Chapter 6
Tori
So he called his dog Max. Then he took some red thread,
and he tied a big horn on the top of his head.
~ Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
I pull off my Rudolph nose and look around for my friends.
They’re all gathered at a refreshment table just past the finish line.
“I’ll put that back for you.” Gage extends his hand to take my reindeer nose.
“Okay,” I look up at him.
Wrong thing to do.
His eyes are so brown and soft. There’s a depth to them I never noticed before.
And now, I’m just staring into Gage’s eyes. What is wrong with me?
“So!” I say a little too loudly. “Adoption day?”
Gage looks confused.
“At the shelter? You mentioned it to Mitch?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” Gage looks stunned.
“Yeah? Yes? You’ll do it?”
He’s quiet and then he says, “I guess … yes. Yeah. Okay.”
“Great.” I look up at him again.
He almost smiles. Or maybe I’m imagining what it would be like if he did actually smile and I was the one who made it happen. I do love a challenge. And Gage definitely needs to smile more.
I’ve spent the last few days planning things for my secret Santa. Yesterday, right after the sun came up, I dropped a small bakery box containing two snowflake crullers on Gage’s doorstep. My heart was racing so hard. If he caught me, I’d have been stuck having to explain what I was doing there.
I don’t even know if Gage likes sweets. I never paid attention when we were together with our friends. He’s in great shape, so I’m guessing he doesn’t indulge too often. I hope he enjoyed the ones I left him.
My secret Santa has certainly been busy.
I found a plain paper bag on my porch three days ago.
Inside was a pair of red gloves with little white snowflakes stitched all over them.
And the night I came home from my book club cookie swap, my porch was decorated with twinkle lights and an LED sign in the yard that blinks Ho Ho Ho.
I was going to hang lights myself, but I’ve been so busy every single night this week.
And I never would have put that sign out there, but I love it more than words can say.
It’s that time of year. Everyone’s usual activities add on one or two extras.
Besides the cookie swap, my friends at work held a white elephant gift exchange so I had to go shopping to find something intentionally godawful for that.
My pilates class invited me to attend the holiday sing-along.
Mom wanted to go shopping together to buy gifts for our extended family.
Even with all that holiday hubbub, I’ve surprisingly been looking forward to this day more than any other this week.
The idea of seeing Gage again has been on my mind now that I’m his secret Santa.
Call it what you will, but I’m on a mission to help that man catch the holiday spirit.
Or at least to draw out a few more of his smiles.
The shelter is on the outskirts of town, down a two lane road surrounded by open grassy fields. A gravel driveway leads into the parking lot. Two buildings are on the property and a string of outdoor kennels and a few animal pens are out back.
All my friends’ cars are already parked in the lot by the time I arrive.
I’ve been looking forward to this day. That doesn’t mean I was actually able to get here on time. My mom always told me I was too delightfully in-the-moment to care about clocks. She’s not wrong.
My friends are all in the lobby when I walk in.
Carson and Liam and the guys are here too—including Gage.
My eyes meet his and I smile. He stares at me.
The expression isn’t mean or angry. Gage is reserved.
That’s what I’m going with. Reserved. I’ve seen glimpses of something more—something deeper and more tenderhearted.
I realize I’m still staring at him and my face begins to heat. He hasn’t looked away. The expression on his face has shifted to something akin to curiosity. Maybe. I don’t know what’s going on inside that head of his. But if eyes are the windows to the soul, Gage is a labyrinth. A man of mystery.
I’ve always loved a good mystery. And a challenge.
“Welcome, everyone,” Shauna, the manager of the shelter, says to our group. Then she launches into a description of the day.
“You’re going to follow Jay back to the kennels. We’ll let you bring some of the animals out into the socialization rooms. Jay will advise you which animals are not yet acclimated enough to be around other animals. For now, they’ll remain caged.
You can play with the animals, get familiar with them, and then at nine, we’ll open to the public and people can come select an animal to hopefully adopt.
Your job is to introduce the family to the animals you have gotten to know.
We’ve found this bridging program really helps increase adoption rates. Any questions?”
Shauna looks around the room. None of us says anything.
Jay appears from the back and escorts us through the metal door, down a hallway and into the last room where kennels are stacked on top of one another.
I fall instantly in love.
This puppy!
He’s white with brown and black markings and hair that looks like silk. And he’s got the prettiest light blue eyes.
“We just found him last week,” Jay tells me.
“He’s adorable. Does he have a name?”
“Not yet. We’re calling him Mud because he was so caked in it when we found him off the side of Jensen’s creek. Josh Jensen was out fishing when he spied this little guy waddling down to take a drink.”
“Awww.” I look straight into the puppy’s gentle eyes. “You’re going to get taken home by someone today. I just know it.”
“That’s the attitude,” Jay says.
“You can’t promise that,” Gage says.
A few weeks ago, I’d have considered that comment mean-spirited. Now I know he’s just protecting my heart the way he protects his own. Don’t expect anything good and you won’t be let down.
Jay unlocks the cage and the puppy wiggles and wiggles. Jay lifts the puppy just the slightest and he instantly pees.
“Not housebroken,” Jay chuckles.
“No worries,” I look into the puppy’s eyes and talk in my puppy voice. “You’ll learn. We all do.”
Jay smiles and hands me the sweet ball of fur and I tuck the puppy into my arms. Once a few of us have animals picked out, Jay escorts us into a room filled with beanbag chairs and low benches. There’s a half-door, which Jay shuts behind himself when he leaves to head back to the kennels.
A few minutes later, Jay opens the half-door and I can barely believe my eyes. Gage walks in, stone-faced, and he’s holding the ugliest dog I have ever seen in my life. The tan hair is wiry and sticking up in several places. His eyes bug out just the slightest, and he’s got an underbite.
Gage walks over to the open beanbag next to me and carefully lowers himself into it.
I’m still staring at the dog while my puppy jumps and flops around my folded legs as if he hasn’t quite mastered the art of walking on all fours.
“So ugly he’s cute, right?” Gage asks, his face a mask, but I’d swear his eyes are smiling.
I tilt my head sideways to see if I can see what Gage is seeing in this mutt.
“I don’t know.”
Gage’s head rears back the slightest. “You don’t think he’s cute?”
“I think he’s precious.”
“Oh.” Gage looks down at the scrawny, scraggly creature in his arms. “That’s code for ugly, right?”
I laugh. “Maybe.”
I look down at my fluffy, perfect puppy and pick him up, cuddling him in my arms. He tilts his head up and licks my chin with his tiny tongue.
“I always wanted a puppy,” I tell Gage.
“Why don’t you have one now?” Gage asks.
“It wouldn’t be fair to the dog. I’m gone all day for work.”
“I know people who do dog walking and check-ins while you're not home.”
“I guess. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe one day.”
We play with our dogs. The puppy is interested in Gage’s rescue dog, but that dog wants nothing to do with anyone but Gage. I try to pet him and he recoils against Gage’s chest. Gage cocoons the dog with his big arms.
A pinch of something maternal fires off at the sight of him getting all protective over this orphaned dog.
“This is great,” Bryce, the photographer from the Waterford Weekly, says from outside the door.
Waterford doesn't have a newspaper, but we’ve got a website where people post things and a few volunteers write articles about all the local events.
Bryce does a weekly special interest column and takes other photos for the site.
Of course, if you want to buy or sell something, you still tack a note on the corkboard at the deli.
“Can I get a few shots of you with that puppy, Tori?” Bryce asks, opening the half-door and approaching us.
“Sure.”
I hold the ball of wriggling fluff up so we’re cheek to cheek and Bryce starts clicking, moving around to capture us at different angles.
Gage stands up, still carefully holding the dog he chose. He walks over to the other side of the room and starts talking with Jennifer, who’s holding a mutt with some hound in it. The floppy ears could touch the ground if he were standing.
“Now. Uh.” Bryce looks around. “Gage, could you come back over here?”
“Sure.” Gage steps nearer, a few puppies actually trail behind him on his heels.
My mom always said you could judge a man’s true character by the way animals and children react to him. So far, Gage is ticking those boxes surprisingly well.
“Can I get you to put the puppy in your lap, Tori?”
“Okay.” I pick the puppy up, cradling him in my lap.
He nestles right in by my belly.
Gage looks down at me.
“Don’t name it if you’re not going to keep it,” he warns.
“He already made his way into my heart. He doesn’t need a name to do that.”
“Okay,” Bryce says, “Gage? Just sit next to Tori and scratch the puppy on his head.”
Gage stares at Bryce and I’m certain he’s going to tell him he’s not the volunteer for the job, but then Gage folds his legs and settles on the floor beside me.
He gently sets the wiry pup on his lap and that dog curls up as if it never intends to leave.
Bryce snaps photos of me holding the fluffy puppy while Gage pats his head. The whole time, Gage’s other hand is securely draped over the mangy mutt in his lap—a certain shelter from any harm.
Nine o’clock comes way too soon. Families file into the front office and are allowed into the socialization room with us a few at a time. The captain of our fire station, David, comes in with his family.
“Oh, Mommy!” David’s daughter, Anabella, says, staring right at the puppy in my lap. “I want that one!”
She tugs on her mom’s hand.
Gage speaks to me in a low, private tone, “Do you want to keep him?”
His voice washes over me like the feeling of warm cocoa sliding down my throat on a chilly day. His question catches me off guard. He’s looking out for me.
I glance over at Gage. “No. It’s better he goes to a family where they’re home with him all the time. I’m okay.”
He nods once.
David and Lyndsay’s family plays with the puppy. I sit back and watch them fall for him. And in a matter of minutes, the decision has been made.
“We’re gonna call him Mud,” Anabella announces to me.
“Yeah. Mud,” her younger brother, Benjamin, echoes. “I yike mud.”
I stand and walk out with them to the front desk. My job here is done. Mud has a home for the holidays and ongoing.
When I arrive back at the socialization room, Gage is on the floor with the mutt.
Other families are being escorted out front by friends of ours.
Gage is oblivious, talking to the dog as if they’re old friends.
I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I’m a little jealous of the dog.
It’s not every day Gage confides in someone.
The pup’s tail wags and I notice there’s a bend near the tip. He probably broke it at one point in time. When the pup stands up, I laugh.
Gage’s eyes snap up to meet mine.
“He’s just so …” I start to say skinny, but Gage’s warning glance has me pausing.
“What?” he asks.
“He’s so lean. Scrawny, actually. He looks like a toothpick with hair. Poor thing.”
The dog steps up into Gage’s lap as if he can sense I’m talking about him and he needs to get back to his safe space.
“I’m sorry, Toothpick,” I say, sweetly.
“Toothpick,” Gage repeats, only he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the dog.
There’s more to this man than his gruff exterior.
The way he poured those marshmallows over Benny’s cocoa, so patient and kind.
And the way he cradled me to himself when we fell at the race, I haven’t been held by a man in years.
What he did wasn’t romantic, exactly. He was simply protecting me.
He acted on instinct—and his instinct is to protect and provide for people in small, almost imperceptible ways.
And now this. I don’t know a woman on earth who wouldn’t melt at the sight of this big grumpy man, curled up on the floor with that waif of a dog.