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“Some dogs smile like that when they’re happy or excited.”

“No. Dogs do not smile.”

“Panda does,” Eli says.

He’s got the decency to hold in his laughter, unlike Camden, who’s still chuckling—while rubbing the black and white dog’s belly. The dog who has its tongue out and looks incredibly happy. Not terrifying like it did moments ago.

I guess Bailey and Eli would know, since they’ve been fostering Panda for a month or so. They would never put Liam in harm’s way, either.

“Mom.” Liam steps up on my other side. “Please just try petting him. He’s so nice.”

“He ran at me like he was going to bite my face off.”

“Yeah, really scary puppy,” Camden says as he finds a ticklish spot on Panda’s belly and the dog starts kicking its back leg. Singular. Did I mention in addition to apparently smiling, Panda only has three legs? “Aren’t you a mean old doggy?” he continues in baby talk. “Do you want to bite Naomi’s face off?”

I pinch Camden’s ribs. “You are the worst.”

When I look at Liam again, he’s got those pleading eyes. The ones I don’t usually have the strength to say no to. The ones he used on me just last week after contacting our landlord to get a copy of the leasing agreement so he could read it. Turns out wecanhave a dog. Yay.

Despite me being upset that Liam went behind my back to talk to the landlord, which feels not so dissimilar to signing up for hockey without permission, he wore me down about the dog.

Well—it was a concerted effort. Liam, Bailey, Eli, and even Camden got in on this. Because it is a full-blown conspiracy now.

“Come on, Mom,” Liam says. “Just give him a chance. You handled Steve, remember? You can’t be scared of a dog who smiles at you.”

“I still don’t believe that was a smile.”

“His tail was wagging,” Liam says.

“Who’s Steve?” Camden’s voice suddenly sounds sharp, clearly assuming Steve is a person.

Which is way more likely than the actual story.

“Oh, no one important,” I say loftily, and suddenly, Camden twists his head to look at me with a murderous expression.

“Steve is a pelican,” Liam says.

Camden looks relieved. But then, as though remembering my comment playing into his mood, he narrows his eyes at me. It’s a promise of playful retribution, and I cannot wait for him to exact it.

While Liam starts to explain that Steve thought the bed and breakfast on Oakley was his home and kept finding his way inside, I take a breath and crouch down.

I use Camden as a shield, keeping one arm wrapped around his legs as I peek around his knees at Panda. I’ve never met a dog I didn’t like.

But anyone who saw a dog running at them with a curled lip and bared teeth would be hiding behind a giant hockey player, too.

As if reading my hesitation, Panda waits, one blue and one brown eye fixed on my face. I can’t decide if the two different eye colors are beautiful or creepy. The longer we share prolonged eye contact, the more I lean toward beautiful.

I do wonder why, ofallthe dogs in the shelter where Bailey used to work andallthe dogs being fostered who need homes, she brought overthisone for Liam.

I tentatively hold out a hand. “Hey, Panda. Are you a nice boy? Or are you just fooling everyone and you really want to eat my face?”

Just as tentatively, Panda leans forward and sniffs my fingers. Why I wait with bated breath, like this dog’s judgment of me matters, I’m not sure. But Idofeel like this dog’s approval rating of me somehow matters more than my feelings about him. I’m also very aware that everyone is watching.

If this dog doesn’t like me, does it say something about my character?

Panda pulls back and for a second I feel like I’ve just been voted off the island inSurvivor.

Then, as though knowing I’m still slightly freaked out, the dog inches forward on his belly until he rests his soft muzzle in my palm. Then he looks up at me with plaintive eyes that, other than their different colors, lookexactlylike Liam’s when he’s pleading for something.