Page 22 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

“I volunteer at a shelter,” she says reluctantly. “Amsterdam Dog Rescue. You could call them. They could probably take him.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my day setting up a website and putting some ads on Craigslist and Facebook.”

“You’re really into this.”

“Yep.” She flashes a high beam smile.

“I’ll write up something for you.”

We’ve finished our meals, and I slide off the stool and head to the bedroom that serves as an office. My laptop is still packed in my bag from our trip, so I get it out and boot it up.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I have no idea what to say. Finally I make up some bullshit about how she was able to accommodate me at the last moment and saved my butt and how Otis loves her and what good care of him she took. I add in some stuff about how she understands Otis’s special needs, which is a euphemism for how he’s messed up, and that she genuinely cares about animals.

I think she does anyway.

I send it to my printer and then snatch it up, sign it, and carry it out to her.

I find her wiping off the counter, having loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and put away the food.

“Wow, you didn’t have to clean up,” I say. “But thank you.”

She shrugs. “I was just sitting here. Otis is sleeping.”

“That’s great. I wish he slept more.”

“I know.” She grins. “But at least he sleeps all night.”

“True.” I hand her the paper.

She doesn’t even read it, just folds it into thirds, then tucks it into her purse. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“Not a problem.” I hesitate. I don’t want her to walk out that door and never see her again. The tug of attraction I feel toward her is puzzling. “Hey. Would you maybe like to have dinner later?”

She freezes. Blinks. “Dinner?”

“Yeah.” I flash what I hope is a persuasive smile.

“Oh. Um. No, thanks.”

My stomach dips.

“I’m not really dating right now,” she adds.

“Good. Me either. That means no reason we can’t date each other.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. For a few seconds, hope flickers inside me.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t think we’re, uh, compatible.”

I can clearly hear “you’re an asshole” in her tone of voice. Great.

I nod. “I understand. Thanks again for looking after Otis. If I hear of anyone who needs a dog walker, I’ll give them your name.”

“Oh, thank you! That would be awesome. And I appreciate the reference.”

She walks over to Otis, crouches down, and kisses his head. “Bye, Otis. It was fun. Have a good life.”

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