Page 105 of The Ampersand Effect

Everything Tobin had wanted. And needed. And hadn’t known how to dream.

Grier ran toward her when times were tough.

Grierstayed.

Tobin laughed as she watched a pair of three-month-old puppies wrestle in the pen she’d set up at the farmer’s market. Anchor had texted yesterday, asking for help after her roommate, Devon, had a last-minute schedule change and couldn’t work the market with her. It had been an easy yes for Tobin—she was already planning to meet Grier. After the week she’d had, a little extra oxytocin courtesy of puppy snuggles was exactly what she needed.

She caught herself smiling, remembering how Grier had met her at the hangar following the mudslide rescue. They’d spent some time wrapped in each other’s arms on the hangar couch, surrounded by Eddie, Jada, and Mike, as they recounted the tale of their harrowing rescue. But they hadn’t stayed long—their need to bring their bodies together propelled them toward the privacy of Tobin’s bedroom.

They’d rushed back to her place, startling the hell out of Harrow, who’d been working in the living room when they stumbled in—a tangled mess of arms and lips, half-dressed and wholly focused on finding each other’s skin.

The memory made her grin now as Anchor handed her a rope toy and passed by with the last load of necessities from the van. They’d arrived early to give the dogs time to play and settle in before the crowds showed up.

“I really appreciate you filling in for Devon this morning,” Anchor said, a little out of breath from hauling crates. “She had a client pull a last-minute schedule change for a shoot and couldn’t get out of it. Thanks again.”

Tobin handed her a bottle of water. “No problem. It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these with you.” She started filling water bowls for the dogs, then added “Besides, I’m meeting someone here later. Figured I might as well help out beforehand.”

“Oh, great! What time are you meeting them? Devon said she should be here around eleven—you’re more than welcome to duck out after that.”

Anchor looked at Tobin like one of the victims she rescued on missions—like she’d been on the brink of sinking, and Tobin was there to pull her from the agitated waters. She quickly dipped her gaze.

Tobin watched her over the rim of her aviators, the puppies now crawling around her legs. Anchor looked tired. The oversized button-up shirt she wore this morning masked her figure, but Tobin thought she looked thinner than usual. Anchor had always been slight; she didn’t have weight to lose.

Tobin had liked Anchor from the start—there was something quietly compelling about her. Though several years younger, Anchor carried a kind of wide-eyed innocence that tugged at Tobin’s protective instincts. She knew Anchor had Devon—she’d met her a few times, and it was obvious the two were extraordinarily close— but something about Anchor always made Tobin feel protective, like a little sister who needed to be safeguarded from the world.

“Anchor, seriously. You’re not putting me out this morning. You can stop thanking me.” Tobin gave her an easy, deliberate smile. “I meant it when I told you to call me if you ever need help. I’ll help when and how I can—like today.”

Anchor looked like she might cry. Her face had gone blotchy, her jaw tight with emotion. She busied herself with the adoption paperwork, though Tobin knew she’d already arranged it. Twice.

Tobin stood and brushed the dirt from her black skinny jeans, to the chagrin of the puppies. They whined at the loss of her attention, pawing at her legs.

“Anchor,” Tobin said gently, “what’s wrong?”

Anchor swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, blinking hard. She refused to meet Tobin’s eyes. “It’s nothing.” She reached for the paperwork again, only to realize it was already perfect from her umpteenth round of anxious rearrangements. “Nothing…”

Tobin’s heart sank as she watched emotion claw its way to the surface in the young woman in front of her. “You’re clearly worried about something.”

She hesitated, unsure how far she could reasonably push Anchor. She definitely considered the younger woman a friend—after all, they’d shared enough about their pasts over the years that it would be awkward if they weren’t. But neither had the other on speed dial for emotional crises, and Tobin understood emotional privacy better than most.

Still, she couldn’t just let her suffer without at least offering a friendly ear.

“I don’t like seeing people I care about worry. So maybe try me? Sometimes just saying things out loud can trigger solutions you hadn’t considered before.”

Anchor sniffled and finally met her gaze, eyes heavy with defeat. “I’m losing the rescue.”

A new wave of color flushed Anchor’s milky complexion. “I… uh, we can’t take on any more rescues, and we’re already two months behind on several vendor payments. We haven’t received enough donations in the last six months to cover our vet and food bills.”

Tobin watched as Anchor let her legs give out into one of the folding chairs they’d unpacked earlier. A small, humiliated laugh slipped from her throat as she landed. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to come up with the money, but it just isn’t there.”

Tobin’s heart ached for her. She knew Anchor put her entire soul into the rescue, and that losing it would be another notch in the long history of loss she’d already endured.

Anchor had been orphaned young—her father, a professional yachtie, was tragically killed in a hurricane when she was still in diapers. Her mom had passed more recently, though Tobin didn’t know the details—only that it had happened shortly before they met. All that Tobin knew was that Anchor was alone, save for Devon, and her entire life revolved around the now-perilously floundering Fetch a Friend rescue.

“Oh, Anchor,” Tobin murmured. “I knew things were bad, but I didn’t realize they were…dire.”

Anchor looked at her, guilt and regret etched across her features. “How long do we have?”

Anchor hunched her shoulders inward, making herself as small as she could. “Most of the vendors have a 120-day grace period. And we’re halfway through some of them, so…” Her eyes flicked upward as she thought, though Tobin suspected Anchorknew the exact hour everything would go irreparably south—she was nothing if not Type A.