The screen told me HotRescues was on the line, but not who was calling. “Hello,” I answered as I slipped into the driver’s seat. “Lauren, it’s Nina. Are you heading here anytime soon? We have someone here who’s eager to adopt one of the kittens. The credentials sound good to me, and I’d like you to meet the people before they leave, if you’re going to be around.” “On my way. Should be there in half an hour or less. Will that work?” I heard a murmur, then Nina got back on the line. “Perfect. See you soon.” I checked the time, then drove toward Granada Hills. I wondered which kitten was involved. Who its prospective new owners might be, and what they were like. Whether I’d okay the match. Years ago, I’d been accused of micromanaging. My not-so-darling ex had hurled that criticism at me a lot. He’d been talking then about how I juggled raising the kids, working as a veterinary technician, and dealing with my relationship with him. Everything had to mesh perfectly.
