Page 21 of Maverick

"Oh, um, sure. If you want."

He steps into the tiny space, absently rubbing his stomach. The kitchenette suddenly feels even smaller with his broad shoulders taking up so much room. I hand him the other scoop and point to the line of bowls on the counter.

"Just one scoop for the little guys, two for the big ones."

He nods, getting to work. It's simple, repetitive work, but the air between us is thick. Hiding my smile, I sneak glances as he very carefully and methodically fills the scoop, using a finger to level it. I've had all kinds of volunteers through these doors, from sullen to exuberant. So why do I find his concentration so endearing?

"So, how do you keep track of all their diets?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. "There are so many dogs out there."

I shrug. "I just remember, I guess. I don't always know what each dog needs when they come to me, but the ones that have been here a while I've figured out. Sammy is allergic to chicken. Weenie needs a low-fat blend. Terry gets an extra scoop because he's still a growing boy." I rattle off the details without thinking.

Maverick shakes his head, chuckling. "Weenie? Terry?”

“Yeah. Well, I don’t really name them. I call them some variation on a breed. So Weenie’s a dachshund. Terry’s a boston terrier.”

“Why don’t you name them?”

“Because that’s their new family’s job. Most of the adopters change the names, and that can be a little confusing for them.Plus, it’s too easy to get attached, and they’re not staying here long term. That’s the whole point.”

“When did this naming thing start?”

“It was something my grandma said years ago, when I brought home my third or fourth stray. It was so hard to fix them up and let them go, but Nan reminded me that I couldn’t help more if we ran out of room.”

“And you always wanted to help more?"

“Yeah. I just didn't want to stop.”

"It's clear you care a lot about them. They're lucky to have you."

"I'm the lucky one, really. They give me purpose."

Maverick hums thoughtfully. "Everyone needs a purpose. I'm glad you found yours."

I glance up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. The billionaire’s looking at me like he respects me. That’s…surprising. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged with...something. But then he blinks, and the moment passes.

"Well, that's the last of them," he says, setting down the scoop. "What's next on the agenda?"

I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Um, I usually take them out for one last potty break before bed."

He nods. "Lead the way."

Conscious of him trailing closely behind, I grab a couple of leashes from the hooks near the kennels then leash a little boston terrier mix, and a beautiful, already spinning in circles, Australian shepherd.

I hand the leash for the terrier to Maverick, who's giggling as he watches the manic shepherd acting like a goofball at my feet. "This is Shep. He is not a gentleman. Your guy Terry is much better on the leash."

"That’s good," he murmurs, carefully winding the leash around his fist so it doesn't drag on the ground.

“Are you sure you can handle him?” he asks, as Shep has a loud argument with his non-existent tail.

“I’m sure.”

As soon as we step outside, the Australian Shepherd at the end of my leash loses his mind. He's bouncing up and down like he's on a pogo stick, tongue lolling out of his mouth in pure, unadulterated joy.

I laugh, trying to keep my balance as he pulls me forward. "Dude chill! You'd think he's never been on a walk before. But he does this every single time."

Maverick chuckles, the little Boston Terrier trotting primly beside him. "Terry seems quite happy to go for a nice walk."

"Oh just you wait." I grin knowing exactly what he’s in for. Terry’s a gentleman, but he’s also stubborn and lazy. "He's lulling you into a false sense of security."

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