How was that even possible? He felt as if a hidden orchestra should burst into symphony, the sky should fill with fireworks, even shooting stars—something big and wonderful, befitting how his life had changed between one heartbeat and the next.
But the quiet remained.
He started his car, and drove away, his mind racing faster than the engine.
His habit had been to move every ten or twenty years, but he had resisted moving from Playa del Encanto. He liked working at the university—he liked California’s balmy weather—he liked his rambling adobe rancho-style house at the edge of the town. It was open to the hills and valleys inland from the great cityscape, where foxes could run free.
But he could get all those elements elsewhere. Now he understood why he had resisted change. The mate bond, unfelt until he and his mate came face to face at last, had kept him in place until their paths could cross.
The rest was up to him . . . and to Doris.
Thinking her name brought back that image of her expression closing to a frozen politeness as she excused herself and left him behind.
He drove faster than was prudent, but he could not outrun the questions—and the regrets, not just on his own behalf. Though he’d lived until now without finding her, at least he’d had hopes of a mate. She, a human, had made a life for herself without being aware that the mate bond even existed.
The old aunties over in Ch
ina would say it was fate.
Fate! Mate! his inner fox yipped, all nine tails waving like banners as he leaped around and around in a circle. Find her! Give ourself to her! Make her happy!
Joey squashed his irrepressible fox yet again. He wanted nothing more than that right now—to find Doris, speak to her. Hold her. Taste her kisses, feel her laughter.
Love her.
But all of that must wait. It was like encountering a lone fox in the wild. He must first earn enough trust for her to put a small door in that wall she had thrown up between them.
THREE
Doris
When Doris got to her car, she turned her phone back on with a sigh. Instantly, texts and call alerts booped and beeped and jangled. Nineteen calls, twelve texts—over half of those from her mother.
Business as usual.
Doris started up her car, hooked her phone up to the car’s audio system, and listened to the messages as she drove home.
The first was from her mother, three minutes after Doris had turned off her phone before the wedding. “Doris! Call home the minute you get this!”
Doris reflected for the 13,674th time that though she’d bought her own place as soon as she could afford to all those years ago, her mother still insisted that the house that Doris had grown up in was home—until of course, she was married.
Bleep!
“Doris, Lynne here, calling from the synagogue. I’m so sorry, but Judith miscounted and we’ll need two more pies—”
“Underestimated as usual,” Doris said to the windshield with mild triumph. “Two extra already baked.”
“Mrs. Leberwoots, this is a courtesy call to follow up on our call about our special offer—”
Bleep!
“Doris! This is your mother. Why aren’t you answering? I’ve called the synagogue, and nobody’s seen you today. Your sister Sylvia has terrible news about Nicola. She’s fallen prey to a man-gold-digger! Call me!”
Bleep!
“Doris, Sylvia here. Mother seems to think you’ve been abducted by terrorists, or ninjas, or maybe aliens. Nicola’s done it again. Call me.”
Bleep!