Shelly beams up at me, pushing her gray bangs away from her face. “I’m still going to pretend you’re calling me ‘sugar’ whenever you say that.”
I lean one elbow on the ledge by her desk and shoot her a look. “What do you mean? I am.”
She glances down at her cup and looks back up at me with concern all over her face. “Thereissugar in this, right?”
I smile. Of course there is. “Two.”
She gets this happy little look on her face and I remember why I like coming here. Besides giving back and all of that, I like helping good people. Shelly might work for a non-profit, but she is the beating heart of this place. I know she appreciates my services as much as my tea deliveries.
I know what you’re probably thinking. I don’t seem like a pet guy. I have no preference, really. Like them enough, but I’ve never felt the pull to own one. Too much responsibility. Originally, this whole thing was not my idea. It was just damage control for the last punch I threw that got some attention.
Management said I needed some good PR. Lowesy led me straight through these doors to find it. He was walking that fluffy thing he now owns at that time. It was considered volunteering. So, I started doing the same, but instead of just walking dogs, I threw my wallet at the place.
Lowesy donates monthly. Big chunks, too. I couldn’t handle coming here and seeing things falling apart. Felt badfor all of those little shits in their kennels and cages having to endure flickering lights or broken doors. I could donate, just like he does, but I like taking a look at what needs to be done and calling in favours with my connections to build relationships for this place. It’s saved them a lot of money so far.
It’s been about a year since, and I don’thaveto come here anymore. I could probably stop and nobody would say a word. Before I threw that punch atIcebox,anyway. Maybe Shelly would kick up a fuss, but that’s because she’d have less tea and much less sweetness without me around. But I won’t stop coming by. I like it. It gives me some purpose beyond skates and a stick.
Back to fate, though.
I turn the corner, pushing into the dog room, and stop dead in my tracks when I see a familiar head of pretty red hair.
See? Destiny.
I lean against the kennels, watching Arden on that small towel placed on the concrete floor. She’s bent over her book, her shoulder pressed to the kennel, eyes averted from the trembling dog beyond the door.
It doesn’t take long to figure out what’s going on here. The big ol’ piece of red paper with the word ‘CAUTION’ printed across it, the one slapped right on the kennel door with a bite taken out of the corner, it spells it out for me.
I push myself off the kennels and walk toward them both. The barking from the other pups conceals my steps. It isn’t until my feet come into her view, on that small towel covered in knitted flowers, that she stills and slowly looks up at me.
It’s a bit of a punch to my ego when her face falls like Satan himself has just entered the room.
I glance into the cage. Me and the mutt lock eyes. Cute thing, but a bit dodgy. He’s sitting in the corner, eyes glued to mine with the whites of his showing. He’s shaking, and I don’tjudge him for a second. Scared of the thing? Yup. But I’d be feeling pretty lousy if I were shoved in a cage for twenty-four hours a day, too.
Haven’t a clue what breed he is, but he’s got short hair, white with patches of dark stripes. He has one blue eye and one brown eye, which is pretty damn cool. He looks like he’d rather vanish into the wall than attack me, but he’s cornered. He’s got no other option if I walk in there.
He’s stuck and he’s scared. Lethal combination.
“I heard he hates redheads,” I say, glancing back at the ginger on the floor.
Arden’s eyes narrow. She slowly lowers her book to her lap. “Are you stalkingme?”
I bark a laugh. The poor guy in the cage beside me jumps. “Not quite. Believe it or not, this is all an act of fate. I help out around here when I can. See what they might need my money for.”
She stares at me, like she doesn’t believe a fucking word I’m selling her, but her eyes soften just enough that I keep talking.
“This month, they have a leaking ceiling in the back of the dog room.” I point to the back corner, where they have lost two kennels to the leak. That creates the potential for two poor pups being turned away when they walk through the doors. I don’t like that. I’m having it fixed within the week.
She doesn’t look, she just glares at me like this is all some trick. That’s fine. I will not be deterred. Not when the universe is pushing so hard for this.
“You don’t seem like a dog guy,” Arden says, bite in her voice.
I glance over my shoulder at Cujo. “I like all the little dudes who can’t stick up for themselves without being labeled aggressive.”
I gently pat the big, red sign. It’s a clear warning that this dog is unapproachable, even though they won't actually slap words like ‘aggressive’ or ‘biter’ on the cage. The dog shows me his teeth, so I look away, but I keep myself pressed against the kennel so he can smell me.
I think Arden and I might have had the same idea.
Begrudgingly, she looks from me to the cage. “His name is Wanton.”
