Good God, she was the kind of person who walked her cat.

“You know, unless the cat is trained and likes it, walks can be really stressful for them.” He reached back in his memory for the internship he’d done in college with a focus group company that specialized in pet supplies. “They often will act out and can become aggressive. Negligent pet owners who ignore that very understandable response risk their cat getting hurt or labeled a problem pet by animal control. I’d highly recommend you talk with—”

He put his full weight down on both feet, and the sudden blast of pain in his ankle killed the words on his tongue.

“Oh crap, you’re hurt.” The woman rushed to his side, managing to put the cat on the ground and switch all three leashes to her left hand before scooting under his arm and wrapping her right arm around his waist. “I live right across the street. You can put that up and decide if you want to call an ambulance or an Uber or something.”

There was no way going with this woman was a good idea—and yet, when she started leading him toward the park’s exit, he was hobbling along beside her.

“I’m Chelle Finch,” she said, looking both ways before they jaywalked across Jackson Avenue and made it through traffic.

Shocked, he nearly tripped over absolutely nothing as they stepped up onto the sidewalk from the street. “Seriously? I’m Nash Beckett.”

She whipped her head around to look up at him, her brown eyes round as a pair of Oreos. “Oh shit.”

“Exactly.”

Well, his mom would be thrilled he found her, but he really would have preferred if the universe had taken a less painful route to making introductions. At least it couldn’t get any worse.

As they approached Chelle’s building, he reached up and brushed away the sweat beading on his forehead and starting to drip into his eyebrows. But it wasn’t sweat. His fingertips were red with blood. His mouth went dry at the same moment his hands got clammy.

Oh God, not that—anything but blood.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. His gut clenched as the busy Harbor City sidewalk turned hazy and the world wobbled before his eyes.

“Nash,” Chelle called out.

He half turned toward her, moving in slow motion. Then the ground traded places with the sky, and he was on his ass in a puddle of melted snow for the second time in fifteen minutes.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Chelle

Her thick thighs were saving lives. Literally.

Okay, maybe not literally, but it was Chelle’s strong legs that were helping to get a wobbly kneed, but thankfully not as ghostly white, passed out anymore, know-it-all down the second-floor hall to her apartment.