Groomed For Love: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari (hardest books to read txt) 📗

finally crane their necks as the EMT’s pull up a few doors down.

I feel my heart freeze in my chest.

It couldn’t be me. I’m not even there. It must be something else.

Before long, there’s a bigger line at the door to see what’s going on and I’m pushed back to the counter, glad at least that our food’s finally ready.

“It’s on Sasha’s account,” the same waitress says, looking me up and down. Totally disinterested in me now.

It could be worse. I could have landed a waitressing job.

Yikes.

Shoving my way past the lunch crowd, I make a low sound as everything feels like it’s going in slow motion.

The ambulance, fire truck, and other first responders are all blocking the street out front of Sasha’s dog parlor.

Gripping the paper sacks, I use my size instead of my height to push through everyone I can, explaining I work there to the burly cop blocking the door.

Then I see her.

Sasha.

At least, I think it’s Sasha. She looks so… swollen.

“I… I’m Naomi, the new dog groomer,” I announce. A paramedic looking up at me before glancing at the coffee cup shattered on the floor by the counter.

“You make that?” he asks, sounding like he’s cross-examining a suspect already, but I feel my head nodding.

“You use nut milk by any chance?” he asks, his own face creasing on one side as I watch Sasha puff up even more.

Guilty!

“Uh huh,” I stammer.

“I always use Almond milk, the chocolate kind that’s already sweetened. I thought…” I try to finish, but his back is to me as well, it looks like Sasha’s maybe not doing so good all of a sudden.

Turns out Sasha has a nut allergy that I didn’t even ask about before loading up her latte with almond chocolatey goodness.

I hear my heart crack as I try to swallow.

My god, what have I done?

“She had an epi-pen and we were right around the block when she called,” the medic assures me, finally looking up at me, registering my look of horror.

“I was just getting our lunch,” I squeak.

“Not nut loaf, I hope,” he remarks and breaks out into a sarcastic belly laugh he shares all to himself for a second before standing up and coming over to me.

“You better sit over here, miss. Lemee check you out too for a second. You’ve had quite a shock yourself,” he adds calmly and makes sure I’m okay before his partner announces that Sasha is stable and ready to be taken to the hospital.

Hospital?

Jesus Christ.

The other first responders nod and agree to move on to their next crisis, gradually emptying the dog parlor and shooing away the rubberneckers until it’s just me and Sasha with her saviors, wheeling her out to the waiting ambulance.

She grips my arm suddenly, and I’m sure she’s gonna fire me, or worse.

But Sasha being Sasha, it’s all about her clients.

Her real clients.

The pooches.

“Moose was supposed to come home with me for the weekend after his treatment,” she rasps, and I lean in closer to hear her better through her oxygen mask.

“Officer Parker… He’s out of town… You’ll have to babysit Moose ‘til Monday,” she says, struggling for breath still but not looking so puffy now.

“Don’t lose that dog before Monday and for god’s sake, close the store … and don’t do anything elsetoday,” she adds feverishly, trying to sound calm, but her eyes roll back as she moans before I’m held back by the medic.

The cop from the front door overhears us, stepping forward and blocking me from seeing Sasha into the ambulance.

“I know Officer Parker, and Moose,” he says with a frown. “Buddy of mine works the K9 unit. Used to be a detective,” he adds matter of fact. As though I should be impressed to even hear the guy’s name.

My blank expression leaves a dozen questions I have open.

“I can let him know you have his K9, is what I mean,” he explains as if he’s talking to a simpleton.

After what’s just happened I can’t blame him.

“Moose is picky though,” he says. “Doesn’t take to anyone except Parker, usually. If you get in trouble, give me a call,” he adds as he hands me a card and cocks his head.

Radio chatter and the fresh blast of sirens mean that the show’s over.

The shift goes on for the first responders, but my day, my job most likely is well and truly over.

I swivel the sign to ‘closed’ and lock the front door once they’ve left.

Puffing air out through my cheeks before I sink down into the nearest chair and proceed to start to cry.

I can hear Moose whining from the back and stepping over the broken coffee mug to get a broom and a mop to clean this mess up, I notice him looking at me intently before he lets out a loud bark which makes me jump.

“Don’t take to strangers kindly, huh?” I ask him, sniffing back my tears.

“Me neither,” I hear myself agreeing with my own question.

I clean up the smashed cup, along with the whole salon floor before I realize a dog the size of Moose isn’t going to like being cooped up too much longer.

He’ll need a walk.

Feeding.

And then somewhere to stay until Monday.

Not to mention all the Moose-sized bombs that will need picking up.

I groan loudly.

My pigeonhole apartment is no place for a dog his size, and my landlord is already on my case about missing two weeks’ rent.

Then there’s the delicate issue of strictly no pets allowed…

I groan louder, wishing I had someone I could call to help.

You could call Chet. He’d have an answer for you, although it wouldn’t be the one you like.

Uh. No thanks, pass.

Chet is my big brother. He looked out for us both since my dad left us when we were kids, but his way of looking out for me was keeping me under his thumb. Until I turned twenty last year and told him where to stick his legal guardianship before moving to the city.

Moose is looking at me with searching eyes,