Chapter Seventeen Atlas, Daisy, and Moose
Lydia
The cat room had a way of swallowing sound. Even with the shelter’s general buzz outside the door, everything in there felt muffled, softened by carpet and quiet paws and the constant expectation that you should speak gently.
Which was lovely. It really was. I liked cats. I liked the way they decided what they would allow and what they would not. I liked the way Ephram had tried so hard not to look like he was thinking about adopting one and had failed spectacularly.
But if we stayed in there too long, he was going to start overthinking again. I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, the mental checklist forming about saying the correct thing and not embarrassing his boss.
I needed to get him out of his head before he stiffened up again.
“Okay,” I said, slipping my phone into my coat pocket. “We’re switching sides.”
Ephram blinked. “Switching sides?”
“Dogs,” I said.
His expression did something small and controlled, like his face was deciding whether it was permitted to have an opinion. “The dog side is… louder.”
“People like dogs,” I told him and walked toward the door before he could argue.
Ephram looked faintly alarmed that anyone would be enthusiastic about this. I tried not to smile.
We reached the dog side, and the noise grew louder, as if the dogs had a sixth sense for visitors and were determined to greet us collectively.
The volunteer opened the door and the barking surged. A dozen tails thumped against kennel walls. Several noses pressed between metal bars, snuffling furiously like we were smuggling sausages in our pockets.
Ephram’s posture went straighter.
“You’re doing it again,” I murmured.
“I am not,” he murmured back then blinked. “What am I doing?”
“You look like you’re about to brief a SWAT team and it has to be perfect,” I commented.
“I don’t brief SWAT teams.”
“You would if someone asked,” I said, and stepped forward before he could decide whether to be offended.
The volunteer led us down the aisle, calling out greetings to the dogs like she knew them personally. Some jumped, some spun in circles, some barked so loudly I felt it in my teeth.
“This is Maple Ridge Animal Shelter’s dog wing,” I said into the camera as I walked, keeping my voice bright. “And as you can hear, no one here is suffering from a lack of enthusiasm.”
A big brown dog threw itself against the kennel door like it was auditioning for a wrestling match.
Ephram flinched.
I kept the camera pointed toward him for half a second longer than necessary.
He gave me a look that said, stop that.
I widened my eyes innocently.
We filmed a few clips of the kennels, a volunteer introducing one dog with a sweet story, another dog refusing to cooperate by sitting down and presenting its backside to the camera.
Ephram tried to look approachable and kept ending up with the expression of a man who had agreed to something he didn’t fully understand.
A volunteer approached us with three leashes looped over her arm. “We can take a few out for exercise if you want outside footage.”
“Yes,” I said immediately.
Ephram hesitated. “Outside. With leashes.”
The volunteer smiled as she clipped a leash onto a dog. “They’re friendly.”
That didn’t seem to be Ephram’s primary concern, but he nodded anyway accepting a leash from her.
The volunteer handed me a leash. “This is Atlas. He’s strong but sweet.”
Atlas was a large breed, all muscle and happy determination, with the kind of energy that suggested he had been waiting his whole life for precisely this moment. His tail wagged like it might detach.
“He’s beautiful,” I said.
Atlas leaned forward and sneezed directly onto my coat.
Ephram made a sound that might have been a laugh disguised as a cough.
The volunteer handed Ephram another leash. “That’s Daisy. She’s gentle. Just likes to sniff everything.”
Daisy looked at Ephram with calm eyes and sat down as if she was willing to cooperate if he didn’t make it weird.
Ephram relaxed slightly. “Okay. That seems manageable.”
The volunteer held up the third leash. “And this is Moose.”
Moose came bounding around the corner like a freight train made of joy.
Ephram’s eyes widened.
“Moose is also friendly,” the volunteer said quickly. “He just… doesn’t understand personal space.”
“I don’t understand Moose,” Ephram muttered.
The volunteer clipped Moose to the leash and handed it to Ephram. “You can let them off leash to play in the yard but they need to be on leash to come back inside.”
We stepped out into the fenced yard behind the shelter, the cold air biting after the warmth inside. The ground was a mix of frozen dirt and damp patches where the sun had softened the top layer enough to become mud again.
I started filming again, panning over the dogs as they moved through the yard, sniffing, trotting, stopping to investigate leaves like they contained secrets. Ephram walked carefully, Daisy sniffing the ground with the seriousness of a detective.
“This,” I said into the camera, “is why we’re doing this. Because these dogs aren’t just barking behind kennels. They’re ready for homes. They’re ready for people.”
Atlas chose that moment to lunge toward a patch of grass as if it had insulted him.
I dug my heels in.
Atlas did not care.
The leash went taut, my arms jerked forward, and before I could decide whether I was going to let go or be dragged, Atlas made the decision for me.
I moved. Fast.
“Atlas,” I gasped, half laughing, half panicking. “Atlas, please—”
He surged again.
My boots hit mud and slid. I windmilled my arms, camera clutched in one hand, trying to maintain dignity like it was a physical object I could hold onto.
“Lydia,” Ephram called sharply.
“It’s fine,” I yelled back, which was clearly a lie.
Atlas bolted, and I went with him, the leash yanking me forward. The world narrowed to cold air, barking, and the absolute certainty that I was about to become a cautionary tale.
One second I was upright, the next my feet shot out from under me and I landed in the mud with an undignified thump.
The camera tilted wildly, catching a blur of sky, fence, and then my own horrified face.
Atlas stopped, turned, and stared at me as if I had chosen this for entertainment.
“Of course,” I said to him, breathless. “Of course you would pause now.”
I heard footsteps pounding across the yard.
Ephram.
He reached me quickly, still holding Dasey and Moose’s leashes, his expression a mix of alarm and disbelief. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I said, sitting up and immediately realizing how much mud was now on the back of my coat and my hands. “Just my pride.”
He extended a hand. I took it.
The moment he pulled me up, Atlas decided the game was back on.
He lunged again.
I yelped, grabbing the leash with both hands, and Ephram instinctively stepped closer, reaching for it as well.
His boot hit the same patch of mud I had just tested with my life.
He went down hard, not gracefully, one knee in the mud, the other foot sliding out as Daisy barked once in what sounded like surprise.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
Then Ephram laughed a full, helpless laugh that broke something open in the cold air.
I started laughing too, the sound bursting out of me before I could stop it.
I bent over, hands on my knees, laughing so hard my sides hurt, mud on my coat and my hair probably congealed with mud at the back of my head.
Daisy came forward, putting muddy paws on his legs.
Ephram pushed himself up, face flushed, hair slightly out of place, uniform now decorated with muddy streaks that were absolutely not in the job description.
“This,” he said between laughs as he stood up, “is not what I anticipated.”
I wiped at my cheek and immediately regretted it because my hand was muddy and now my face probably was too.
Atlas stood between us, tail wagging, eyes bright, clearly pleased with his work.
Ephram’s laughter tapered off into a smile, and for a moment he just looked at me. His hand lifted, hesitated, then reached toward my hair.
“You have—” he began.
“A twig,” I guessed.
“Yes,” he said softly, fingers brushing near my temple as he carefully pulled it free.
The touch was brief, innocent, and somehow it shifted everything. Ephram’s hand lingered for half a second too long, his gaze dropping to my mouth like his body had made the decision before his brain approved it.
My breath caught.
The yard noise faded, replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat and the faint rustle of Daisy’s leash as she shifted.
Ephram leaned in slightly.
I didn’t move away.
Then Moose barreled past us like a cannonball, barking with joy and the moment shattered.
Ephram blinked, stepping back so quickly he almost tripped again.
I cleared my throat, cheeks burning, and pointed my camera toward the chaos like I had planned it.
“Great,” I said too brightly. “That’s… great footage.”
Ephram’s voice was rougher than usual when he answered. “Yes.”
I turned back to filming with an intensity that suggested I had suddenly become deeply invested in capturing the exact angle of Moose’s bounding enthusiasm. Ephram focused on regaining control of the leashes.
We got the shots we needed, walking the dogs along the fence line.
Close-ups of happy faces and wagging tails.
Ephram kneeling to scratch behind Daisy’s ears while Atlas leaned heavily against his leg like he had chosen his person.
The footage was imperfect and energetic and alive in a way that made my chest feel warm when I reviewed it quickly on the screen.
“This is good,” I said honestly.
Ephram glanced at the phone. His expression shifted from concentration to quiet surprise. “It looks… natural.”
“That’s because it is,” I said. “People respond to that.”
He nodded slowly, as if absorbing something larger than just social media strategy.
The volunteers thanked us profusely as they took the dogs back from us. We stepped back outside, both of us carrying that slightly dazed feeling that comes from physical exertion mixed with emotional whiplash.
Ephram cleared his throat. “I should probably apologize.”
“For what?”
“For nearly letting you be taken down by a dog named Atlas. I should have intervened sooner.”
I stopped walking and looked at him. “You did intervene. You slipped in the mud, too.”
We stood there for a second, neither of us quite ready to leave.
“Lydia,” he said, then paused, as if recalibrating. “Would you like to get coffee?”
I blinked. “Coffee.”
“As a thank you,” he added quickly. “For your help. And your expertise. And your… patience.”
I glanced down at my coat. “I’m filthy.”
“So am I.”
I looked up at him again, really looked. The mud. The loosened collar. The faint flush still in his cheeks. He didn’t look like Sergeant North right now. He looked like a man who had laughed in the mud and meant the invitation.
“I know just the place,” I said.
Lattes & Laughter was busy when we walked in, the bell over the door chiming cheerfully as if we were not tracking half the outdoors with us. Conversations dipped, then resumed, though I felt more than a few curious glances follow us toward the counter.
Charlotte looked up from the espresso machine and froze.
Her eyes flicked from my boots to Ephram’s trousers to another twig still stubbornly lodged in my hair.
“Oh,” she said. “You’ve been… camping.”
“Dog walking,” I said.
Her eyebrows climbed. “Naturally. What can I get you?”
He hesitated, looking at the menu like it was written in code.
I stepped in. “He’ll have a coffee. Black. And I’ll take my usual.”
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled. “Of course you will.”
We found a table near the window, shedding coats and towels, leaving a small pile of evidence behind us.
Our drinks arrived, steam rising between us, and for a moment we simply sat there, hands warming around cups,.
“Thank you,” Ephram said again, softer now. “For today. I know this wasn’t what you signed up for.”
“It kind of was,” I said. “Helping people figure things out is my unofficial specialty.”
He studied me over the rim of his cup. “Is that what you’re doing?”
I considered it. “Maybe. I just graduated college and am helping out my parents right now.”
“What are you going to do after you’re finished helping them?” he wondered.
“I don’t really know. But as long as I’m happy, I figure I’m doing okay,” I mused. “I suppose you have a plan for your life?”
“I do but I’m finding that sometimes a little spontaneity isn’t a bad thing,” Ephram observed.
The word hung there, gentle and unthreatening.
We talked then, easily, about who we were, where our roots were, and what our plans were for the immediate future. At some point, I realized I wasn’t thinking about mud or Wickham or floats or expectations.
I was just there with Ephram.
When we finally stood to leave, neither of us seemed quite ready for the day to move on, which I took as a very good sign.