Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Gayle watched the Beaumonts’ car pull into the parking lot from the front window.
They drove a sensible silver SUV with a Christmas wreath on the grille.
Sarah Beaumont got out first, followed by her husband and their two kids.
They looked exactly like their Instagram photos.
The kids were bundled in matching navy coats.
The younger one carried a stuffed dog under his arm, the kind of well-loved toy that suggested he'd been preparing for this day for a long time.
They looked like a Christmas card.
Gayle pulled in a breath and reminded herself that this was what she'd been working toward.
By the time they made it to the door, she had her professional smile on. She greeted them warmly, introduced herself, complimented the kids' coats, and walked them back to the small meeting room where she'd set up a few toys and treats for Presti.
"He's in the back," she said. "Let me go get him."
Presti was waiting in his temporary kennel, tail wagging the moment he saw her. He'd been a perfect angel since Corey had dropped him off. Gayle clipped on his leash and bent down to scratch behind his ears.
"Be charming, okay?" she whispered. "This is important."
He licked her hand.
She led him into the meeting room, and the Beaumont kids immediately dropped to their knees, hands out, voices going soft the way kids did around animals they wanted to be allowed to love.
"Hi, buddy," the little girl said. "Hi, Presti."
Presti went to her. Politely. Tail wagging. He let her stroke his ears, accepted a treat from the boy, and licked Mrs. Beaumont's offered hand. He did all the things he was supposed to do.
But something was off.
Gayle saw it a few minutes in. His head kept turning toward the door of the meeting room. His ears perked at every small sound from the lobby. His tail was wagging, but he was busy looking for something—someone else.
The children didn't notice. They were too busy falling in love.
But Sarah Beaumont noticed. The woman's gaze followed Presti's, in the small thoughtful frown that crossed her face when the puppy looked toward the door for the fifth time.
"Is he usually this..." Sarah hesitated, looking for the word. "Watchful?"
"He's adjusting," Gayle said. "He's been in a foster placement for the past several weeks. It's normal for there to be some attachment."
"Of course." Sarah's smile was kind. "He's a sweetheart."
"He really is," Mr. Beaumont said. "Look at him with the kids."
Gayle turned back. Presti was lying on his back now, letting both children rub his belly, his tail thumping against the floor. He was being good. He was being everything they wanted him to be.
But every few seconds, his head still tilted toward the door.
The meeting lasted forty-five minutes. The Beaumonts asked all the right questions.
They had a clear plan for crate training, for feeding schedules, for the kids' responsibilities.
They asked about Presti's medical history, his food preferences, and his quirks.
They were the most prepared adopters Gayle had seen in months.
When it was time to talk about next steps, Sarah looked at her husband, then back at Gayle.
"We'd like to move forward," she said. "If you think we're a good fit."
"You're a wonderful fit," Gayle heard herself say.
The kids cheered. Gayle pulled out the paperwork.
She walked them through it carefully. Standard adoption procedures.
Home visit scheduled for Wednesday. Final pickup the following Saturday.
Meetings at the shelter in between. That would give Presti time to gradually transition, and give the family time to puppy-proof their home and pick up supplies.
"That sounds perfect," Sarah said. She glanced down at Presti, who was now leaning against Mr. Beaumont's leg, his head still angled toward the door. "Should we worry about the attachment thing? With his foster?"
"He'll be fine," Gayle said. "Puppies are adaptable. He'll bond with your family quickly once he's in your home."
Sarah nodded slowly. She didn't look entirely convinced.
By the time they left, the Beaumont kids had named their future dog three different things—Buddy, Cinnamon, and Bear—and were arguing happily about which suited him best. Sarah hugged Gayle at the door, thanking her, telling her how excited they were. Mr. Beaumont shook her hand.
Gayle watched them get in their car. The kids waved at her through the window. She waved back.
The SUV pulled out of the lot and turned onto Main Street.
Gayle stood at the front window, the smile slowly fading from her face.
And then she saw the truck.
It was parked across the lot, partially hidden by a row of oleander bushes that separated the shelter from the post office next door. She'd been so focused on the Beaumonts that she hadn't noticed it. But it was Corey's truck. She'd recognize it anywhere.
He was sitting in the driver's seat, watching her.
The driver's door opened and he got out.
Gayle felt every muscle in her body go tight.
He walked across the lot slowly, deliberately. His hands were in the pockets of his jacket. His face was unreadable. By the time he reached the door, Gayle had backed away from the window and was standing by the reception desk, her hands gripping the edge of the counter.
The bell chimed when he came in.
"Hi," he said.
"Corey." Her voice sounded steady. She was grateful for that. "I'm in the middle of paperwork. Can this wait?"
"No." He didn't move from just inside the door. He didn't take his hands out of his pockets. "I don't think it can."
"Corey—"
"That was the Beaumonts."
"Yes."
"They were here to meet Presti."
"Yes."
"And by 'meet,' you mean—" He stopped, took a breath. "By 'meet,' you mean they're adopting him."
Gayle's chest hurt. She made herself look at him. Made herself keep her voice level. "They're a wonderful family. There’s a fenced yard and they have experience with dogs. It’s the kind of home he deserves."
"The kind of home he deserves?" His voice sounded dead.
"Yes."
"And what kind of home is that, Gayle?"
"One where he's not hidden. Where no one has to sneak him up the back stairs to avoid getting evicted. Where he has a yard and children and?—"
"Don't," Corey said quietly. "Don't talk to me like I'm a stranger."
She didn't answer.
He took his hands out of his pockets. Crossed half the distance between them, then stopped. As though he didn't trust himself to come any closer.
"You scheduled this meeting on Thursday," he said. "When I called you. When I asked if everything was okay. You told me everything was fine."
"Everything was fine."
"You scheduled them to come meet the dog I've been raising. The dog I—" His voice cracked, and he stopped. Took another breath. "And you didn't tell me."
"Corey, I'm the one responsible for finding him a permanent home."
"I know that," Corey said. "I know what the arrangement was. But things are different now. You know that as well as I do."
Gayle looked at the counter. At her hands. At anything but his face.
"I came here," Corey said, "because I wanted to ask you what was happening. Why you've been pulling away. I had things I wanted to tell you. Things I've been?—"
"Corey."
"Let me finish."
"No." She lifted her eyes to his. "Please. Don't."
Something shifted in his expression. Something tightened.
"Don't what?" he asked.
"Don't tell me whatever you came here to tell me." Her voice was thin, careful, deliberate. "I think we've gotten confused. About what this was."
"Confused."
"You got into this because of a puppy. And now Presti is going to have a permanent home, and—and you can go back to your life. The way it should be."
Corey stared at her.
"You think this was about the puppy?" he said quietly.
"I think we let it become something else. And that wasn't fair to you."
"Don't decide what's fair to me, Gayle."
"I'm not deciding anything. I'm just—I'm being honest. About what this needed to be from the start."
"Don't." His voice was rough now. "Don't rewrite this. Don't tell me what we were when I was here."
"Corey, I've been trying to?—"
"You've been trying to push me away. I felt it. I just didn't understand why."
"I'm not pushing you away. I'm?—"
"You're calling it quits." His voice was gentle, not angry at all. That was almost worse. "You decided for both of us."
"I decided what was best."
"For who, Gayle?"
She didn't answer.
He waited. The silence stretched.
"For who?" he asked again.
"For you," she said finally. "I decided what was best for you."
He shook his head slowly. "You don't get to do that."
"Corey—"
"No." He took a step back. "I came here today because I had things I wanted to say to you. About my life and what I've been doing. Choices I've been making. And you don't want to hear any of it, do you?"
"I don't think it would help either of us if you—" She looked away.
He waited.
When she didn't speak, he nodded once.
"Okay," he said.
He went to the door and stopped with his hand on the handle.
"I hope Presti's family is good to him," he said quietly without turning around. "And I hope you find what you're looking for, whatever that turns out to be."
The bell chimed when he left.
Gayle stood at the reception desk for a long time after the door closed. Her hands were still gripping the counter. She wasn't sure when she'd started crying.