Chapter 3 Jaime #2
She stepped into my hands automatically, trusting, but the moment I set her down on the weighing platform, her body went rigid.
“She hates being woken up,” I muttered. “Just give her a second.”
The scale gave a soft electronic beep. Pampi let out a high-pitched chirp that sliced through the tent like a siren. Every head within a ten-foot radius turned.
Someone snorted. “Dramatic little diva.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“It’s okay, baby,” I murmured, fishing a treat from my pocket. “Just a few seconds. Look, see? Treat.”
Pampi didn’t care. She trembled so hard it rattled the metal platform.
“Want me to—?” Chris stepped closer, hand halfway raised.
I shot him a warning look. “She doesn’t like strangers touching her.”
He ignored me.
He reached out and brushed his fingers down Pampi’s back, slow and steady. His palm traced the line of her spine with the perfect pressure, hitting the exact spot that always helped her calm down.
To my absolute shock, she stopped shaking. Her tail loosened just a little. She huffed, but she didn’t try to bolt.
“How—?” I asked, staring at him.
He shrugged, like he hadn’t just performed actual magic. “Dogs like me.”
“That’s not—she never—” I stopped, because I had no explanation.
Pampi hated strangers. Hated them. And here she was, melting under his hand.
He glanced at me, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Or maybe she just knows I’m the reliable one.”
I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “Let’s just finish before she changes her mind.”
The steward quickly measured Pampi’s height and recorded her weight. “All done. You’re cleared to proceed.”
“Perfect,” Chris said, still smiling like Pampi had personally approved of him.
I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but I was impressed. And maybe a little thrown off. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.
I stepped back to the side once the steward waved us on, trying to pretend I wasn’t bothered by how easily Pampi had melted into Chris’s touch. But I was bothered. A lot.
This was the same dog who once snapped at a delivery driver simply for stepping too close to her.
And now she was making heart eyes at Chris?
It felt weird. Almost like a betrayal, honestly. Pampi was my dog. My baby.
I crossed my arms. Maybe I was being dramatic. Probably. Still didn’t change the fact that my stomach twisted every time I heard Pampi chirp at him.
Chris stayed behind to finish the paperwork and handle whatever chaos Pampi had caused.
I watched him for a moment, seeing the easy way he talked to the stewards and how he could make them laugh even while managing a fussing Papillon, then forced myself to look away.
I was not thinking about him. I was not feeling anything. Definitely not. I was just… evaluating him. Objectively. For pack reasons.
I was mid-brood when someone approached me from the left.
“Excuse me,” a man said, holding a small pouch of treats. “Is your dog alright? She seemed pretty stressed back there.”
I looked up. A vaguely familiar face. I’d seen him earlier, staring a little too long when Pampi shrieked on the scale. Late thirties, maybe. Short brown hair, sharp chin, eager smile that felt one watt too bright.
“She’s fine,” I said. “She’s just dramatic.”
He laughed like I’d told the funniest joke in the world. It was not. “I get it. Some of the little breeds? Total divas.”
He held out the pouch. “Here. I make my own treats. All-natural. Dogs go crazy for these.”
I glanced at the bag but didn’t take it. “Thanks. But she’s picky.”
He lifted it insistently. “Oh, I promise she’ll love these. Everyone here uses them. My dog refuses anything else.”
I resisted the urge to step back and to remain polite instead.
“I’m Marion,” he added abruptly. “Been competing for years. If you ever need anything—grooming contacts, handler strategies, where to buy the good leashes—I’m your guy.”
He kept the treats held out, waiting. I didn’t want to take them, but refusing him again felt like it’d start a whole conversation I didn’t have the energy for.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the pouch.
He brightened instantly. “She’ll love them. Good luck out there.” Then he finally left.
I exhaled a long, slow breath.
A moment later, Chris crossed the floor toward me, Pampi nestled against his chest like she owned him. Her tail wagged the second she saw me, but she didn’t try to leap out of his arms.
Traitor.
Chris stopped in front of me. “Who was that?”
“Just another handler.” I nodded toward the retreating figure. “He offered treats for Pampi.”
Chris frowned immediately. “You took them?”
“I didn’t want to,” I said. “He was… pushy.”
Chris shifted Pampi to one arm and studied my face. I must’ve looked more bothered than I thought, because his voice lowered a little as he asked, “Why? Is that weird? Him giving treats?”
“Not weird,” I said slowly, “but Peter mentioned the dogs getting sick. I’d rather be careful.”
I lifted the pouch. “I’ll send this back to Pecan Pines. Let them check if there’s anything off.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah. We’ll keep an eye on him. Even Pampi doesn’t like him.”
I followed their gaze. Pampi had turned in Chris’s arms, staring at Marion with narrowed eyes, her tiny Papillon stink-eye at full power.
“To be fair, she doesn’t like anyone,” I muttered.
Chris smiled. “She likes me.”
I pretended I didn’t hear that. For now, I ruffled Pampi’s head. “Alright, princess. Everyone’s suspicious until proven otherwise.”
She chirped in agreement, still tucked comfortably in Chris’s arms.