Roger moved past her to the next kennel, and Lindy followed him, determined to focus on the animals rather than the sight of Roger’s broad shoulders, or the fact that her insides were feeling all fluttery from what had just happened, which was really basically nothing.
“This is Toby, a rescue greyhound,” Roger began as he gestured to a sleek, brown dog in the next kennel who was nudging his nose through the wire with a meltingly sweet look. “He was racing until last year, and he is a bit skittish as a result.”
“Oh…” Lindy looked into the greyhound’s liquid eyes and felt her heart suffuse with love. “What a sweetie.”
“And this is Mary…” Roger continued, his voice a bit monotone as he went through all the animals, not looking at Lindy once. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Feeling. And then she wondered why she cared. She might be attracted to him, but it wasn’t as if she wanted to date him or something. The idea was absurd.
One by one he took her through all the animals—a Rottweiler mix, a battered-looking Staffie, another greyhound, a cat with a missing ear and a bare patch on his side. There was a horse in a stall outside and several rabbits in a hutch, and an adorable little brown and white hamster. They were all wonderful in their own individual ways, and each one made Lindy’s heart both break and melt.
“I wish I could rescue them all,” she told Roger as they headed back to the front of the centre.
“That would be quite impractical.” Lindy smiled at that and Roger continued, “They’ll be able to stay here until they are rehomed. Fortunately this is a no-kill shelter.” He glanced at her, his expression unreadable as always, as blank a slate as Lindy had ever seen. “Was there an animal you preferred, if you were to make an application?”
“I think I’m partial to Toby,” she admitted. “The dark greyhound. I know he’s a bit skittish but there was just something about him…”
To her surprised delight, Roger’s expression softened and his mouth quirked in a tiny smile, the first he’d ever given her. “He’s my favourite, too,” he said, and something in Lindy fizzed. When Roger smiled…she felt as if she’d swallowed a firework. An over-the-top reaction, undoubtedly, but one she couldn’t help but feel—and enjoy.
“When do you finish your shift here?” she blurted and Roger’s eyes widened a fraction, clearly taken aback by her sudden question.
“I finish at four.” He glanced at the clock. “In two hours and thirteen minutes.”
Of course he was so precise. It was rather a long time to wait, but emboldened and a bit reckless, Lindy still asked rather stiltedly, “Would you…would you like to get a cup of coffee in Burford, after you’re done? I was going to wander around the town anyway…”
Roger stared at her for a moment, looking completely uncomprehending. “I don’t drink coffee,” he said at last, and Lindy didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. Was he trying to let her down nicely, or simply stating a fact?
“A cup of tea, then?” she persevered. “Or something cold? Whatever.” Now she probably sounded desperate, and the truth was she didn’t even care. She just wanted him to say yes, even if all that resulted was an undeniably awkward conversation over cups of tea.
Roger stared at her for another endless moment, as if he really couldn’t fathom what she was getting at. Lindy waited, trying not to blush or feel stupider than she already did.
“Something cold would be refreshing,” he finally said. “Thank you.” He made it sound as if she was going to buy him a Coke and then send him on his way. Perhaps that was what he was expecting.
“Great.” She smiled, realising as she did so how pleased she was he’d accepted. Was she that lonely, or did she actually like him? Lindy didn’t even know. “Where shall I meet you? You probably know Burford better than I do.”
“I doubt that, but I am familiar with a café on the high street—Huffkins.”
“I know it.” She’d only driven through Burford a couple of times, but she recalled the sign above the bow window in the middle of the high street. “Shall we meet there a little after four?”
Another pause as Roger seemed to absorb her suggestion. “All right,” he said finally. “Yes.”
“Great.”
“And will you be making an application to rehome one of our animals?” Roger asked, sounding like such a salesman that Lindy had to smile.
“Yes, I believe I will be. I’ll do it online, as you suggested.”
Lindy was mentally shaking her head at herself as she drove the few miles back to Burford, coming down the wonderfully quaint high street lined with terraced cottages and shops, some dating back to medieval times, with crooked timbers and drooping eaves. The small town was considered the gateway to the Cotswolds, or at least one of them, and on a sunny Saturday afternoon in September it was filled with happily window-shopping tourists.
With still two hours to kill, Lindy took her time wandering past shops selling expensive antiques and willow baskets full of ornaments and other trinkets. She spent a few moments looking in the window of a clothing shop that sold hundred-pound Wellington boots and even more expensive walking sticks. Burford clearly catered to a well-heeled clientele.
An hour passed slowly enough in this manner, with Lindy checking her watch far too often. Roger had her mobile number, thanks to the dancing class—would he call her if he’d decided to back out? Would he back out? Somehow she couldn’t actually picture him showing up. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him to show up.
Conversation was sure to be stilted and awkward, coming in difficult fits and starts, and for what purpose? A moment’s chemical reaction when they’d got too close in the kennel?
Yet just remembering that moment made everything in Lindy fizz…again. And actually, she realised, despite his often stiff and awkward manner, Roger was someone she liked. At least she thought she could like him, maybe, if given a chance. She didn’t know if she would get one.
She walked down the high street all the way to the stone, single-track bridge that was congested with tourist traffic, and then back up again. The sun was warm on her back and her T-shirt was sticking to her shoulder blades. She checked her watch again. Twenty more minutes. What did Roger think of her, willing to wander through really a rather tiny town for two hours just so they could have a drink? She felt ridiculous.
She spent the last fifteen minutes wandering through the churchyard, inspecting tumbled-down headstones and trying not to feel melancholy. Both her parents were buried in a similar little churchyard up in Derbyshire. She hardly ever went there.
At four o’clock exactly she started making her way to Huffkins, taking her time because she knew Roger would need to lock up at the rehoming centre, drive into Burford, and find a parking space. He might not be at the café till half past, but she didn’t want to miss him.
Why, she wondered, was she so nervous? Her heart was fluttering as if this was a date, and maybe it was. A cold drink with a man she found attractive? What else was she meant to call it? And yet the thought of dating a man like Roger Wentworth seemed—well, ludicrous. He was so…well, what was he? A man who liked animals? Who was kind to his mother? And who was awkward and pedantic and pompous and sometimes rude. Really, Lindy had no idea what to make of him. She couldn’t imagine dating him, although admittedly she couldn’t imagine dating anyone, since it had been so long. She supposed she just wanted to spend time with him, to see what happened. Most likely, considering the pair of them, nothing would.