moved to welcome him in.

Mason Redding pulled the door open, and the bell jangled loudly in the suddenly silent room. “Hey there, folks. I’m, uh, looking to make a donation. The kids outside said to ask for Megan.”

“I’m…I’m Megan,” Megan said, stepping forward and shaking his hand. “And that would be wonderful.”

He grinned a grin that Kelsey was willing to bet had its own insurance policy, like the legs of supermodels. “I keep hearing bits and pieces about what your shelter’s doing to help those dogs. It was absolutely the right thing to do.” Suddenly, his gaze landed on Kelsey, and he pointed confidently her direction. “And you’re the girl from the video I saw last night. I want you to know, your promise to that pit was pretty damn touching. I woke up thinking about it, and before I knew it, I was headed to a pet store. I wasn’t sure what all you guys could use, so I threw in a little bit of everything.”

Mason Redding had seen her on Facebook. And he’d been moved to make a donation. “Thanks,” Kelsey managed, feeling her cheeks flame fire-hot. It seemed not everyone was only watching Frankie. “He’s a great dog. Even sweeter in person.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” Megan added. “We’ve been blessed with an outpouring of support from the community. Did you need help carrying everything in? And would you like a donation receipt?”

“Not for the toys and stuff, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take one for this.” He pulled a check from his wallet and passed it Megan’s way. “But if you give it to me now, I can tell you I’m going to lose it. If you can mail it to the address listed, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Megan took the check and stared at it a beat too long. “Oh wow. That’s awesome. Thank you. Absolutely.”

“My cell number is on top if you have any questions. I’d stick around to see some of the dogs you’ve got here, but I’m running late for the stadium as it is.”

“Of course. This is awesome. Thank you so much.”

Kelsey—who was standing next to Megan and had seen the figure on the check—offered her thanks as well. Mason Redding was giving the High Grove Animal Shelter forty thousand dollars. Out of nowhere.

Kurt, who seemed the most unfazed by a famous St. Louis baseball player’s sudden appearance, followed him toward the door.

“Can we post this?” Patrick asked. “Not the amount; that would violate privacy rules. Just that you donated.”

Mason shrugged. “Certainly, as long as you say it’s a personal one.”

“Then I should take a picture,” Patrick said, pulling his phone from a pants pocket.

In a blur of commotion, Kelsey found herself, Megan, and Kurt being filed against the south wall under the newly painted shelter logo for a picture with Mason Redding. When she ended up flanked by Kurt and Mason, with Megan on Mason’s other side, she leaned close to Kurt and whispered, “When this over, I’m definitely going to let you pinch me.”

Chapter 18

Time and again, there were two aspects of Ida’s life that her acquaintances found peculiar. The first was her Camaro. She didn’t blame them on that one. Not many women her age would still get behind the wheel of a Camaro Z28. She knew her reaction times weren’t what they used to be, though in no terms did she consider herself a danger to anyone. She planned her errands at times of low traffic when navigating the busy city streets was easier. But getting behind the wheel and flipping on the engine gave her a rush that was unlike anything else she experienced in daily life, so she wasn’t about to give it up. And she was okay that her 2002 Camaro wasn’t as reliable as it once had been. She didn’t intend to replace it. If it conked out before she did, she intended to look into that Uber thing people kept talking about.

She’d bought the car a few years after moving to St. Louis in memory of her late husband. He’d been driving a 1967 model when he picked her up for their first date. The purchase had been her way of saying that she wasn’t settling into a quiet widowhood like everyone expected. Perhaps after living quietly through her youth while her sister lived loudly, it was also a form of self-expression Ida finally needed.

The second thing Ida’s acquaintances were most apt to comment on was her love of a porterhouse steak. An eighty-one-year-old woman and porterhouses didn’t go together, she’d been told. And even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud, the mouthwatering steaks hadn’t been easy on her stomach for over a decade. Knowing how they messed up her system for a few days after eating one, she only gave in to the craving once or twice a year. And to stave off some of their effects, she’d stick to oatmeal for breakfast and a brothy soup for dinner a few days before and after.

But today, a quiet Thursday afternoon framed by newly turning yellow, red, and gold leaves and a crisp, cool breeze that carried the promise of the changing season, she found herself with a craving for red meat that only a good porterhouse would cure. And since steaks were best with company, she drove by her sister’s old place before heading to the grocery store to invite the busy young couple to dinner.

It gave her a chuckle to see the way Kurt cocked his head at the sight of her shiny black Camaro idling in the driveway when he answered the door. To his credit, he didn’t comment aloud. And like the gentleman she suspected he was, after politely accepting, he asked what they might bring.

“Your time and company is all I’ll ask for,” Ida had said.

From there, she’d headed to the butcher shop that Sabrina’s late husband, Jeremy, had claimed carried the best meat in St. Louis. After choosing three steaks that were each big enough

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