Chapter Twenty-Three
Weston
I stand outside of a nice, upscale brewery, peeking in through the massive windows. The singles event is already going on, and I know all I have to do is walk in, get a name tag, and start socializing with New York City singles. However…
I don’t want to.
And that might be the first honest thought I’ve had all night.
The truth is, I’m only here because I’m still reeling after what happened with Brittany.
I had no intention of ever becoming secret pen pals.
No intention of ever kissing her. But I’ve been crushing on her since I first laid eyes on her, and maybe those letters were some quiet hope that I might win her heart, even if I knew I shouldn’t
Britt’s one of those people who’s impossible not to like. Which is exactly why I need to stop writing to her. She said so herself, she’s not ready for any sort of relationship—that I’m a risk, and I get that. I am a risk. Falling for anyone is a risk.
Well … and there’s the Parker factor, too.
But he’d get over it … Right?
A group of guys brush past me, one of them bumping my elbow hard enough to knock me off balance, but they don’t even notice. They’re laughing, already halfway down the sidewalk. Younger. Loud. On their way inside.
I watch them disappear through the doors, and something about it makes my chest sink.
Dating has kind of become my default. What I do. Who I am.
And standing here, staring at another room full of name tags and forced smiles, I realize I don’t actually know what I like to do when I’m not trying to meet someone.
I exhale slowly, the breath visible in the cool night air, then turn on my heels and start back down the street, the noise and light from the brewery fading with every step.
This wasn’t supposed to be my whole life—working, dating, hoping one of the dates would finally turn into something.
Somewhere along the way, it all started to blur together, and maybe that’s the real problem.
I don’t actually know what to do with my time if it isn’t built around who might walk into my life next.
Maybe I should find something else to do with my free time.
Something that isn’t a date.
Something that isn’t built around who might walk into my life next.
The city hums around me as I head home, the familiar route stretching longer than it usually does, my thoughts looping in the same unhelpful circles.
That’s when I see it.
“Volunteers Needed.”
The sign slows my steps as I glance up at the Humane Society’s big glass windows, catching glimpses of movement inside. Tails. Shapes. A dog pressing its nose to the glass.
I hesitate. I’ve always liked animals, but I haven’t had one since before college. It never really made sense in the city.
But volunteering doesn’t mean commitment. It doesn’t mean rearranging my entire life.
It just means showing up.
Before I can overthink it, I reach for the door and step inside. The sound hits me first—barking, whining, nails skittering on concrete. Then, the smell. Soap of some kind.
And for the first time all night, I don’t feel like I’m here to look for something.
“Can I help you?” an older, dark-haired woman says from behind the front desk.
She looks frazzled, her hair up in a ponytail with stray locks going this way and that, and a thick sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“If you want to adopt, you have to fill out an application. They’re easier to fill out online. ”
I shake my head. “I’m not adopting … I saw that you’re looking for volunteers. I was just wondering what hours you need someone.”
She immediately perks up. “We’re open eight to eight every day. Sometimes we work later than that, but we could use volunteers any time during business hours.”
“Okay, I’m in. Can I sign up now, or…?”
“We only have a couple of hours until closing, but if you want, you can fill out the forms, and I’ll let you help for the rest of the evening, so you can get a feel for it.”
I nod as she starts sifting through papers on the side of the counter. I wait patiently until she lays them out for me, clicking a black pen and setting it on top of the papers. “Thanks,” I tell her.
“More like thank you,” she replies, breathing out sharply. “We’re over capacity right now, but I don’t have the budget to hire any help. I feel like people don’t have time to volunteer as much as they used to. Life is just too demanding.”
“Yeah, I work, but other than that…” My voice trails off as I realize I might embarrass myself. “I think this’ll be good for me.”
“It’s always good to volunteer,” she emphasizes. “I’ll be right back.” With that, she scurries off through another door, and the sound of dogs barking gets louder.
I chuckle to myself, feeling somewhat sorry for the woman rushing around the way she is.
It makes me wonder if she’s just that stressed, or if being stressed is a part of her personality.
I’ve met people before who just live in a constant state of stress because they can …
and are probably addicted to cortisol or something.
I finish filling out the details and then lean against the wall, waiting for the woman to return from the back.
While doing so, I pull out my phone, scrolling through what little notifications I have.
Now that Parker and Amy are always together, he doesn’t text as much.
I don’t blame him for it, though, because I know I’d be the same way if I had finally found my soulmate, too.
“You filled it all out?” the woman calls to me, slipping back behind the counter.
I push myself up off the wall, rolling my shoulders. “Yep, I did.”
“Weston,” she says aloud, looking up over the top of the papers as she finishes flipping through them. “Are you ready to get to work?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
“Cool.” She smiles. “I’m Maria. I’ll let you exercise a few of the high-energy residents here. They’re about to lose their minds in their kennels.”
“Fair enough. I can’t say I blame them.” I chuckle as I follow Maria through the back door and am met with rows of kennels and dogs. Some of them look happy, wagging their tails and barking as we make our way past, and others tug at my heart strings, appearing overwhelmed or depressed.
I want to hug them all.
“This is Rambo.” Maria stops at a kennel of a large mutt of sorts.
I’m not sure if he’s part shepherd or part mammoth, but either way, he’s bouncing off the chain link kennel he’s kept in.
“I highly recommend just letting him off the leash in the exercise area instead of trying to take him for a walk. He doesn’t like the crowd. ”
“I get that.” I take in the sight of him, his dark fur brindled toward his back. He has a long muzzle but kind of floppy ears. Honestly, he’s hideous. But in the cutest kind of way.
“Enjoy.” She smiles at me, holding out a leash.
I take it from her, then spend the next few minutes struggling to get Rambo under control. He makes it clear within the first thirty seconds that he’d rather avoid the leash at all costs. Before I let myself get frustrated, however, I kneel in the kennel and just stop trying.
Rambo looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, tilting his head in confusion. I brace for him to come running, knocking me over on the concrete floor, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits down, mimicking my own position.
“He’s a funny dog.” Maria laughs from outside the kennel. “I don’t know how he hasn’t found a home yet.”
“He’s the size of Texas, that’s why.” I laugh, and the sound of my voice must be somewhat comforting to Rambo, because he scoots a little closer to me. “If I had a dog, I’d have one his size. That would be way too much fun.”
“And a lot of food needed to feed him.” She chuckles, just as Rambo inches close enough to me that his shoulder touches my shoulder. “I think he likes you though. He can sense you’re a good person. I always bring the volunteers to him first. He vets them for me.”
“So…” I frown. “I’m not supposed to exercise him then?”
She gives me a warm smile. “Of course you can exercise him, and any of the other forty-three dogs we have here. I don’t currently have any cats, surprisingly, but the dogs are enough to stay busy. Someone adopted the rabbit I had this morning.”
“That’s cool,” I say, and as I do, I slip the leash over the top of Rambo’s head, ensuring to give him a good pat once it’s on. I stand to my feet, then guide him to the kennel door.
“So, what made you want to volunteer?” Maria asks. She eyes my slacks and pullover, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You don’t exactly look like you planned on getting covered in dog hair tonight.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well, I was supposed to be at a singles event.”
Her brows lift.
“Made it all the way there,” I continue. “Then stood outside and realized I didn’t want to walk in.” I shrug. “Kind of figured that was my sign.”
“Smart man,” she says. Dry, but not unkind. “Those things are … a lot.”
“My best friend met his girlfriend at one,” I admit. “So, I keep telling myself they work. Just maybe not for me.”
She hums, like she’s heard that before. “There’s a difference between being open to something and chasing it,” she says. “People often mix those up.”
I think about that as we walk. About how many nights I’ve spent hoping the next one would be the one.
“I’ve gone on a lot of dates,” I say finally. “Enough that it’s sort of become my thing.” I wince. “And not in a good way.”
Maria glances at me, softer now. “And you’re tired of it.”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised at how easily it comes out. “I think I am.”
She nods once. “Then this is a good place to be. Dogs don’t care what your ‘thing’ is. They just care if you show up.”
We reach the exercise pen, and she opens the gate and gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. “Have fun with Rambo. He’ll keep you busy.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, then unclip the leash. Rambo bolts across the turf like he’s been shot out of something, skidding to a stop a second later and dropping a slobbery tennis ball at my feet, tail wagging.
I laugh as I bend to pick it up.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about who I might meet next.
I’m just … here.
And strangely, that feels like progress.