12 Days of Mistletoe

21. Bonnie

TWENTY-ONE

bonnie

I shocked him. I’m not sure how I feel about that. He was just so sure I should have had this myriad of boyfriends—that is until half my brain fell out of my head and I forgot his last name.

Elliot believing I’ve had a bunch of boyfriends means he thinks someone might find me attractive. Doesn’t it? Maybe even that he finds me attractive. I’m not sure why his opinion warms me head to toe. But it does, and I’m comfortable the entire walk back to the center.

We pick up his gran, drop her off at home with a promise to return, and head to Canine Compassion.

After an hour at my nonprofit’s office, Elliot is still asking me questions.

“Start to finish, once a dog is purchased, how long does it take to get them trained and to their owner?”

“Depending on the dog, one to two years.” I know he’s thinking about Abby. I have been ever since her name showed up on our list a little less than a year ago. “My hope is that Abby will be united with her pup by next Christmas. In reality, it’ll probably be a little later. But her pup is now paid for—thanks to you.”

“You already paid for it?”

“I did. Yesterday.” I tap the folder on my desk with Abby’s Labradoodle’s picture taped to the front. Then I press my lips together and breathe in through my nose, my senses taking in the real Christmas wreaths on the office doors—or maybe that’s Elliot. Because that’s what he smells like to me, Christmas .

“This is our guy?” Elliot says, tapping the folder.

“ Girl , but yes.”

Elliot leans a little closer, looking down at the photo of the black-and-white fur baby that now belongs to Abby.

“She’s six months old and starts her training at the beginning of the year. Sarah’s got it all set up.”

“Wow. That’s amazing. You’re performing Christmas miracles.”

I swallow. “I’m not. I’m one sliver of a very large puzzle.”

“But Abby would still be on a waitlist if not for you.”

I nibble on my bottom lip and Noel lifts her front paws up to my thighs, giving me easy access to scratch behind her ears.

“For this girl,” Elliot says, “ you are the miracle.” He lifts his head, his eyes sliding from Abby’s file to my face. His gaze drops to my lips causing the memory of his mouth on mine to stir up my insides. And reminding me that kissing lessons with Grandma May are at six—the craziest thing I’ve ever had cross my mind in my entire twenty-six years of life.

The pulse in my wrist thrums. And while I’m not having an anxiety attack, my dog knows when my body isn’t behaving normally. Noel hops in place, her front paws using my thighs as leverage, her neck stretching so that she can lick the bottom of my chin.

Elliot stands straight, stumbling one step away from me. “Whoa.” He breathes out a chuckle. And then his surprise falters. “Wait. Are you okay?”

I nod, swallow, and breathe. “I am.”

“Can I ask what Noel does for you when you’re struggling?”

I run my hand down No-No’s back, letting her know I’m fine. I’m just having some internal conflict. One should not be attracted to one’s fake boyfriend. It makes the word “fake” become confusing.

“Service animals are trained to do all kinds of things.” I peer down at my Noel. “Just like anxiety shows up differently for everyone, service animals do different things for different people. But for me, personally, Noel helps ground me. She can sense when I’m letting my worries run wild, when a situation becomes more than my body and mind can handle.”

“How does she do that?” he says, his tone husky and low.

I flick my gaze up to him. This isn’t usually the conversation I have with men—good-looking men. Sure, my doctor, but men that I kiss, nope.

I swallow. “When my heart rate speeds up or my pulse thrums, she senses it. She’ll make sure she’s somewhere I can touch her.”

“She senses? How?”

“She can smell hormones. And she can tell when mine are off.”

“Hormones?”

If he keeps repeating everything I say, I’m going to have an attack. He’ll get an up close and personal view of what Noel does for me.

“Usually stress hormones. Noel even knows where my medication is. If I can’t get to it, she brings it to me.”

His brows pull together and he peers back at Noel, as if seeing her for the first time. “Wow. She can do that?”

“She’s amazing,” I say. I could brag about my girl all day long. “If I were unresponsive, she’d alert someone else that I need help. She’s pulled my phone out of my pocket and placed it in my hand before.”

“No way.” Elliot blinks down at Noel just before rubbing a hand over her head and down her neck.

“Mostly I need her companionship. She is good at calming me.” I nibble on my inner cheek, jumping all in. “It may sound strange to some, but?—”

“No,” he says, and I wonder if he’s still trying to make up for earlier today. “That’s not strange at all. I’ve seen the way she lifts her head to you or makes sure you’re touching her. And I’ve seen it help.”

“Exactly.” I nod. “And Oakley is going to help her .” My eyes drop to the folder with Abby’s name on it, the photo of her pup still on the desk.

He looks at me, not asking, but still I answer.

“That’s what Abby’s naming her.”

He studies me, not Abby’s folder. “Does it ever feel like we’ve known each other longer than two days?”

My pulse starts thrumming again, but I laugh, telling my heart to chill out. “Because we have, silly. You started harassing me six months ago.”