Page 46 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

Chapter Eighteen

Dylan hasn’t gone out of his way to talk to me all week, so I’m pretty sure he’s gotten the message that I’m not interested in his pity. I’m not exactly looking forward to the awkwardness I expect we’ll experience while volunteering together. But the way I figure it, we’ll have one uncomfortable day and then we’ll be back to acquaintances who interact pleasantly but don’t share any personal information with one another. I can handle a single day.

I stiffen my spine as I pull the front door to the shelter open. There’s a young couple at the counter being helped by Chloe. She looks up and smiles at me. “Perfect timing. The Andersons couldn’t wait to pick up Bullseye. They were waiting for me when I opened the doors this morning. Would you mind getting him while I finish up their paperwork?”

“Not at all.” I set my bag on the floor next to the front desk and smile at the excited couple when I head toward the cat cave.

Bullseye is one of eight kittens who were born to a stray in a garden shed. The person who owns the shed gathered up the mom and her kittens and brought them to the pound. The five male kittens have already been neutered and received the last of their vaccines yesterday, making them eligible for adoption today. As is the way with kittens, they’re all on hold already. The three females will be spayed early next week. All the kittens are tabby cats, like their mother, but Bullseye has a perfect white circle on his chest.

I grab a small carrier and enter the cave, which is only a room with multiple carpet-covered built-ins for the cats to climb in and on. Observation windows look in from two different hallways, but it’s still too early for anybody to be here. Bullseye and his brothers are all snuggled together in a wicker basket on a shelf in a corner.

“Oh, I’m sorry to have to take you away from your brothers, Bullseye. But it looks like your new family is really excited to take you home.”

I scoop the little ball of fluff from the middle of the pile. Bullseye squeaks out a series of pathetic, under-developed mews in protest. I’m about to put him into the carrier, but at the last minute decide to carry him out to the couple and let them do it. They probably want to cuddle with him first anyway.

The woman whips around when she hears Bullseye’s protests approaching. The joy on her face makes it easy for me to hand the kitten over. As suspected, the woman immediately holds Bullseye high on her chest and close to her neck. She bends her head to rub her cheek gently against the kitten’s body. Bullseye buries his face against the crook of the woman’s neck and his protests morph into loud purring. The couple coos happily.

I set the carrier on the front counter and grin at Chloe. Chloe winks in response. It’s a good adoption. With a smile on my face, I snatch up my bag and head to the employee lounge. I’m still smiling when I swing open the gate to patio A. When Chip runs past, I frown. My heart stutters as I consider how the dog might have gotten out of his kennel. I jog in the direction of his kennel, but then I see another dog. I don’t recognize the dog sniffing around the edges of the patio. When Dylan steps out of Chip’s kennel, pushing the mop bucket in front of him, my heart rate slows. For a moment I’d forgotten about Dylan altogether.

“I didn’t think you had it in you to be late,” Dylan says, by way of greeting.

I squint at him. It sounds like a pleasant, teasing thing to say, but his tone is flat. “I wasn’t late. I helped with a cat adoption. Bullseye.”

“Lucky Bullseye. Good for him.”

Dylan grabs the broom and enters kennel B.

“And who do we have here?” I ask, stepping over to the information card next to the kennel. “Mr. Peabody. Who’s Mr. Peabody?”

Dylan sticks his head out of the kennel, a confused look on his face. “That dog, right there.”

“Oh, no. I mean what cartoon character is Mr. Peabody?”

Dylan’s confused expression only deepens. “I have no idea. Why are you even asking that?”

I chuckle. “If the dogs don’t come in with a name, the staff always name them after cartoon characters. They usually go through the whole cast of characters from a particular cartoon. Last week it was Animaniacs.”

A look of revelation dawns on Dylan’s face. “Oh, now I get it. I think you tried to explain that to me last week too.” He looks at the new dog again. “But I still have no idea who Mr. Peabody is.”

I tug my phone out of my pocket and type the question into a browser. “Oh. Mr. Peabody was a dog! Some smart, science-y type of dog. He hung out with a boy named Sherman. It was part of the Rocky and Bullwinkle show. I remember them.”

Dylan shrugs. “I was never much of a cartoon person.” He disappears into the kennel again.

I turn back to the information card. “Mr. Peabody is a boy. No surprise there with a name like Mr. A beagle mix. Approximately three years old. He was a stray, so he’s not available for adoption yet.”

I turn toward the dog, squat, and call him over. He trots straight to me, with his tail wagging and a happy grin on his adorable face. I rub him down with both hands and he leans into it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Peabody. If you aren’t claimed by your owners, I don’t think it will be long before you are adopted.”

Dylan steps out of the kennel again, grabs the mop handle, and pushes the bucket to the open door.

I jump up. “I’ll get that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m already here.”

Dylan isn’t being terse or difficult, but I still feel awkward.

“You know what? I’ll head over the patio Z and get that side done. You can spend extra time with Popeye on the leash. I’ll do the cat cave when I’m done with the other side.”

“You’re the boss.”

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