Chapter 1
Ishould be on a plane. That was the plan, anyway. A quick flight from Great Lakes, Florida, to Portland International, a rental car waiting to whisk me off to my new life. A new job, a new town, a new chapter. Simple. Clean. Efficient.
But then I see him.
Scrolling on my lunch break, halfheartedly picking at a salad that has more croutons than greens, I see a post from a local shelter. German Shepherd, three years old. Abandoned outside the gates with a torn leash and a wagging tail. The picture is blurry, but the way he looks at the camera, as if he’s been waiting for me his whole life, breaks something open inside me.
So, I call the shelter. Change my plans. I gas up my old Toyota Tacoma, Rusty—Rusty, because, well, she’s got rust—and hit the road with my new best friend in the passenger seat.
I named him Neptune. If I’m going to uproot my entire life to study the whales of Depoe Bay, Oregon—the so-called Whale Watching Capital of the World—it only feels right to name him after the God of the sea. Or at least my own personal, slightly smelly, four-legged God of the sea.
I could’ve flown, arrived refreshed, maybe even had time to unpack before my first day at my new job. Instead, I arrive with dog hair stuck to my clothes and a backseat that smells suspiciously like wet fur and fast food wrappers.
Depoe Bay rolls into view, and a strange nervous excitement settles in my chest that I know isn’t just from the three cups of gas station coffee I had earlier. The Pacific spreads out like a painting, the smell of salt and seaweed drifting in through the cracked window. Neptune sticks his head out and lets the wind tangle his ears into a mess of fur, and for a moment, everything feels exactly right.
Except it isn’t.
Because the rental I’ve arranged, a cute little place with a view of the bay, doesn’t allow dogs. I checked the email three times, but apparently someone forgot to mention that detail. So now I’m headed to a dog-friendly hotel on the edge of town, where the website promises they “love dogs there.”
Neptune gives me a big, sloppy lick on the cheek, and I’m reminded that it’s not just about me anymore. It’s about us.
“Alright, buddy,” I say, glancing at him. “Let’s see what Oregon’s got for us.”
I shift Rusty into gear and follow the road as it curves along the coast, a long way from home but closer to something that feels like belonging.
The Otter Rock Hotel looks like it was built in the ‘80s and updated with just enough charm to keep it from falling apart completely. I park Rusty in the small lot, and Neptune’s ears perk up, already knowing this is just a pit stop on the way to something better.
Inside, the lobby smells of sea salt and coffee. A stack of local whale-watching brochures sits by the front desk. The carpet is worn from countless tourists passing through.
The hotel manager, Mark, according to his name tag, greets me with a wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges.
“Welcome to Otter Rock Hotel! We’re dog lovers here,” he says, glancing at Neptune.
I let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Tell that to the rental company in Depoe Bay that’s keeping my deposit because they forgot to tell me they don’t like dogs,” I mutter, rubbing Neptune’s head. He leans into my hand, his dark eyes locked on mine, making me feel like I’m the only person in the world.
Seven days. That’s how long I’ve had him. Six of those days, we’ve been on the road together, crossing state lines like we’re on the run. In those six days of too many gas station meals, an endless stream of '80s road trip anthems, and motels that smelled of stale dreams, he’s been perfect. Calm. Focused. Nothing rattles him. He stays close to my side, as though that’s exactly where he belongs.
How could anyone give up a dog likethat?
“Depoe Bay’s a beautiful place,” Mark says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Rentals here go fast—high commodity, you know. But I’m sure you’ll find something. I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He winks, and somehow, I already trust him.
“Thanks,” I say, managing a smile.
Mark hands me a small map of the hotel layout and circles a building near the back. “You’re in Building B, Room 17. Just soyou know, there are a lot of stairs. But trust me, the view is worth it.”
“Stairs,” I repeat. “Great.”
“Welcome to Otter Rock!” he says, with the enthusiasm of someone who’s probably said it a thousand times.
I take the map, pat Neptune’s head, and head back to the truck. “Alright, Neps,” I say, my voice tired but hopeful. “Let’s go see our new home.”
He hops into the backseat, and I climb in after him. It’s not perfect—nothing in my life ever has been—but with Neptune by my side, maybe this time will be different.
Six floors. Six entire floors I have to climb to get to my room. I lug my backpack over one shoulder and my one piece of luggage behind me. I lose count somewhere around floor four, and my legs are burning by the time I reach the top. I’m so out of air that even Neptune looks concerned.
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, bending over with my hands on my knees. “Next time, we’re going to a place with an elevator.”
I turn around, and wow! The view is worth every breathless step.
