindy fought against the stupid, sweeping sense of disappointment this news caused. Of course you couldn’t just pop in and get a puppy. Nothing worked that way anymore.
“If you like,” Roger said stiffly, “I could show you the animals we currently have in residence.”
“Oh, could you?” Lindy couldn’t keep from sounding as if he’d just offered her the moon, making Roger look a bit taken aback. “That would be fab.”
“Very well.” He came out from behind the desk; unlike every time she’d seen him before, he was not wearing a suit. He wore a navy-blue polo shirt with the Blue Cross logo, and a pair of tan khakis. Boring clothes, and yet even so Lindy couldn’t keep from noticing how fit he was—a broad chest, muscled arms, powerful legs. It helped that he was well over six feet, probably pushing six three or six four. But why on earth was she thinking this way? This was Roger. Unsuitable, somewhat annoying Roger.
“Come this way,” Roger instructed, and obediently Lindy followed him to a heavy metal door that led to the kennels.
“How long have you been working here?” she asked as he unlocked the door.
“Six years, I believe.”
“You live in Wychwood-on-Lea?”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t particularly chatty, Lindy acknowledged, but he didn’t sound as if he minded her questions all that much, and so she kept at it.
“You grew up in Wychwood?” she asked as she followed him through the door to a concrete hallway with kennels on either side. The ensuing yapping, barking, and meowing kept Roger from replying for a moment and Lindy looked around in both dismay and wonder—the animals were all lovely, but many looked battered and bruised, victims of circumstance or even cruelty.
“Oh, what a sweetie.” She stopped in front of the first kennel that housed a Yorkshire terrier with huge eyes and white, fluffy fur. “May I pet her? Or is it a him?”
A heavy pause ensued as Roger gazed into the kennel, his expression impossible to read. “It’s a her, and very well,” he said at last, and he unlocked the kennel, crouching down as he began to speak to the tiny Yorkshire terrier in a soothing voice, his gentle tone quite unlike any other that Lindy had heard from him.
“Hello, sweetheart. Aren’t you excited today.” His large hands fondled the dog’s silky ears and something in Lindy melted like chocolate under the summer sun. She was strangely mesmerised by the sight of Roger’s hands—strong, capable hands, with neat, clipped nails. He glanced up at her, his expression as stiff and serious as ever. “This is Poppy. She was abandoned by the side of the road three months ago, with a broken leg. She’s doing much better, as you can see.”
“Oh…” A lump formed in Lindy’s throat. “How could anyone do such a thing?”
“It happens all too frequently.” He straightened to let her come closer, and carefully Lindy stroked the terrier, who yapped excitedly and licked her hand.
“It’s so cruel, to just abandon an animal like that.”
“People are often cruel,” Roger replied, and Lindy glanced up at him, wondering what exactly he meant by that. She hadn’t realised as she’d been petting the dog how close she was to him, and as she looked up her hair brushed his cheek, their faces—and more crucially, their lips—only inches apart. Roger took a hasty step backwards, banging into the kennel door, and Lindy stumbled back, falling flat onto her bottom. Poppy, seeing her way to freedom, scampered out of the kennel and raced down the hallway. Every other animal in the place started up with another chorus.
“Damn it,” Roger muttered under his breath, looking more flustered than Lindy had ever seen him, his hair mussed, his face flushed. He shot her a quick, apologetic look. “Sorry…”
“It’s fine,” Lindy assured him although her bottom might beg to differ. The concrete floor was hard.
Roger hurried after Poppy, and Lindy watched as he managed to catch the little dog, speaking gently to her all the while, and then brought her back to her kennel.
“Technically, I’m not actually allowed to open the kennels to visitors,” he said in his stiff way as he locked Poppy’s kennel. “So perhaps you should just view the rest.”
“I’m sorry, I should have realised.” Had Roger actually bent the rules for her? The thought was both surprising and strangely thrilling.
“There is no reason why you should have known the rules of this establishment.” He glanced down at her; she was still sitting rather inelegantly on the floor. “Are you hurt?”
“My pride, I think, although my tail bone might be a bit bruised.” She smiled wryly and Roger extended a hand.
“Let me help you up.”
She took his hand, enjoying the way his fingers closed around hers. He pulled her up easily, considering that she was six feet tall and weighed eleven stone—so easily in fact that she took a step forward to balance herself and they nearly bumped noses. Again.
It was impossible for Lindy to ignore the frisson of awareness that rippled through her at his nearness. Okay, so she was attracted to him. Despite his stiff way of speaking, his awkwardness and his occasional pompousness, she found him undeniably attractive. She’d felt it the first time she’d met him, and then when they’d danced, and she felt it now. It didn’t have to be a big deal. Physical attraction—chemistry—was just a part of life, a physical response to pheromones or whatever. And yet it had been a long time since Lindy had felt it for anyone, never mind this strongly.
“Would you like to see the other animals?” Roger asked after a pause, his gaze somewhere to the left of her head, colour still touching his cheeks, and Lindy nodded. Was he feeling it too? she wondered. This frisson of…something?