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But knowing I probably won’t.
CHAPTERTHREE
CASSIA
Milo wiggles around on his back, pink tongue lolling as he shamelessly begs me for more attention. I squat down to give his belly yet another rub, smiling when his tail begins sweeping across the concrete.
I’m a sucker for his big brown eyes. And when you’re in a perpetually terrible mood—the way I’ve felt all summer—being around animals who don’t know what a bad feeling is can be a bit of a balm.
Maybe today will be the day that optimism wears off on me.
I feed Milo a treat from one of the jars scattered around the room, then straighten and stretch. Yawn, before heading over to the folding table covered with containers of different kibble and supplements.
I was home by midnight, but I didn’t manage seven hours of sleep. I tossed and turned until my legs were tangled up in the sheets, staring at the phone screen that never lit up.
If we hadn’t made direct eye contact, I’d think he didn’t realize I was there last night.
Holden’s friends tiptoed around mentioning him to me on the rare occasions I ran into any of them this summer. Sydney stayed in New York. And my family is too busy and too chaotic to have wondered why Holden never came back a single weekend to visit.
I wonder if anyone asked him about me last night.
Wonder what he said if they did.
“He’s sure made a lot of progress.”
I turn to look at Jackie, who’s walking into the kennel with Cooper. He’s a mastiff mix dropped off at the shelter two weeks ago by a couple who surrendered him because they didn’t know how big he would get.
Susan handled his intake, which was probably for the best. She’s more even-tempered than I am in those situations, saying it’s better they brought their pet here than leaving them out on the streets.
True, but also a really low bar.
“That’s great,” I say.
Jackie puts Cooper into his kennel and focuses on Milo, who’s taken a seat at my feet.
He was picked up on the street, young enough it’s possible he’s never had an owner. He arrived about a week after I got back to Pembrooke for the summer, and I’ve grown more attached to him than I have to any other animal at the shelter.
And the feeling seems mutual. He’s much less skittish than when he first arrived but doesn’t seek out affection from anyone else.
Susan calls him my shadow.
Jackie walks over to Willow’s cage, tucking her short hair behind one ear.
I start stacking up all the silver bowls now that the morning feeding is done. They’ll have to be washed, then the same process run through again tonight.
“I’ll take Willow out next?” Jackie asks me.
“Sounds good,” I reply.
Jackie’s fifteen, about to be a junior at Pembrooke High. She started volunteering here last summer and has kept coming back ever since. Her mother is allergic to dogs, so she’s never been able to have one of her own. Similar to the way I started working here. Her cheerful chatter breaks up the comfortable silence Susan and I usually share when it’s just the two of us.
I’m halfway through washing the bowls when the phone starts to ring. I shrug out of the dish gloves as soon as I remember Jackie is out walking Willow and can’t answer it, rushing through the door and down the hallway toward the reception desk.
I turn the corner and then my quick steps stutter, focusing on Jackie first.
She’s standing by the front door, Willow sitting patiently at her feet. And Holden is only a few feet away, nodding along to something she’s saying.
Jackie glances my way and then startles, like she’s registering the ringing phone for the first time. She steps toward the desk, so I tell her “I’ve got it” and answer.
