Page 23 of Sometimes You Stay

“Why didn’t you get one?”

She shook her head. “No reason, really. My mom just ... I guess she thought they wouldn’t fit into our home.” Her tone carried something deeper than the easy dismissal, but her expression confirmed that she didn’t want him to push.

“Well, you’re welcome to play with these puppies or any of my dogs as long as you’re here.”

“Thank you.” She picked up a tennis ball, rolled it toward her extended feet, and John tumbled after it. “How many dogs do you have?”

“Eleven for now. More on the way.”

Her jaw dropped, her mouth hanging open for several long, silent seconds. “More? Why would you want more? How do you even keep up with them?”

Finn chuckled, swiping his hand through his hair. “It’s what I do. I breed and train Newfoundlands.”

Those telltale lines between her perfectly arched eyebrows appeared. “Why?”

He snorted a laugh as he plopped to the ground, facing her. John tromped over and dropped the ball in his hand, and he rubbed the pup’s ears. “Because it’s what we’ve always done. It’s what my dad did and his dad.”

His explanation didn’t make a crack in the confusion written across her face. “But why? I mean, what do you do with them?” Paul with his blue collar jumped into her lap, and she hugged him close as though protecting him from ending up in a cage somewhere.

“Oh, you know. They end up here and there.”

“Here and where? In good homes? Like, where they’re cared for?”

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Finn grabbed George under his front legs and stared into his little face. His slightly sour puppy breath easily carried the distance between their noses, and George barked with glee. “You think I’d spend months raising these guys only to send them off to be mistreated?”

The tight line of her lips began to relax, but worry still flickered in her narrowed eyes.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone in North Rustico—let alone on the island—had questioned his care for the dogs. It was his name on the business, his family’s reputation on the line.

Her doubts stung like a snapped rubber band. Not that he didn’t deserve them after he’d questioned the validity of her job the day before.

Forcing a loose grin into place, he said, “Most of them are raised as rescue dogs.”

“Like what Joe did for me yesterday.” Her voice was small, almost apologetic, and Joe looked up at the sound of his name before resting his head back on her leg and feigning sleep.

“Exactly like that. It’s in their blood. They’re strong swimmers, fearless in storms. Good trackers.”

“And the rest of them? You saidmost.”

“A few go to good homes—families who want a new friend. And a few become therapy dogs.”

Her nose crinkled, confusion in her eyes.

“They help people with high anxiety, neurodivergence, and PTSD challenges. Because of their size, they can be intimidating, but they have such gentle spirits that they tend to calm down those around them. My dogs have gone to therapy clinics, nonprofit organizations for veterans, and individuals needing some support.”

She started to crack a smile. “I’ve seen plenty of emotional support animals on airplanes, but I can’t picture one of your Newfoundlands fitting under the seat in front of me.”

Just the idea of Joe Jr. trying to squeeze under a chair made him chuckle. “Yeah, they’re more the open spaces kindof therapy. Not exactly portable when they’re full grown—unless you have a big truck.”

She matched his smile and pointed at the Fab Four. “What about these guys?”

“They’re already sold to a couple of rescue teams in Newfoundland and Labrador.”

The corners of her mouth dipped. “That sounds like hard work. It’s cold up there.”

Ruffling Paul’s thick coat of black curls, Finn shook his head. “These guys are made for that kind of weather. And when they put on another hundred and thirty pounds, they’ll be nearly impervious to the snow.”

Her glance shot up from the pup in her arms. “A hundred and thirty?”

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