Stronger With You

Chapter 5

I ended up working the entire weekend at the shelter. Saturday blurred into Sunday, and before I knew it, I was there from morning to closing both days, moving through the same routine until it felt like muscle memory.

And of course, because the universe had a twisted sense of humor, Nicolás was there too.

Every single shift.

Every single morning he handed me the same gloves and the same shovel, his expression unreadable as he nodded toward the kennels.

“Kennels,” he said, like he always did. “You know the drill.”

I stared at him, unimpressed. “Do I ever graduate from poop duty, or is this my full-time career now?”

His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re building character.”

“I have plenty of character,” I muttered, snatching the gloves from his hand.

I walked past him before he could enjoy the reaction, but I could feel his eyes follow me down the aisle.

By midmorning, I smelled like disinfectant, dog food, and regret. The steady rhythm of scooping, spraying, and scrubbing dulled my thoughts until I reached the third row of kennels and stopped short.

A boxer stood behind the metal bars.

Brown and white, thick through the chest, muscles shifting beneath his coat as he watched me with sharp, guarded eyes. His ears twitched when I crouched down slowly, and something inside my chest tightened painfully.

He looked so much like my boxer that left me too early. She was my world. And for a second I forgot where I was.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, keeping my voice soft.

The dog’s growl rolled low and deep, a warning more than a threat.

Okay. So maybe not buddy yet.

I stayed where I was, letting my hands rest loosely on my knees. “It’s okay,” I murmured quietly. “New places suck. People

disappoint. You don’t trust easily. I get it.”

I kept talking, voice low and steady, and the growl softened just a fraction. His tail shifted once against the concrete.

I smiled.

We’d get there.

I pushed to my feet, turning back toward my shovel when a hand suddenly closed around my shoulder.

My body reacted before my brain could catch up. My breath locked, muscles tightening instinctively as panic flashed through me, sharp and fast.

For a second, I wasn’t in the shelter anymore.

I heard Wade’s voice. Felt the old fear curl tight in my chest.

“Hey,” Nicolás said quickly.

The sound of his voice snapped me back.

I sucked in air too fast and forced a laugh. “Wow. You startled me,” I said, stepping away like nothing had happened. “Guess I was in the zone.” I still didn’t look at him, but I could feel his stare lingering, heavier now. Curious.

“That’s Chico,” he said after a moment, nodding toward the boxer. “He’s… a work in progress.”

I glanced back at the dog. “He’s beautiful.”

“He bites.”

“I can handle that,” I said quietly.

For a second, the space between us felt strangely still.

I shifted my weight, then blurted out the question that had been bothering me all weekend. “Seriously though… why am I always

stuck on cleanup? I’d rather be working with them.”

His gaze held mine longer than usual. “Because I like knowing where you are,” he said finally.

I blinked. “That’s… not creepy at all.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Some of the staff here don’t filter themselves. It’s easier if you’re where I can see you.”

The explanation landed wrong.

“So I’m the shelter charity case too?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Feels like it.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but stopped himself, nodding toward Chico instead. “He’s actually a sweet dog, just scared.”

“I know,” I said softly.

His eyebrow rose and gave me a look that I had no idea what I was talking about. His dark eyes sparkling with humor.

Then, very much annoyed again, I turned back toward my shovel.

And immediately slipped.

My boot hit the edge of a pee puddle I hadn’t seen, and the world tilted sideways. I landed hard, right on my ass, in a very fresh and very impressive pile of dog s**t and pee. The shelter went silent.

Then Nicolás laughed.

Not polite laughter. Not controlled. It was real, authentic Nicolas laughter.

His head tipped back slightly, dark hair falling into his eyes, and for one deeply inconvenient second I noticed just how unfairly attractive he looked when he let his guard down. The stubble along his jaw softened his sharp features, and the sound of his laugh made him seem younger, less like the arrogant guy who kept assigning me garbage duty.

Which was annoying. Because he had a girlfriend, and I refuse to like an asshole. I’m not my mother.

“Oh my God,” he said, wiping his hand over his mouth. “Watch where you’re going, Charity Case.”

I scrambled to my feet, mortified. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, eyes bright. “This is the highlight of my weekend.”

The other workers started laughing too, tossing teasing comments my way.

Before I could say something I’d regret, Nicolás’s voice cut through the noise. “Alright, that’s enough. Back to work.” They scattered quickly.

I turned and headed toward the bathroom, pride in shambles. “I’m changing,” I called over my shoulder.

“Good idea,” he replied dryly.

I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it, breathing hard.

A minute later, while I was halfway through pulling on a clean shirt, the door opened without warning.

I yelped and spun, clutching the fabric to my chest.

Nicolás froze in the doorway, a bundle of clothes in his hand. His eyes flicked everywhere they absolutely shouldn’t have been before snapping back to my face, jaw tightening.

“Oh—damn,” he muttered. “My bad.”

“Do you mind?” I snapped when he didn’t stop staring.

He swore again under his breath and turned sharply away, holding the clothes behind him. “Here,” he said stiffly. “Take these.”

I grabbed them, still fuming—and then realized they weren’t standard shelter uniforms.

They were his.

A dark hoodie that smelled faintly like clean detergent and something warm and familiar. Work pants clearly too long for me.

“You brought me your clothes?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“You needed something dry,” he said, still facing the wall. “Put them on.”

I stared at the fabric for a second longer than necessary before pulling it over my head. The hoodie was warm, slightly oversized, and smelled faintly like detergent and something distinctly him. That realization annoyed me more than it should have.

“Are you dressed?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

He turned carefully, expression tight, unreadable. “Good. Get back out there.”

Then he left like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just handed me his clothes. Like my heart wasn’t racing for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely.

I stood there staring at the closed door for a moment.

Fantastic.

Add “wearing condescending rich guy’s hoodie” to the list.

When I stepped back into the kennel area, the shift in the room was immediate. Conversations slowed. A couple of workers paused mid-task, eyes flicking between me and Nicolás like they were trying to solve a puzzle.

One of the girls near the supply counter — a brunette I recognized from Blaire’s orbit — actually blinked twice before leaning toward another worker and whispering something behind her hand.

Their eyes dropped to the sleeves that hung past my wrists.

Yeah. Subtle this was not.

Nicolás stood near the end of the row, arms crossed, watching the reaction unfold like it was mildly entertaining. When his gaze met mine, the corner of his mouth lifted just enough to make me suspicious.

“Well,” he said casually, voice carrying across the room, “look at that. Em finally learned how to follow directions.”

My head snapped toward him. “Did you just call me Em?”

He shrugged. “Fits.”

I crossed my arms, the oversized hoodie bunching around me. “Then I guess you’re Nico now,” I shot back. “Since we’re handing out nicknames.”

A few of the workers exchanged glances, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

His eyes flashed with amusement, something warm and surprised flickering there. “Careful,” he said lightly. “You might start to like me.”

“Don’t push it,” I muttered, though my mouth twitched despite myself.

He nodded toward the kennels. “Maybe next week you can roll around in poo with Chico instead of just sitting in it, if you actually get your cleaning done on time.”

I felt my irritation spike again. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, voice dropping just enough that only I could hear, “you keep coming back.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he spoke again before I could.

“So… Ryker.” The name caught me off guard.

“What about him?”

Nicolás’s posture shifted slightly, casual on the surface but sharper underneath. “You two seem… comfortable.”

I raised a brow. “He’s the best guy I’ve ever met,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. Maybe a little too pointedly.

His jaw tightened for a split second before smoothing out again, the reaction so small I almost missed it.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “He is. He’s a good one to hang around.”

The agreement threw me completely off balance.

I had expected sarcasm. A jab. Something rude.

Instead, he sounded… sincere.

Now I didn’t know what to do with my annoyance. Or my curiosity. Or the way he watched me like I was simultaneously frustrating and fascinating.

I shook my head, grabbing my shovel again just to give my hands something to do.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be mad at him, hate him, or — and this was the most dangerous thought of all — maybe enjoy him just a tiny, inconvenient little bit.

And that was absolutely not a problem I was prepared to deal with today. Like my heart wasn’t racing. I kept thinking, "I'm not my mother, I'm not my mother, I'm not my mother..." convincing myself that I should NOT think of Nico that way.

I stood there staring at the closed door he just left out of.

Fantastic.

Add “wearing condescending rich guy’s hoodie” to the list.