The chime behind Noelle had her spinning around again. She prayed it was a family there to adopt a pet, but when she saw a stranger holding a fluffy ball of black and white fur, she assumed the worst. “Can I help you?” she asked as another volunteer, the only other one working that Saturday afternoon, Clara Lincoln, came up to her elbow.Noelle had a feeling she should just let Clara, an older woman with the patience of a saint, handle this one, but when the man spoke, he said, “Hi, I was told to ask for Noelle.”“That’s me,” she said, trying not to notice the jade green eyes and the square jaw of the man before her. “How can I help you?” She folded her arms, not caring if she suddenly looked rude. Her anger at Mr. Gibson was no longer festering. It was surfacing, and she was about to explode if this man said what she had to assume he was about to say.“Well,
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