Page 101 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

He reaches over with his free hand and tangles our fingers together. “Always.”

Martha appears in the doorway. “Hate to interrupt, but these monsters need their lunch. You boys want to help with feeding time?”

“Absolutely,” Jameson says, carefully setting down his sleeping puppy.

Feeding time is as chaotic as I imagined it to be. Six puppies, six bowls, and apparently six different opinions on whose food is better. They switch bowls constantly, steal from each other, and somehow manage to get more food on the floor than in their stomachs.

“I think this one’s going to be trouble,” I say, watching the one with the eye patch systematically visit each bowl, conducting a taste test.

“That’s Patches,” Martha says. “And you’re right. She’s too smart for her own good. Figured out how to escape the pen twice already.”

“Patches? Really?” I ask Jameson.

“I don’t name them,” he defends. “That’s all Martha.”

“I’m not creative with names,” Martha admits. “That’s why we have Spots, Brownie, and Captain Fluff over there.”

After feeding time, we help clean the room, which mostly involves mopping up scattered kibble and picking up toys that have been thoroughly destroyed. The puppies are in their post-meal sleepy phase, piled together in a corner like a living, breathing furry blanket.

“Come on,” Jameson says. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

We spend the next hour visiting the other dogs. There’s Duke, an ancient basset hound who moves slower than a turtle. Princess, a surprisingly fierce chihuahua who rules her kennel with an iron paw. And Bear, who’s a massive golden retriever with the personality of an overgrown puppy.

“Bear’s been here six months,” Jameson tells me as the dog leans his entire body weight against the kennel door, desperate for attention. “People see his size and get scared, but he’s the gentlest soul.”

I reach through to scratch Bear’s ears, and he closes his eyes in bliss. “People won’t adopt him because of his size?”

“It’s apartment restrictions, mostly. Plus, he eats about fifty pounds of food a month.” Jameson watches Bear with obvious affection. “I’d take him myself, but my mom says two boys and a dog would be too much chaos. She thinks a cat is enough.”

“She’s probably right.”

“Indubitably right. But look at this face.” Jameson smooshes his face against the kennel bars, and Bear immediately licks him through the gaps. “How can you say no to this face?”

“You’re going to end up with ten dogs one day, aren’t you?”

“Minimum,” he agrees cheerfully.

“You really love this,” I observe, watching him separate two dogs who are getting too rough in their play.

“I do. It’s one of my favorite things.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s simple here. These guys don’t care that I can’t dance or that I’m terrible at public speaking. All they care about is that I show up.”

“You’re notterribleat public speaking.”

“Kevin, I peed my pants in middle school when I had to give an oral report on the stock market crash. Thank God nobody noticed because I was able to cover the wet spot with my hands.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, surprising us both. “And you come here every Thursday?”

“Pretty much. I play with the puppies, help clean the kennels, I walk the older dogs. It’s not glamorous, but it matters.”

“It’s perfect,” I say, and mean it. “You’reperfect.”

He stares at me, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know you can talk to me, right? About Robbie, about everything. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shit.The tears come suddenly, without warning. One moment I’m fine, the next I’m crying in front of a bunch of dogs who stare at me with cocked heads, trying to figure out what’s wrong with the strange human who’s leaking.