Page 18 of Call It Serendipity

“Is this funny? Some kind of game for you?”

“Not a game,” I say.

“Then what the hell is it? Why did you want to take over this job?”

I think of my conversation with Lucy yesterday at the sandwich shop. “This is me finding my style,” I tell him.

11

“Ithink you’re ready for a stroll around town,” I announce to Bear as I work to free a treat from my pocket. “What do you think?”

He tips his nose up to look at me with bright, shining eyes and a wide smile. Not to mention the lopsided way his tongue is hanging from his mouth. My heart melts as I hold my palm out flat to him and watch him gently take the treat.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Wiping my hands together to brush off the Milk-Bone crumbs, I collect the leash from the ground and clip it onto his collar. Like last time, he waits patiently for me to do so and then lets me take the lead as we go inside.

He’s doing so well, not pulling or fighting me. I wonder if I should have taken him into town before now. If maybe I’m not moving slower than usual on his training.

Sam is just past the door, cleaning a kennel, and he looks up to wave when we pass by. He won’t be alone here without me—my dad is in his office, and I can see Ellie cuddling a kitten through the plexiglass. Besides, weekday mornings are historically light around here.

And it’s the perfect day for a walk, with large, fluffy clouds peppering the brilliant blue sky and the first signs of autumn color gracing the trees. We head up the drive and turn left for town. I know for a fact that there is a large grassy space behind Monroe Books, the perfect place to lead Bear and give him a break before a stop inside Jenny’s. She always welcomes dogs at Jitters and even has a ‘pupachino’ on the menu.

I have a feeling Bear is ready to go in and get one. Which means he’s ready to be featured for adoption. It should be good news, but my heart feels heavy at the idea of not seeing him every day.

While I always cherish my time with the animals coming through the shelter, I’ve never quite connected with one like this. Whatever makes up his soul, I think it’s got some of the same bits as mine.

I push aside the way my heart constricts and instead focus on the gentle patter of his paws along the sidewalk. He’s doing so good, I stop at the corner of Monroe and Washington and contemplate skipping the break behind the bookstore all together.

That is, until he sees a tennis ball bouncing across the yard and starts to tug me towards it.

“Bear, heel,” I say sternly.

He doesn’t abide so I repeat the command again and give a single tug back on the leash. He again ignores me, being driven by the sole focus of reaching the ball.

I tug the leash once more, letting out my most serious demand for him to heel.

Instead, the leather slips from my grip.

“Bear!” I shout as the distance between us grows. He’s reaching the edge of the yard now, reaching the ball the same time another dog does.

Please don’t be reactive, I plead silently, watching my well-intentioned German shepherd pounce on the prize.

I hold my breath, watching him seemingly oblivious to the other dog approaching now that he’s captured the ball. Then to my relief, the other dog, a red golden retriever, passes right on by—headed toward me.

“Hi, you handsome man,” I say on an exhale. Reaching the yard, I kneel down to scratch him with both hands. “I’m sorry we’ve invaded your play time.”

He leans into my embrace, sending us both toppling over as Bear watches from where he’s now laying contently with the tennis ball. A laugh escapes me at the same time I hear, “Wow, he really likes you.”

Stepping out from the shadows of the bookstore, is none other than Jake Carpenter. And he’s wearing his smile that goes straight to my head.

“Charlie has good taste,” he adds, his resonant voice washing over me and sending color to cheeks.

When Charlie tips up to lick my heated face, Jake sighs. “And apparently he’s a terrible flirt.”

“Looking like this, how could he not be?” I say, my attention returning to my new four-legged love. I wrap my arm around his neck to brace for the way his whole body comes in for another lick up my neck and let out a laugh.

“He’s apparently poorly trained though.” Reaching us, he tugs the dog’s collar with his left hand and holds out his right to help me up.