HOLD THE FENCE

About this story

I went to the concert for the guitarist and came home without my panties. That's the honest summary. The stranger behind me at the fence was tall, careful with the crowd, and filthy with his promises — and I let him keep all three. I never saw his face. That was the point. Strangers stay strangers, and the memory stays perfect. Then my rescue van pulled up to a birthday delivery the next morning, a puppy in a box with a bow, and the door opened onto a bare chest and a voice like smooth chocolate — and I knew that voice the way you know your favourite song. He knew my gasp. His mother wants grandchildren, his sister won't stop grinning, and the puppy thinks he owns the bed. I deliver strays to their forever homes for a living, and I am very good at it. I just never expected the stray to be me.