I didn’t try. The executive director said no, so we don’t really have an additional recourse,” I was saying—still trying to convince myself. We were heading toward the car but my attention kept snagging on a kennel in the far back—a flash of tan fur I vaguely recognized.
“Luna?” Jasmine prodded. I was frozen in my flip-flops, staring at the shabby-looking kennel with #7 painted over the door.
“Wait here,” I said slowly, moving toward that #7.
Because it couldn’t be, right? I’d left her barely three hours ago on the beach, terrified and shaking behind a palm tree.
But there in one corner, shaking and snapping, was my sweet, beautiful beach mutt. I’d have known that mangy fur anywhere.
Penelope.
And in the corner, crouched like the incredible Hulk, was Beck.
“Hey there, pretty girl,” I crooned, fingers hooked into the grate. Like this morning, her ear lifted. She was still shaking, but her eyes went to mine for the first time ever. She stilled.
“What are you doing here?” Beck asked, shock on his face.
“It’s Penelope,” I said, giant grin blooming. “Can I come in?” All frustration toward him was disappearing with the sudden appearance of my dog.
Beck looked between Penelope and me. Hesitated.
“Okay.” He reached over from his spot in the corner and opened the latch. I slid through, careful not to disturb the terrified stray in the corner. Next to her was a cheery yellow bowl that said you are my sunshine.
“Is that your food bowl?” I asked. I sat next to him, careful not to touch. It was like sitting next to an actual mountain, except he smelled like fresh soap and bourbon.
“Yeah, it is,” he said. Beck had a voice as deep as a canyon.
I pulled up a photo on my phone, scrolling until I found one of Penelope and her food bowl. “See?”
He looked down to the small screen, then back at me.
“I’ve been feeding her for six months now. I named her because I thought it was really sad that she didn’t have a name, on top of not having a family or love or food or a warm place to go at night.”
Beck was still staring at me—and I saw a spark of contrition.
“I’ve been feeding her too,” he said gruffly. “Trying to earn her trust so I could bring her here.”
“I’m surprised I’ve never seen you,” I said. “I would have remembered seeing a grumpy, leather-wearing biker acting like a jerk outside my office.”
Beneath his beard, I thought I saw his lips twitch. “That’s your offices? That white industrial building on Ocean Drive?”
“Our headquarters,” I said. “We should have protesters there any day now because of the Ferris Mark news. I’m happy you got Penelope out of there. I’d have been devastated if she left because of the people.”
“I think she’s a candidate for rehabilitation,” he said. “I mean, um… she can change.”
My heart squeezed painfully. “I think she can change too. How does the rehabilitation process start?”
Beck cleared his throat again. “Hand-feeding. It builds trust quickly.”
“Can I try?”
He was surprised. “Let me get you some food.”
I watched the white shirt he was wearing stretch across the wide expanse of his shoulders. I could feel dirt staining my skirt, my flip-flops, and repressed the urge to flinch from it. Because I never used to care. But my perfectly-distressed sandals had cost me a grand, and I didn’t even know how much I’d paid for this skirt. But it was designer, high-end, and scraping it across mud and dog shit wasn’t the best idea.
I think you should do good just to do it.
I’d wanted to flinch at that too—his words had struck a spiky nerve.
I held out my palm, my pricey rings glittering in the sun, and Beck filled my palm with food. Before he could caution me, I let my heart guide me across the kennel, smearing as much dirt across my skirt as possible. And it didn’t feel wrong.
Not in the least.
I crooned soft noises at her, hand outstretched.
“Stop there,” Beck said gently. “Not too close.”
I nodded but didn’t turn around. I kept non-threatening eye contact with my girl. She sniffed her way over and took three tentative bites of food. I almost squealed with happiness—but stopped myself.
Penelope scrambled over to her corner, tail between her legs.
“Now come back,” Beck instructed.
I beamed at him. “Did you see that?” I said. Without thinking, I gripped the sleeve of his shirt, twisting it. “She ate from my hand, Mr. Mason.”
A genuine smile broke across his face. “She likes you.