Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Throughout the afternoon, I watch him from the corner of my eye.
He appears to be locked in, though not necessarily enjoying himself the way he was at the jubilee. But he handles the dogs with competence, following the volunteer coordinator’s instructions to the letter. He walks a boisterous pit bull mix, calms a golden retriever who’s still learning boundaries, and even gets the bunnies to come out of their hutch and visit with a woman with a rabbit tattoo on her neck, who is clearly a big floppy-ear fan.
But he never smiles. Never lightens up or loosens up.
And never, not once, looks my way.
When we run into each other at the water station around three, he’s clearly ready to bolt the second he sees me, but I pounce before he can vanish again. “Hey, so I was thinking about how I could make up for having to cancel on Wednesday. There’s a holiday movie double feature at the theater this weekend. Miracle on 34th Street and Elf. I thought maybe you might want to go tomorrow night? We could grab dinner first or—”
“I have plans tomorrow.”
I blink, my throat going tight. “Oh. Okay. Well, maybe Sunday afternoon, then, I think they—”
“Sorry, I have to go,” he says, tossing his empty paper cone into the trash beside the cooler. “I promised I would help lift the pit bull’s kennel into Mr. Clapp’s truck when he pulls around.”
Before I can assure him that’s okay and we can talk later, he’s gone.
I head back to my booth, fake smile glued to my face, pretending to be fine.
The afternoon drags on. I photograph happy families with their new pets, fake good spirits, and make cheerful small talk with adopters while my heart gnaws away in my chest.
What the hell happened?
Why is he so cold?
It can’t be just because I cancelled, that would be crazy. But I honestly can’t think of anything else it could possibly be.
By late afternoon, most of the animals have found homes. The parking lot is quieter now, just a few volunteers gathering supplies and saying their goodbyes. The sun is starting to sink behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that would be beautiful if I weren’t too angsty to appreciate it.
“Holly?” Janet, the volunteer coordinator, approaches with a worried expression just as I finish packing up my things. “We have a problem. That beagle mix, Daisy, the one that came in from the hoarding situation after her owner passed? A family is interested, but she won’t come out of her crate. We’ve tried everything, and we’re running out of time. They have to leave in thirty minutes. I thought maybe you could give it a try? You’re so good with the anxious ones.”
“Of course, I’m happy to,” I say, following her to the last small enclosure still standing.
I step over the temporary fence and squat down, heart melting at the sight of Daisy pressed into the very back corner of her crate, her small body trembling. Her brown eyes are wide with fear, and she whimpers as I come into view.
“Aw, hey there, sweet girl,” I murmur, extending my hand slowly. “It’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you. These nice people just want to say hi and give you a treat.”
Daisy doesn’t move. She simply shakes harder.
“Oh, come on,” I cajole. “I bet you love treats. All the beagles I know will do just about anything for a treat.”
“We tried,” Janet murmurs behind me. “She wasn’t interested in the biscuits. But a volunteer went to grab some smoked turkey from concessions. Maybe she’ll be more tempted by that.”
Somehow, I know which volunteer is fetching the turkey, even before Luke appears a beat later, holding a small ice cream cup filled with lunchmeat.
He hesitates when he sees me, but then steps over the fence, coming to crouch down next to me in front of the crate.
“Here you go, Daisy.” He sets the cup down on the pavement, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Come have a snack. You must be hungry. Janet says you haven’t eaten all day.”
Daisy’s trembling slows, just slightly. Her eyes fix on Luke.
Janet whispers, “Keep talking. Her owner was a man with a deep voice, too. Maybe you’ll be able to get through to her.”
Luke clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. But he nods and turns his attention back to the frightened pup. “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time. I’m sure all this noise and fresh air is very different than what you’re used to. But different doesn’t have to be bad. Or frightening.”
Slowly—so slowly, it’s almost imperceptible—Daisy inches forward.
“Different can just be different,” Luke continues, his voice so gentle it makes my chest ache. “And sometimes it can be…wonderful. Not always, but sometimes. I’m sure it will be for you. The Underwoods seem very kind. They recently lost a beagle they loved very much and are very excited about taking you home to foster.”