Candy leads us down a quiet side street, her nose working overtime, tail wagging gently. The afternoon sun is weak and watery, barely providing warmth, but the sky is clear and blue, and it's actually kind of perfect.
"Hey," Devon says, his voice going softer. "Random question."
"Shoot."
"Do you think..." He pauses, like he's not sure he should continue. "Do you think Candy will get adopted? Eventually?"
His expression is carefully neutral, but there's something underneath, and I can't decide whether it's worry or hope.
"I don't know," I admit. "Mama Paws said she's been at the shelter for three years. That's a long time."
"Yeah." Devon's quiet for a moment, watching Candy walk ahead of us. "I thought about that. And I know this makes me a terrible person, but..." He trails off.
"But what?"
"Part of me doesn't want her to get adopted." The words come out in a rush, like he's confessing something shameful. "I want her to find a home, obviously. She deserves that. But if she gets adopted, I won't be able to visit her anymore. And that's selfish and awful, and I'm a horrible human being, but it's true."
Something in my chest tightens. "You're not a horrible human being."
"I'm literally hoping a dogdoesn'tfind a home so I can keep seeing her."
"You're hoping you don't lose something you care about. That's not horrible. That's just... human."
He looks at me then, and there's something vulnerable in his expression that makes me want to pull him close and promise him things I'm not sure I can deliver.
Before I can say anything else, or figure out what I even want to say, Candy stops walking.
Her ears perk up, swiveling like satellite dishes, and her whole body goes still and alert.
"What is it, girl?" Devon crouches down next to her.
Candy doesn't move, just stands there, head tilted, listening to something we can't hear.
We wait. Because Candy's the boss, and if she needs a moment, we give her a moment.
I sigh, looking down at the way Devon's hand rests gently on her head. "Do you think she knows?" I ask quietly. "That we care about her?"
"Yeah." Devon doesn't hesitate. "I think she knows."
Candy decides whatever she was listening to is no longer interesting and starts walking again, leading us back toward the shelter.
We're almost there when she lets out a bark, sharp and sudden, directed at something in the distance.
Devon immediately drops to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe. I've got you." And then, so quietly I almost miss it, he whispers, "I just love you so much."
Something twists in my chest—sharp and sweet and terrifying all at once as I wonder, just for a second, what it would feel like to hear those words directed at me. To be on the receiving end of that kind of open, uncomplicated affection.
I shake the thought away before it can take root.
We turn the last corner toward the shelter, and Devon stops walking so abruptly I nearly crash into him.
"What?" I follow his gaze across the street.
There's a man standing there. Long winter coat, old-fashioned fedora, hands in his pockets, just... standing. Staring at the shelter.
"I've seen him before," Devon says, his voice tight. "More than once, actually."
As if he can feel us watching, the man turns and starts walking away, his pace just a little too quick to be casual.
