Chapter 5
VIENNA
“He looked happy enough there, didn’t he?”
I glance over at Caleb before adding quickly, “I mean, as happy as he could be in a shelter. But it was nice there. Really nice. Especially compared to some of the shelters I’ve seen.”
He regards me for a moment before giving a quick nod. “It was nice. I’d heard good things about Barks n’ Bliss, but I’d never seen it for myself.” A beat passes. “Have you been to many shelters for comparison?”
“A few,” I reply. “A couple years ago, I thought about getting a dog. Back when I had my own apartment in Troy. I even got as close as filling out an adoption application. But once I really thought about it, I realized I just didn’t have the time or space.”
A long-buried pang of longing hits me. There was one dog in particular—Tiny, a pit-shepherd mix who stole my heart within seconds of meeting him—who I desperately wanted to adopt.
I imagined taking him on long hikes through nearby Thacher State Park and sitting out on dog-friendly patios of local restaurants.
Maybe even setting up doggie playdates with other dog owners I’d meet at the neighborhood dog park.
He would be my constant companion, and I’d give him the unconditional love I’d so badly wanted for myself.
But practicality overrode emotion. With the long hours I spent at the restaurant, my tiny studio apartment barely large enough for myself, plus the training program I’d been waiting to start—it wouldn’t have been fair to adopt a dog who deserved so much more.
He got adopted by some other family not long after. Now he’s probably living out his doggie dreams in a fenced-in yard with kids around to play with him.
And one day, someday, I’ll get a dog of my own.
Caleb’s expression turns thoughtful. “I get that. A dog is a big responsibility.”
A couple engaged in lively conversation approaches from the opposite direction. They’re not paying attention to where they’re going and almost bump into me, but Caleb’s faster, and he loops his arm around my waist and tugs me out of their way.
Once they pass, he shakes his head with a scowl. “People forget they’re not the only ones on the sidewalk. They need to pay closer attention before someone ends up hurt.” Then he looks down at me. “Are you okay? They didn’t bump into you, did they?”
It’s hard to shift my focus from the feel of his arm around my waist to answering his question. “I’m fine,” I finally say. “You pulled me out of the way just in time.”
I don’t mention that if the couple had bumped into me, they weren’t exactly going fast enough to hurt me. The worst that might have come out of it was a brief apology.
And anyway, I like his concern. It doesn’t feel like it comes from obligation. When Caleb asks me if I’m okay, it seems like he genuinely cares about me.
Well, as much as he could care, given we’ve known each other for less than forty-eight hours. But right now, I’ll take what I can get.
“Anyway,” I continue, “I thought Zeus looked good. It was hard to tell his condition when I saw him the other night. With the snow and all. But aside from being a little skinny, he seemed pretty healthy.”
“He did look good,” Caleb agrees. “Dog like that, it’s hard to believe someone isn’t looking for him.”
This time, as another couple approaches, Caleb maneuvers me out of their way ahead of time, hugging me closer to his side. Heat erupts where his body touches mine, and I’m seized by an irrational urge to burrow against him.
“Rory said he didn’t have a microchip,” I say. “She’s reaching out to local vets and rescues to see if anyone reported him missing. But without a chip or a collar…”
“They’ll find him a good home, regardless.” Caleb gives me a quick squeeze before releasing me.
“It was nice that Rory let me name him.” I smile at the memory. When we arrived at the shelter for a visit, Rory asked me to pick a name for the dog, explaining that since I rescued him, it was only fitting I named him, too.
“Zeus is a great name,” Caleb remarks. “A strong name for a strong dog. He had to be to survive out there.”
Strong and sweet and just the kind of dog I’d like to adopt, if I could.
“I wish,” I start, but immediately stop myself. I have more important things to worry about, like arranging for a rental car, negotiating with the insurance companies to replace my totalled one, and finding a new place to live, just to start. Adopting a dog should be at the bottom of my list.
“You wish what?” he asks.
“Nothing.” As we come up on a storefront to our right with a sign above the door that says Decadent Delights, I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sugar and butter and baking cookies. “It smells amazing in there.”
Caleb follows my gaze. “Do you want to grab something to eat here? I was thinking of sandwiches at the diner, but if you’d prefer this…”
“Whatever you want,” I reply. After all, Caleb’s the one who offered to treat for lunch. I wasn’t expecting it—I thought we were just making a quick trip to the shelter—but he brought up the idea of stopping for lunch as we were leaving.
“Better than canned soup,” he explained. “And if you’re going to be living in Bliss, you might as well get to know the local businesses.”
Honestly, I’m just thankful he offered to drive me to the shelter.
Since I have today off, I’d been anticipating a day spent in the cabin, trying to research cheap apartments in town and searching for a second job while rationing the last of my monthly data on my phone.
So it was a surprise to find him at the door just after eight AM carrying a carton of eggs, a package of sausage, and an offer to make breakfast and visit the shelter afterwards.
“What do you want?” Caleb retorts. He scans the display in the window, arranged with trays of red velvet cupcakes and enormous cinnamon buns and pink frosted cookies the size of my head.
My mouth waters as I imagine taking a bite of a decadent cinnamon bun. But I’m hesitant to ask to stop there. After all, Caleb seems more the sandwich type—one loaded with plenty of protein for the muscles I can’t help noticing whenever I see him.
“Sandwiches are fine—”
Caleb gives me an appraising look. Then he rests his hand on my back and turns me towards the entrance for Decadent Delights. “We’re eating here,” he announces. “I’ve never come here myself, so I’m curious to see how it is.”
I’m curious how he’s lived here for three years—last night over soup and sandwiches, he told me that’s how long he’s been living in Bliss after retiring from the Marines—and never stopped into this obviously popular bakery right in town.
But like many of the other questions I have for him, I keep them to myself.
Not my business, I remind myself. We’re practically strangers. Just because Caleb’s letting me stay at his guest cabin doesn’t mean I have the right to ask him personal questions.
Caleb steps to the side and pushes the door open, then gestures for me to walk ahead of him. Another example of his chivalry, which stands in stark contrast to his insistence that he’s not friendly or nice.
Maybe a little gruff. Maybe used to being on his own and not dealing with people. Maybe even a bit bossy, like when he demanded I stay on the couch last night to rest while he made coffee and dinner himself.
But to say Caleb isn’t nice? No way.
As soon as we walk inside the bakery, I’m hit by an array of scents and sights and sounds.
Inside, it smells even more delicious than out.
The steam of the cappuccino machine blends with the cheerful buzz of customers talking and one of the baristas calling out coffee orders.
And everywhere I look, there’s pink and red in anticipation of Valentine’s Day, which I belatedly remember is coming up in two weeks.
Valentine’s Day has never been a big deal for me.
Not as a kid, when my mom never bought me valentines to give out to my classmates, and I’d feel so bad about it, I’d end up hiding in the library during the card exchange.
And once I hit my twenties, the one guy I dated long enough to make celebrating Valentine’s Day a real possibility brushed it off as an overrated capitalist scheme.
Maybe the holiday is a little too commercial. But as I look at the bouquets of cake pops and baskets of heart-shaped cookies on display at the counter, I can’t help feeling wistful that I don’t have anyone who’d think of buying one for me.
There are more important things to worry about, the practical voice in my head sternly reminds me. Like cars that actually drive and keeping my job and finding a permanent place to stay. Valentine’s gifts are something for later, just like adopting a dog.
While I’m caught up in my thoughts, Caleb scans the busy bakery. His posture is stiff, almost guarded. His gaze is alert. His hand slides to the side of my waist, drawing me closer, almost as if he’s protecting me.
“Why don’t we find a seat first?” he suggests. “Then I can place our order.”
Considering how busy it is in here, finding a table first sounds like a great idea. So I nod and say, “That works for me.”
With a quick nod of acknowledgement, Caleb leads me across the room to a two-seat table in the corner. It’s set with a standing menu with pink hearts printed all over it and a pink, cupcake-shaped candle that I assume is more for decoration than purpose.
He pulls out my chair and waits for me to sit before taking a seat across from me. He casts another quick look around the bakery before sliding the menu over to me. “Pick whatever you want,” he says. “Get some extra stuff to bring home, too.”
Two startling things strike me at once.
First, the brilliant blue of his eyes, flecked with bits of green and silver. Guarded when we first came inside, they soften as he looks at me.
Then how he called the cabin home, almost as if it were my home, too. It’s not, of course. I’m only staying until I can find someplace else or he gets tired of the unwanted company and asks me to leave.