The way she said it—like she found the whole thing endearing rather than annoying—made my chest do something complicated.
“Someone had to.”
Her smile softened. “I'm fine, Cal. Really. Just frustrated with soap that won't cooperate.”
I surveyed the disaster zone again. Half-mixed batches, separated liquids, that cottage cheese situation in the mold. She'd followedsomekind of process, at least. The measuring cups were lined up, ingredients labeled.
“Okay.” I picked up one of the containers, sniffing cautiously. Goat milk, olive oil, something floral. “First, you need to shower.”
“What?”
“You've probably got lye residue on your arms. Even diluted, it's not something you want sitting on your skin.” I set the container down. “Go shower. I'll look up tutorials on salvaging this.”
She blinked at me. “You don't have to do that.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean—” She gestured at the mess. “This is my problem. I can figure it out.”
“Rosie—”
“You're busy enough with the clinic and the rescue dogs. You don't need to fix everything for me.” Her voice stayed gentle, but firm. “I'm not helpless.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Because she was right. Ididdo that. Jumped in, took over, assumed nobody else could handle things properly.
“I know you're not helpless.”
“Then why?—”
“Hank got adopted today.”
That stopped her mid-sentence. Her eyes widened, that sunshine smile breaking across her face.
“They picked him up?”
“Yeah, the Coopers. They came to the clinic this afternoon.” I leaned against the counter, finding it easier to talk when I wasn't looking directly at her. “Did the paperwork and took him home.”
“Cal.” Her voice went soft. “That's wonderful.”
“One less dog in the barn. Frees up some time.” I finally met her eyes. “That's why I was calling. To tell you. To say thank you.”
“Aww, Cal.”
“The market thing worked. You were right about that.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “And I have a home visit Friday for Daisy. If that goes well?—”
“Two adoptions in one week.”
“Maybe.” I glanced at the soap disaster, then back at her. “Point is, I've got room in my schedule.”
Understanding flickered across her face. She opened her mouth, but I kept going before she could argue.
“Also brought Pudding. He's in the truck.”
Her whole face transformed. “You brought him? Can I?—”
She moved toward the door, but I shifted, blocking her path. We ended up standing closer than I'd intended—close enough that I caught the scent of lavender and goat milk and something distinctly Rosie underneath the chemical smell.
Her eyes widened slightly, meeting mine.