“I’m going to have to educate you.”
“Do I get treats when I get questions right?”
“Maybe.” My cock bobs. “Senna and I were named after legendary drivers. Graham Hill is another legendary driver. This was meant to be.”
“Graham’s a bit of an anxious dog,” the shelter worker says.
“Aren’t we all?” I turn and face her, although I still want to watch Graham, who plods around his cage while wagging his tail. “What have I got to do to make him mine?”
CHAPTER 27
Niki
“And this is Graham, with me and Rosie in the little garden at the shelter. They let people interested in adopting dogs spend time with them to see how they interact,” I say, holding my phone to Jacs, who stares at the cars. She shoves a red tendril of hair from her face and glares. “And here’s another one of him with a squeaky toy. I have to get him one of those.”
“Niki, I’ve already seen fifteen photos of Graham, and in every one he looks like the grumpiest bastard since…you.” Jacs’s Scottish accent adds an extra cuss somehow.
I stare at the big-eyed British bulldog. “Graham isn’t grumpy. He’s misunderstood. Rosie says he’s been through a lot already.”
“And did you call him Graham after the driver Graham Hill?” Tawny asks as she bounds up.
“No, he was called that by his first owner. It was meant to be.”
“He’s adorable. Please show me the one with the squeaky toy. I missed it,” Tawny says, standing a little closer than I’d usually be okay with, but I want to show her the photo.
“Stop encouraging him,” Jacs grumbles.
“Stop being such a sour face. He’s so happy.”
I get to the photo with Graham and Rosie. Her arm’s wrapped around him, and he’s staring at her as if the stars shine from her eyes. I bet I looked at her like that a couple of times when we were at the shelter, especially when she said a shelter dog was like me and, with the proper support, they’re perfect.
Did holding my hand do something to her like it did to me?
“Niki, get over here and stop stressing my staff,” Senna shouts from the other side of the garage.
I leave the sisters to argue as I walk to the desk covered in screens. Some have diagnostics, and others have readings from systems, helping the team strategize.
“I guess you don’t want to see photos of Graham again,” I say, slipping my phone in my pocket.
“No.”
“I do,” Connor butts in. “He’s a beautiful dog and perfect for you. What are the next steps in the process?”
Senna scowls at us, but that’s on her for dating my best friend.
I grin as I explain that the shelter will be interviewing me and visiting my house in a week. I also want Rosie’s daughter to meet him, as Rosie might have him occasionally on weekends. “Can you believe no one wanted Graham? The poor lad’s been in the shelter for three months, and everyone ignores him for the puppies or fluffier, cuter dogs because of his problems.”
“What sort of problems?”
“He has anxiety. He does the occasional nervous wee and struggles to socialise with other dogs. The irony isn’t lost on me, although I don’t nervously wee.”
“Thank god.” Connor moves to nudge me but thinks better of it.
“As Rosie said, he needs someone to care for him and accept him for who he is.”
“She said that? Senna, did you hear what Rosie said?” Connor raises his eyebrows twice. “Rosie’s very wise and caring, isn’t she?”
“You’re a knob, Con,” I grumble.
