Chapter 15
Katie
“Katie, honey, I’m gonna need you to inspect the house of the people that want to adopt Bronson,” Marg, the shelter manager said.
“What?” I looked up as someone approached the reception desk and indicated I’d be with them in a second.
“Jo’s out sick still and I’m swamped,” she said. “Anyway, Bronson’s your baby. No one knows what he needs better than you. I told the guy—” Garrett, his name was Garrett, I remembered that. “That you’d come by after work. Will that be OK?”
“I was supposed to hit the gym with my sister,” I told her, wincing at the thought of it. “So the answer is obviously yes.”
“You’re a doll. I’ll text you the address.”
Which is how I came to be standing outside a very nice house in the suburbs. I looked up and down the line of neat lawns and pretty garden beds, somewhat reassured. Trouble is a bougie neighbourhood didn’t preclude animal abuse. I looked down at the checklist Marg had sent through and then went to knock on the door.
“Hi.”
Garrett was there, opening the door for me before I even had a chance. I took a step backwards, let out an involuntary laugh before holding out a hand.
“Hi, I’m?—”
“Katie.” His hand was big, strong, warm, and reminding me wayyy too much of another one right now. Would he give me whole body shivers when he touched my neck, like Rhett had? I thought I’d imagined how magnetic Garrett’s smile was, but nope, he was freaking gorgeous. “I remember. I’m?—”
“Garrett Jackson,” I said, making a show of reading it off the form. “Did Marg call and tell you about the change of plans? She couldn’t make it for the home inspection.”
“Rang me last night.” He stepped aside and ushered me in. “Come through and see what you think.”
“Wow, your place is gorgeous!” I said as I walked down the hall. All muted shades of grey on the walls, polished floorboards, and a stylish lounge suite in the living room, I ticked off boxes on the form, all while harbouring some secret fears. Where the hell would Bronson fit in a place like this? Usually I would’ve just silently wondered, but not now. “It smells amazing too.”
“Fresh baked cookies.” He walked behind a polished kitchen counter and then pushed a plate towards me. “I hope you like chocolate chip.”
“Love them.” I took one and bit into it, letting out an involuntary moan at the taste exploding in my mouth. “But you didn’t need to bribe me. We assess potential adoptees’ places based on the dog’s needs.”
“Well…” He turned around and pulled some coffee cups out of the cupboards. “I sent you a text about going to grab a coffee.” Shit, I froze mid-bite, remembering that his text was left on read. “But you didn’t get back to me, so I figured we could do that now. How do you like your coffee?”
“In an IV, pumped straight into my veins?” I said, as he turned the kettle on. A fancy French press was produced, rich smelling grounds spooned into the bottom. “Though if we’re going to talk about Bronson…” I turned and looked out the big glass door at the back of the house. The garden was gorgeous, the fence secure. If Bronson was any other dog, I’d be bending over backwards to get Garrett to adopt him. “There’s nothing wrong with your house.”
“So we’ve passed? Phew.” He made a show of wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
“But it won’t stay looking perfect with a dog in the house. Bronson needs a safe space, one where he can come out of his shell, be messy even.” I set the checklist down and walked over to the light grey sectional couch. “What if your lounge suite gets stained, the fabric snagged?” I caught his wince when I looked up. “You can definitely train a dog not to, but Bronson…”
It was clear then why Marg sent me to do the inspection. In general, we just tended to see if the dog would have adequate shelter, if there were other pets or kids to take into consideration, or the fence was in good order. Bronson needed more than that.
“This place is a million times better than the one we found him in, but that doesn’t mean it’s right for him,” I said finally.
Garrett sucked in a breath, ready to reply, but the kettle started to whistle. He turned it off and then poured boiling water into the press. Coffees were poured, milk and sugar added before he carried both cups over to the dining room table, indicating I needed to follow. He set mine down at the head of the table, taking the seat to my right.
“So tell me what he needs.” There was something quiet, contained about Garrett. “I came to the shelter to get a cat.”
“See, that’s a problem.” I sighed. “I know I kinda hit you with an avalanche of information about him, but I was just excited about the prospect of getting him away from the shelter.”
Something that still really needed to happen for the dog’s mental wellbeing.
“You convinced me.” He stated that simply, then took a sip of his coffee. “You told me his story and I knew I had to help. The couch…” He looked over at the offending item. “It’s just a couch. I could replace them all with La-Z-Boys and my housemates would be ecstatic. Would Bronson like his own recliner?”
I couldn’t help but smile. My fears sounded stupid now I’d started to air them.
“Like whatever he needs.” He leaned in closer. “You just let me know. We could do a trial or bring him around to the house and see what he thinks about it. Maybe do a gradual shift from the shelter to here. You could bring him over for an hour or two, see how he deals with me and my housemates.”
I shook my head.
“You’re saying all the right things.”
“But…”
That winning smile was back. I wanted to resist it, but that made me think about why. I knew that Bronson’s days were limited in the shelter. The vet had made clear that they were running out of medical options. Dogs had been known to waste away from sheer misery. My motivations were selfish. If Bronson left the shelter, I’d never see him again, but I couldn’t let that pain get in the way of his future.
“You know you’ll be able to come and see him whenever you want,” he said.
I looked up and blinked.
“How do you know exactly what to say?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Comes from being a nurse, I guess. People are sick, hurting, unable to speak. If I waited around for them to tell me what they need, then I wouldn’t be very good at my job. Instead, I watch, I listen.”
He was doing that right now, and that attention was a little unnerving. It felt like the world worked hard to ignore me most of the time, and now all of a sudden I was basking in all of this male attention.
“You’re scared of losing him. He’s special to you.” I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. There was no way I’d drink that coffee, because my throat was closing up by the second. His hand grabbed mine. “Sometimes it’s like that on the ward. You have a special patient, one that’s funny or sweet or just doing it tough, and for a while there, you’re a part of their life. Then you have to let them go.” I squeezed his hand hard. “Because you know the hospital isn’t the right place for them to spend their lives, that they have somewhere else to go.” He stared into my eyes. “Is there anywhere else Bronson can go? Any other families looking to adopt him?”
I let out a long breath, then straightened up.
“No.” When I looked out at the living room, I saw it with fresh eyes. Bronson could make himself a little cubbyhole in the narrow space between the couch and the wall. He could trot out into the back garden, walk without being constrained by the lead or with the sounds of a million other dogs yapping. He could live a quiet life, a comfortable one, and maybe, just maybe, he could be happy. I forced myself to smile. “I’ll approve your application.” I looked down the checklist, then saw there was one more thing to add. “You said you have housemates. Are they going to be around this afternoon? I need to meet everyone who’ll be around the dog, just to make sure he’s in good hands.”
“Not tonight.” Garrett winced. “They’ve both got work, but…” He stirred his spoon through his coffee. “I could make sure they’re home tomorrow night? You could come by and have dinner with them, make sure they’re a good fit.”
“Dinner?” I’d had more dinner dates this week than I had in my entire life. No, this wasn’t a date, I corrected myself. Just me getting to know Bronson’s new owners. “Sure, I could do that. What would you like me to bring?”
“Just yourself,” he said with a grin. “How do you feel about lasagna?”