Page 78 of The Weight Of Falling
“Turbo,” I say softly.
“That’s it,” Tess exclaims. “Turbo.”
The three of us look down at the beagle sleeping peacefully in his bed. “Turbo,” I say, testing it out.
His ears prick, his tail gives a lazy thump, and one eye opens to stare sleepily at us before closing again.
“Turbo it is,” I say with a smile.
33
I take in a lungful of crisp morning air and zip my jacket up tighter. Normally, I’d be sleeping in on a Saturday, but I’m quickly learning dog moms don’t get to sleep in. Not with an energetic beagle who’ll gnaw a dining room chair when he’s bored. Last night, I stayed up late reading as much as I could about beagles. I discovered they’re energetic, intelligent, and amiable, but they also tend to be stubborn. I’m seeing that in real time as Turbo insists on sniffing every leaf, gum wrapper, and wheel rim.
My walk isn’t the sedate stroll I was hoping for. Instead, it’s a little chaotic, with Turbo pulling in a dozen different directions until my shoulder aches. I’m guessing his previous owner didn’t walk him much, if at all, so we’ll have to learn leash manners together.
Turbo glances back to make sure I’m still there. I can’t help smiling. It’s disarming to be adored this completely. He looks at me like I own his world, and I guess, for him, I do. I’ve never been the center of anyone’s universe before. It’s heady and humbling at the same time.
We’re ten minutes into our walk when I spot Joel on the opposite side of the street. He’s running, but it’s not a leisurely morning jog. He runs like he’s chasing something down. Or like something’s chasing him. There’s a kind of fury in it. I’m caught off guard by how visceral it is to see him like this, like his body is the only thing he knows how to control.
I’m not sure what’s worse—how good he looks, or the fact that I can’t seem to look away.
He said fate keeps tossing us back into the same orbit. Maybe he was right. What are the chances our paths would cross at this hour, on this block? Seeing him here feels like serendipitous proof. The universe clearing its throat.
I know the instant he sees me. There’s a tiny hitch in his stride, the kind you’d miss if you weren’t looking.
I lift a hand in a small, hesitant wave. He raises one in return, but he doesn’t slow. A strange mix of relief and disappointment floods my chest.
Do I want him to come over? No.
But a little company would have been nice.
I turn away, ready to head back home, but Turbo has other ideas. One second, I’m holding the leash; the next, it’s flying out of my hand. I watch in horror as Turbo runs straight for Joel, picking up his scent.
“Turbo!” I shout as I take off after him.
He gives a joyous bark, as if to say, Come on, slowpoke, let’s go say hi.
My heart drops as he barrels across the street. Thankfully, there are no cars.
Closing the distance, Turbo launches himself at Joel, who has to perform an impressive side leap to avoid getting entangled in Turbo’s leash.
He drops into a crouch and keeps a firm hold on Turbo’s collar, preventing him from running off again, while Turbo presses himself ecstatically against Joel’s legs, tail wagging madly.
I skid to a stop in front of them.
“Hey, trouble,” he murmurs to the dog, but his eyes are on me.
“I am so sorry,” I pant, bent over with my hands on my knees. “Thank you for holding him.”
“Not a problem.”
We stare at each other for one suspended beat, his fingers curled in my beagle’s collar, and my pulse pounding in my throat. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes give him away. Those dark, knowing eyes.
He looks down at Turbo, who is trying to lick his neck like they’ve been separated for years. My gaze snags on the way the tendons in his forearms move as he absently scratches behind Turbo’s ears.
Huh. Look at that. I had no idea forearms could flex like that. How...fascinating.
“You haven’t taken him to the shelter?” Joel asks, snapping me out of my very distracting headspace.
