Page 6

Chapter Six

I hate that I’m hesitant to go into the shelter. It’s supposed to be one of my sanctuaries. A safe escape, where I know I’m doing something good in the world. But knowing I have to face Dylan, who will probably tease me about last night, makes my stomach knot.

“Want me to pick you up?” Sam asks.

“No, thanks. I brought my stuff. I’ll just walk home after.” Staring at the entry, I wonder if Dylan is here yet. His motorcycle is nowhere to be seen. That spurs me on. If I can get in there and already be busy when he shows up, maybe it will prevent him from making fun of me. “Thanks for the great weekend. See you guys tomorrow.”

I push out of the car, slam the door, and jog into the shelter. No one is at the front desk yet, so I speed walk to the employees only door, eager to store my stuff and dash out to the kennels. Plans of what chores will keep me separate from the bad boy of Oak Grove High swirl in my mind as I push through the door. But when I find myself face-to-face with Dylan, I stumble over my own feet.

He smirks as I recover my balance. “So, you can’t help the klutziness?”

“I’m not klutzy.” Stomping across the room to the lockers, I shove my duffle inside.

“Are you moving in? That seems like a large bag for a day job.”

“I volunteer, you know.” When he looks at me like I’m the moron, I huff and say through clenched teeth, “I spent the weekend at Sam’s. I’m going home from here, so I have my stuff with me.” I toss the lunch Sam packed for me into the fridge and turn to Dylan and bow. “Is that acceptable, your highness?”

His head jerks back. “Your highness? Where did that come from?”

When I play the conversation back in my head, I see that he wasn’t actually acting superior. “Let’s just get to work.”

We tackle dog duty first. Again, each dog seems especially focused on Dylan, with Popeye being the happiest to see him. It irks me that the dogs I’ve been caring for, some for months, are more loyal to a guy who only shows up because a judge told him to.

When we enter the cat enclosure, I’m glad to see there hasn’t been a unanimous decision overnight by all the cats to suddenly love Dylan too. Out of spite, I have him scoop poop out of the litter boxes while I love and cuddle the cats that will let me. I watch him work. Again, he’s keeping mostly to himself. I’m surprised he hasn’t brought up the restaurant incident yet. Maybe Bek is right, and he isn’t horrible.

At lunchtime, we head to the employee breakroom. Dylan stops in the lobby to get a soda from the vending machine while I retrieve my lunch from the fridge. Uncurling the brown paper bag, I take each item out, one at a time, and read the notes Sam left for me. On the sandwich bag, she wrote, “Say cheese, you ham.” Clearly, a ham and cheese sandwich. On the mermaid splashes themed pudding cup, she wrote, “The only fish Bek will eat.” I laugh out loud. On the baggie of crackers, she penned, “It’s okay, these have thin in their name. Eat all you want.” I chuckle.

Dylan flips the chair across from me around and sits on it backward, like he did last night. “Does your mom write you notes?”

His incredulous tone raises my hackles. I want to defend Sam. Instead, I keep my answer simple, because my life isn’t any of his business. “No.”

“I saw you reading stuff yesterday, too. I can’t let it go two days in a row.”

I look at the now-empty sandwich bag with its note scrawled in black marker. I really don’t want to share the information, but I also can’t not respond. That would be rude. It might make him mad and start a fight. “When I stay at Sam’s, she likes to pack me a lunch and she writes these little sayings on them.”

“Is Sam the girl who gave me her fries?”

“No, that’s Bek. Sam is the blonde who was sitting on my other side.”

Dylan shakes his head, and I’m shocked to realize he doesn’t know who she is, nor did he notice her. Usually, Sam is the first girl a guy notices. Especially one with the reputation Dylan has. I kind of want to mark this moment in history but have no one to share it with.

“Is Bek your friend, too?” Dylan sips his soda, watching me nod even as he tips the can back. “She’s sweet.”

I scoff. “She said the same thing about you.”

Dylan cocks his half-smile. “Really.”

“Oh, ugh! Don’t get all excited. She thinks everybody is redeemable. I was sure to set her straight as far as you’re concerned.”

Dylan squints. “You really don’t like me. ”

I shrug, not comfortable with being that direct.

“Are you going to dump your drink on me like you did to that baseball player last night?” There it is. “Or did you do that so you could cop a feel? I thought that was rather sneaky of you. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

I feel my cheeks flame as my temper rises. I knew it was too good to be true to think he wouldn’t hold that incident over my head.

“You’re not going to defend yourself?” Dylan asks.

“I don’t see any reason to. It doesn’t matter to me what you think.” I’m lying through her teeth. It matters. I just don’t understand why.

“Well, aren’t you enlightened?” Dylan rises from the chair with his soda in hand. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a couple calls to make before we get back to work.”

I watch him walk out to the lobby and hear him greet Chloe before the door swings shut behind him. I release the pressure on my tongue. I literally had to bite it to keep from defending myself. But, of all people, I know nothing good ever comes from defending yourself. As a matter of fact, it usually just escalates whatever situation you are in.

It never bothers me at home to keep my mouth shut and let the conversation die out; why is it so tough now? I look down at the empty sandwich bag and the note “Say cheese, you ham” and let a small smile form.

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He’s a temporary blip in my world. I’ve got all I need with my friends.”

Chloe enters the room in a rush. “Do you know if we have any more leashes?”

“Cat or dog?”

“Dog.”

“There should be a box in the storage room, on the second shelf, to the left of the door,” I say.

She nods.

“Oh, and Chloe.”

She looks at me expectantly.

“Dylan has some strangely good chemistry going with Popeye. Maybe he should spend more time with him.”

She raises her eyebrows. “He does?”

“Yeah.” Seeing the hope in her eyes makes me glad I mentioned it. “Popeye loves him.”

She smiles and looks at nothing over my shoulder. “Imagine if we could get him adopted out after all.”

“I know.” It would make Dylan a fricking hero, and that would make me mad, but Popeye in a loving home would be great.

“Do you mind working it out to give him extra time with Popeye? He can play fetch and walk him on a leash if Popeye will let him.”

“No problem.”

Chloe gives me a thumbs up and disappears again. I sigh and pop a cracker in my mouth.

When I’m done with lunch, I return to the kennels to start the process again. Dylan isn’t back by the time I’m ready to clean Popeye’s kennel. I stand outside kennel C and stare at the empty dog run, contemplating what to do. With a shrug, I skip Popeye for the time being and let the next two dogs out first. Popeye deserves happy dog time, even if I don’t understand why anyone or any dog would choose to spend it with Dylan.

By the time Dylan finally arrives, I’m starting on the other kennel row.

“It’s not a lunch hour , you know. It’s just a half an hour,” I snap when he strolls around the corner, totally unapologetic, as usual.

Dylan stiffens and bites out his response. “I had something to take care of.”

“I saved Popeye for you.” I nod in the general direction. “ As a matter of fact, I spoke with Chloe, and she’d appreciate it if you spend extra time with Popeye.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

Shouldn’t this be obvious? “He’s been here for a long time. It’s hard to place dogs with behavior issues. Didn’t I already cover this?”

Dylan’s expression goes blank, which infuriates me more. He could at least have the decency to be annoyed by my reminder. “What does that have to do with me spending more time with him?”

My fist curls as I check my impatience. I remember it’s only his second day, and he doesn’t know a lot about animals. Taking the time, I explain how working with Popeye can help the dog learn to be around people again. I clarify the different things he can do with Popeye and suggest he stay with him while I take care of the cat cave.

Dylan smirks. “If it gets me out of working with those creepy cats, then I’m all for it.”

“They’re not creepy!” I call after him as he lets himself out of the enclosure. Then I make a face at his back like a five-year-old and I murmur, “You are.”

But he’s not. He’s really not.

Chloe, who escorts a family into the meet and greet pen, snags my attention. The pen is a separate chain link area where they can spend one-on-one time with the dog they are interested in adopting to see if they get along.

“Can you bring Olive Oyl, Ava?”

I nod, but my heart squeezes. Olive Oyl has been at the shelter for over a month. She’s the sweetest old dog. As tall as Popeye, but gentle as can be. Of course, I want Olive to get a new ‘furever’ home, but I will miss her so much. I grab a collar and leash from the supply closet and slip into kennel Y.

“Hey girl! You have some visitors.” I laugh when Olive wiggles against me. She wags and rubs so hard against my legs, I have a difficult time standing, let alone getting a collar and leash on her. I adjust the collar, making it larger, then use a fist to instruct Olive to sit.

She plops her huge rump down. Her head is still waist-high, so I don’t even need to bend over to slip the collar on. “That’s a good girl. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

Olive pants up at me. Her muzzle and the fur around her eyes are white with age.

I clip the leash into place and Olive hoists herself up. Her movements are slow but sure. I lead her out of the kennel. The dogs I’d let out to clean their kennels run over to us and, seeing the leash, start leaping and barking excitedly. “Not this time, guys. It’s Olive’s turn. But extra play time for you.”

I open the gate for Olive without letting the other dogs out. Olive is good on the leash. She’s trained to heel and not pull at the end of the leash. We cross to the back of the yard to the meet and greet pen. I can’t help but grin at the little girl waiting anxiously within. She’s maybe four or five years old. Her little fingers are wrapped through the chain link, and her forehead is pressed to the fence to watch Olive approach.

“Here she is.” Chloe opens the gate for us, and I lead Olive in.

As soon as I stop, the dog sits beside me. I feel like a proud parent.

“You might have seen from her information card that we think Olive is a Great Dane and Mastiff mix,” Chloe says. “She’s a whopping 120 pounds. And she’s about eight years old.” Chloe levels a significant look at the parents. “You know large dogs don’t live as long.”

The parents both nod. The wife answers. “Yes, we’ve just always made a point of adopting the old dogs. They deserve a loving family at the end of their lives.”

I blink down at Olive who sits perfectly still next to me. She’s watching the little girl with her ears turned forward and her head cocked at an endearing angle. The girl is half-hidden behind her father but keeps peeking out at Olive. I give a little tug on the leash to let Olive know it’s okay to explore. I glance at the parents. “She’s excellent on a leash.”

Olive stands and inches slowly forward until she’s directly in front of the little girl. She hangs her head low in front of the child. When the girl doesn’t respond, Olive plops her large rump on the ground and waits. Her long tongue hangs out of her mouth as she pants.

“Go ahead and pet Olive, Cece,” the father urges. “Remember we taught you to let the dog sniff you first.”

The girl reaches out a tentative hand. It looks like a snack hanging in front of Olive’s huge muzzle, but I know the old dog is as gentle as they come. Olive arches her head forward and sniffs twice before licking the girl’s hand. Just a single lick. A squeal of delight erupts from the child. Olive doesn’t even blink over the shrill noise.

Cece steps out from behind her father and rubs her tiny hand over the dog’s head. When Olive doesn’t react, Cece steps closer and runs a hand all the way down the dog’s long, black back. She repeats it a couple times while her father reaches down to scratch Olive’s gray muzzle.

Chloe explains Olive’s history. “Her previous owner took extremely good care of her. Olive came to the shelter after he passed away and there was no other family who wanted to take in such a large animal.”

The wife reaches out and scratches Olive’s head. “I’m so sorry, girl.”

“Her vaccinations are all current and she has no additional medical needs.”

Cece is now yammering nonstop to Olive. “I like to play dress up. You can be my noble steed. Unless you want to be the princess. I think my crown will fit you. We can go for walks around the neighborhood together.”

“With your mother,” the wife interrupts, making me smile.

I can tell they are going to take Olive. Tears prickle behind my eyes. I try hard not to get attached to the animals. The whole idea of the shelter is for it to be a temporary stop, but sometimes an animal, like Olive, simply steals my heart at first sight. I was a goner from the first time she trained her big doleful eyes on me.

When Cece throws her arms around Olive’s neck and Olive leans her head against the little girl, I hand the leash to the father. Olive is going to have a wonderful new home. My voice shakes when I speak. “Can you please send a picture of Princess Olive Oyl?”

The mother, who appears as emotional over her daughter’s instant bond with the dog as I am, nods. “We will.”

I step next to the little girl who is chattering to Olive again. “Can I say goodbye to her?”

The girl nods.

I take in the big canine grin splitting the huge face, and tears pool in my eyes. “You’re going to have so much fun, Olive. But I will miss you a lot.”

Olive shifts so that she faces me, and I place my hands on each side of her big rectangular head. I scratch just under the ears where Olive likes it best. “You be good to this family.”

I lean forward and wrap my arms around the dog’s neck, just like Cece had. I thump my hand on her solid back. “Take care, sweet dog.”

I get to my feet and give an awkward wave but hurry from the pen before I cry. I slide back through the gate into kennel row. The dogs jump to greet me. So, I take the time to pet them both and distract my mind from Olive. It doesn’t work. A wave of sadness hits me. I head to the end of the dog run so that I’m out of view of Chloe and the family, as my tears begin to fall. I hate goodbyes. I hug myself, trying to stop my stupid eyes from leaking. The dogs gather around me as if they expect me to give them something. I’m relieved when they run off. I mentally scold myself and draw in a shuddering breath.

“You’re really going to miss that dog, huh?”

I stiffen. What was Dylan doing on this side anyway? He’s supposed to be with Popeye. I wipe furiously at my face before I grab the broom and open kennel N to clean it. With my face turned away from Dylan, I say, “She’s a great dog. But I’m excited someone’s adopting her. The old dogs usually don’t get adopted.”

“I think it’s sweet you’re so upset.” Dylan grabs the mop bucket and follows behind me to mop the kennel out. “This must be a tough job for you, though, if you’re always that upset.”

“I’m fine,” I snap. My hands are shaking with embarrassment.

“I can see that.”

I hear that annoying cocky smile in the tone of his voice. I want to scream at him to leave me alone. I realize I’m using the broom more like a weapon, I’m sweeping so hard. I pause, draw a deep breath, and mentally chant, he doesn’t matter, he doesn’t matter , over and over in my head. Finally, I can pull the broom at a more normal pace.

“Sounds like the little girl will take great care of Olive,” Dylan says.

With my eyes slammed closed in frustration, I bite my tongue to keep myself from yelling at him to drop the subject. I don’t want to talk to him about Olive. Heck, I don’t want to talk to him at all. But he’ll probably tease me more if I show more of a weakness, so I change the subject. “I thought you were with Popeye.”

“I put him away when I saw you run from the family.”

That makes me pause. He came to check on me? Is that what he’s saying?

“I’ll help you finish up here and go back to him when you go inside to the cats.”

I nod, not trusting my voice with all the emotion warring inside me now.

Not ten minutes after Chloe and Olive disappear inside the shelter, Chloe comes out with another family. “Ava, can you bring Sweet Pea, please?”

I nod but turn to Dylan. “You want to do this one? I’ll finish the last kennel and then head inside to the cats?”

“Sure, what do I do?”

“You just grab a collar and leash from the hook over there. Go into Sweet Pea’s kennel, put them on her, and then take her over to the meet and greet pen.”

Dylan raises an eyebrow. “It’s called a meet and greet pen?”

I sigh. “And what would you call it?”

He shrugs as he heads toward the collars. “I don’t know. Not that.”

I check my watch and groan when I see we still have two hours left. Dylan Scott is ruining one of my favorite places.