since he’d been living with Dan and Ben. Dan scanned his father, from his deep red hair to his weathered face and worn work boots. “Are you okay?”
“Never better.” His dad sipped his coffee, which looked suspiciously similar to a white-chocolate mocha with extra whipped cream. “I brought home an evacuee late last night. Nice lady with a kind heart.”
That news could’ve been delivered via text. Dan searched his dad’s face, eyeing his neck as if Dan could read his father’s pulse. His dad stirred the whipped cream into his coffee with a wooden stirrer as if he wanted to design a picture in the liquid. “Thought you might want to know that she has pets.”
“Pets,” Dan repeated. “As in plural.”
His dad nodded.
That was definitely bad news. The type of news that could disrupt things at their house.
Dan had told Ben that he was allergic to animals to keep from having to get a pet. He’d started the white lie the year after Valerie had left. Dan had been afraid a pet would be too much for them; there was enough for him and Ben to get used to without adding the responsibility of a pet. After all, Ben’s illness wasn’t the flu or an appendix surgery that he’d recover from. Juvenile diabetes was an autoimmune disease that Ben would deal with his entire life. It required strict management every day. Thanks to help from Dan’s parents and Valerie’s mom, Dan had gotten Ben’s juvenile diabetes under control and adjusted to his role as single parent. One year later, his mom had died suddenly, his dad had moved in and Dan’s world had shifted again. Then Ben had started school and the truth about Dan not really being allergic to animals never came out.
But it wasn’t a big lie. Valerie had lied in her wedding vows: promising to love Dan until death did them part. Dan’s phone vibrated. Once again Valerie’s name claimed the caller ID.
“Our tenant has three pets to be exact. Shelters were full. Hotels, too. Couldn’t leave Brooke alone to fend for herself.” Rick settled his shrewd gaze on Dan and shook his head. “That’s not the Sawyer way.”
No. The Sawyer way was to always help. Even if it meant letting go. Like Dan had done with Valerie.
Their marriage had ended over couriered paperwork, stamped with international postage, and no disputes. Dan had gained legal and physical custody of Ben. Valerie had gained her freedom.
Despite their obvious personality differences, Dan had always believed they’d both agreed on parenting styles. How wrong he’d been.
Dan had stepped in to fill both parental roles. Valerie had stepped out and never looked back. Even with Valerie’s capricious nature, he hadn’t expected that. His young son had lost his mother. That wasn’t a wound that healed easily.
Now Valerie was blowing up his phone. And his father had invited a woman with pets into their rental apartment. The distractions were compounding. No problem. Dan just had to keep focused on their routine—the one he’d established to keep Ben healthy and safe.
Someone called Dan’s name from behind the pickup counter. Dan stepped up to the cashier. Shelby, with her heavily outlined cat-green eyes and even brighter purple hair, said, “Your order is already paid for.”
Dan gaped. That wasn’t part of the usual routine. The entire staff knew his order by heart. He never had to wait long—that was routine. “It can’t be. I haven’t paid yet.”
“Another customer covered it and told me to tell you thanks for all that you do for the community.” The jeweled earring in Shelby’s eyebrow twitched, as if she was daring him to challenge that people in the world could be kind.
Dan glanced around the coffee shop, searching for the Good Samaritan. No one stepped forward. Dan shoved his phone into the pocket of his cargo pants and walked to the pickup counter.
If he believed in signs from the universe like Ava did, he’d look at the customer’s kindness as the good to balance the bad. Because—let’s face it—everything is off this morning.
His dad waited near the door, enthused about the evacuee from the fires. While second thoughts shifted through Dan. He hadn’t rented out the in-law unit since his divorce, preferring to keep things as simple as possible, especially for Ben.
Dan silently thanked the stranger for the gesture. Stuffed the money he would’ve used to pay for his order along with a tip into the tip jar and grabbed his to-go order.
His dad held the door open. “Perhaps you’ll discover a new appreciation for pets with our tenant.”
That wasn’t ever going to happen. Dan had nothing against dogs. In another life, he’d pictured his home with several kids, two dogs and a wife. That wasn’t his world now and that picture had been distorted years ago. Dan’s world now was his work, volunteering and his son.
Besides, he wasn’t about to do anything that might ruin what he already had. His life was good. He was content. Ben was happy. That was enough, wasn’t it? “I don’t think she’ll be with us that long.”
“There’s a fire raging in the mountains, son.” Rick settled a baseball cap on his head and studied the sky. “It was only twenty-five percent contained this morning.” That could delay her return.
“Pick up groceries on your way home.”
“I went to the store two days ago.” Dan pulled his truck keys from his pocket.
“Not for us,” his dad said. “For Brooke. Our tenant.”
Dan stopped on the sidewalk and faced his dad. “You want me to buy her food?”
“I’m heading back up north.” Rick twisted a plastic lid over his coffee cup. “They need help transporting supplies to the shelters.”
And his father expected Dan to help their new tenant. After all, that was the Sawyer way.
He could argue that he’d forgotten to order syringes last week and had to pick those up within the hour. Mention the planning meeting he’d promised to attend for the school’s Fall Festival. And detail every other ball he juggled to keep the Sawyer family moving forward. It wouldn’t matter.
His dad knew Dan would buy groceries. And Dan knew it, too.
He ordered his dad to be safe, climbed into his truck and rearranged his schedule for a quick stop at the grocery store.
Ten minutes later, Ava climbed into the truck. She dumped her backpack with a thud and grasped the extra tall tea from the drink holder like it was a divine gift. “What is a sign associated with meningitis—Homans’s sign, Kernig’s sign or Tinel’s sign?”
“Kernig’s sign. If the leg can’t be straightened, it’s a positive sign for meningitis. Homan’s is deep-vein thrombosis and Tinel’s is carpal tunnel syndrome.” Dan tapped his coffee cup against hers. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“You should be in physician’s assistant school with me.” Ava sipped her tea. “I could use your brain.”
“You mean you could copy off me.” Dan pulled away from the curb and merged with the traffic.
“It’s wrong to copy.” Ava glanced in the back seat as if making sure
