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That’s when it clicks.
Brindle, aka, a combination of black and burnt orange. Halloween tie-dye.
She definitely means the pit bull.
My shoulders sag, just a bit.
“Okay, yeah. I know the dog you’re talking about.”
“You do?” Paige steps forward to grip the edge of the counter, excitement clear in her voice.
I don’t want to have to look at her joyous smile, knowing the sight will just unsettle me, so I keep my eyes averted.
“Yeah. Pit bull. Brought in around ten in the morning. Found chained up with a duct tape muzzle. Probably used as a bait dog.”
“That’s her.” Her response is less enthusiastic but still eager. “Can I take her home?”
With the trouble we have adopting out pit bulls, I should be overjoyed to have someone here, asking for one. Problem is, I’m not sold on Paige. She shows up to the shelter in the middle of a weekday when most people are at their full-time jobs, dressed like she’s on her way to a yoga class. My guess is she’s a bored housewife looking for a charity project, and I don’t like the idea of her adopting a dog on a whim, only to find she can’t handle the responsibility.
Luckily, I have a completely valid excuse for turning her away.
“The dog is still getting checked out by the vet. Stitching cuts is quick, but she might have infections that take longer to treat. Then after that she needs to go through different socialization and behavioral tests before we can make her available for adoption.” Tired of talking to a piece of paper, but not wanting to meet her pleading eyes, I instead focus on the imperfect scar. “You’re looking at anywhere from a couple weeks to a couple months.”
“So then, I just come back every day to check in? Does she have an ID number assigned to her so there’s no confusion in the future?” Paige tilts her head to the side just enough to catch my eye, and I find myself stumbling over a response. Her unwavering commitment to the animal is making me doubt my initial assumption, and my skeptical heart has to admit there might be a slight chance she follows through.
I’m tempted to tell her that yes, she does need to come back to the shelter every day. Partly to find out if she actually would, but also a little bit because I wouldn’t mind listening to her weird rambling a few more times.
I shouldn’t want to do anything with her,I remind myself.
“We can take down your name and phone number and give you a call when she’s available. But there’s only a twenty-four-hour hold, then she’s up for anyone interested.” I say that like there’s real competition. The general public’s fear of pit bulls means they tend to stick around longer than other breeds.
“That won’t happen. You call me, I’ll be here.” She leans over the counter, squinting her eyes at my chest. “Dash.”
I flinch in surprise, not expecting to hear my name in her husky, sweet voice. The sound puts me in a temporary daze, until I realize I’m wearing a name tag.
“Well”—I clear my throat— “we have your contact info here.” I hand the application form to Kim, who’s been watching the entire exchange with the fascination of a person trying to learn her new job.
Paige nods steps back, affording me another view of her full, fit body. I shove my clenched hands into my pockets and move to retreat to my office.
“Dash.” The pleading tone she uses tightens my skin in a delicious way. As hazel eyes stare me down, I meet her intense gaze, knowing all the while that I shouldn’t. “Tell her that I’m coming back for her. She’s mine, and I’m hers. Tell her that.”
The request is so odd, I can’t do anything other than nod.
A hesitant smile curves at the corners of Paige Herbert’s mouth before she turns abruptly, her neon green sneakers squeaking on the linoleum tiles as she strolls out of the front entrance.
Kim and I share baffled looks.
“So, does that happen a lot?” She asks.
I swallow past the blockage in my throat caused by Paige’s half-smile.
“No. That…that was new.”
Chapter Three
Paige
It’s official: I’m cutting chocolate out of my diet.
