by Lizzie Shane
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I overreacted. I blame caffeine deprivation.” He glanced around, eager to change the topic. “You’re a photographer?”
She moved back far enough to give herself room to lift the camera, but didn’t come out of her crouch, the shutter clicking. “Hm? Oh, yeah. I freelance for a few magazines in New York.”
“I heard you were some big deal in fashion.”
That pulled her attention away from the viewfinder. She glanced up at him, arching a brow. “You heard?”
“Small town. Gossip is our fuel.”
The bow started to slide sideways off Partridge’s head, and Ally’s attention returned to her subject. “So what have you heard about me?” she asked without looking away from the lens.
“Not much. Just that you’re Hal and Rita’s big-city granddaughter with some high fashion career.”
“It wasn’t all that high fashion. I’ve never shot for Vogue, if that’s what you were envisioning.”
“But you made a living at it.”
“Yeah. I made it work.” Partridge sneezed, the bow sliding off his head and onto his paws. He immediately tried to eat it, and Ally snapped one more picture before rescuing it from his juicy clutches. She tossed the bow back onto the pile and picked up a long, red velvet ribbon. “I didn’t find a Santa hat. Do you think we can get this tied around his collar in a way that doesn’t look ridiculous?”
“Here, let me.” He took the ribbon and knelt next to Partridge—who immediately perked up and snuffled at the pocket where Ben had stashed the treats. “Be good and you can have another one,” he promised the dog, looping the velvet around his neck and tying a tidy little bow.
“You’re good at that,” she commented when he stepped back.
“Present wrapping is pretty much my only useful holiday skill.” For a moment, the only sound was the click of the camera. “Do you miss it? New York?”
She was silent for a moment, even the camera’s shutter going still. “I miss feeling like I knew what I was doing,” she said finally, the steady click of the camera starting up again.
“I get that.” He hadn’t felt like he had a clue ever since he became Astrid’s guardian. All of the certainty he used to have in his life had gone up in smoke in a single second. “That confidence makes a difference.”
“Exactly. I’d gotten to the point where I knew I was good, you know? I liked that. Even if it was just at work.”
Ben watched Partridge try to figure out how to chew on the ribbon on his collar, silently agreeing with everything she said. It meant a lot—that feeling that he knew what he was doing at work. If there was a problem with a computer or a database needed to be debugged, he could fix it. There were some days when it felt like work was the only place he had control in his life. “So what are you doing here?”
Another minute pause of the shutter, though she didn’t look away from the lens. “My grandparents needed me—it seemed like a sign. The universe telling me to stick around here and help out.”
“I’ve never been much for listening to the universe.”
She looked at him over the camera. “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you don’t believe in signs. But don’t you ever get that sense that life seems to be shoving you in a certain direction?”
“I guess.” He never would have picked the single-dad life if he’d been picking futures out of a catalog, but life had shoved him into it. He wouldn’t want Astrid with anyone else, and he wouldn’t trade his relationship with her for anything, but when Katie and Paul died, in a way it felt like a lot of his choices had died with them. Now he was just ricocheting from day to day, trying to manage the choices that life had already made for him.
Partridge decided he was done playing model and stood up from the bed, waddling over to Ally and trying to climb on her. She ruffled his ears before standing up to save her camera from his drool. She studied the camera’s digital display, toggling quickly through photos until she paused on one.
She grinned, angling the camera toward him. “What do you think? Do we have a winner?”
It was one of the photos with the bow on top of his head. It tilted slightly to one side, making Partridge’s lopsided face somehow look even more adorable.
“That’s really good.” Realizing he sounded insultingly surprised, considering she was a professional, he tried to cover. “I just mean that’s sure to get him adopted. He looks very adoptable. Perfect for the feature. In the newsletter.”
Ally grinned, thankfully amused by his stumbling. “All right. I’ll send this one to you this afternoon. And I’ll look through to see if there are any others we don’t want to miss.”
“Right. I should probably get back to work.” He glanced at his two-year-old smart watch—and cursed under his breath. “I should definitely get back to work.”
“Ben…I really appreciate you doing this. The Twelve Dogs of Christmas.”
He looked away, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” She gathered up her things and slipped out of the run. Ben tossed Partridge the treat he’d promised him and followed her out.
Colby had been snoring softly in the aisle, but he lifted his head as Ally closed the gate, though he didn’t get up to follow when she and Ben headed toward the entrance.
“Is there anything I can do to repay the favor? Anything you need photographed?”
“Do you know anything about making gingerbread?” He didn’t know why he’d asked that. It was his responsibility to make the gingerbread, and he didn’t foist his responsibilities off on anyone else. He managed. No matter what it took.
“Actually…” For a second his hopes lifted, and then she grimaced. “Not a thing.”
He matched her grimace. “Yeah. Me either.”
“But I bet my gram does,” Ally said suddenly. “She loves baking, and I’m sure she’d love to help.”
“No. No, it’s okay. I’ve got it figured out.” Google would teach him whatever he needed to know.
They’d reached the front of the barn, and Ally pushed open the door, cradling her camera in her other arm. “If you change your mind, the offer stands.”
“You don’t need to do anything. Just concentrate on finding homes for the dogs.” Because if they found homes for the dogs, he didn’t need to feel quite so guilty about cutting her funding in the first place.
“Will do. Thanks, Ben.”
“Ally.” He nodded to her, fastening his coat.
He was a quarter mile down the road before he realized he still had a bag of liver treats in his pocket.
Chapter Ten
Ally stepped into the historic town hall building on Friday morning with her hands full of peace-offering coffee and her stomach full of butterflies. She and Ben had reached an unexpected truce, but she still felt bad that she’d jumped to conclusions about him…and spilled coffee all over him. If his coffee machine was broken, this seemed like the perfect gesture to clean the slate and thank him for helping the shelter.
But when she looked to the desk where he’d been sitting the other day there was a middle-aged woman in his place.
“Hi.” Ally kept her determined smile pinned in place as she approached the desk. “I’m looking for Ben West?”
The woman’s face lit, speculation flickering in her eyes. “Third floor. Second door on the left.”
“Great. Thank you.”
Ally climbed the stairs, feeling the woman’s eyes on her until she rounded the corner out of sight. With the steps creaking beneath her feet, amplifying the awkwardness of her ascent, she was seriously reconsidering the wisdom of coming here by the time she reached the third-floor landing. The second door on the left was ajar and Ally crept over to it.
Ben’s small office was cluttered—mostly with electronics, but there were papers stacked haphazardly on various flat surfaces as well, including the only chair in the room that wasn’t occupied. Ben’s desk faced the door, but his attention w
as so wholly focused on his computer that she had a chance to study him. Dark brows pulled together in a frown of concentration. He rubbed at one eyebrow, as she’d seen him do the other day, and then typed furiously, his long fingers stabbing the keys.
Ally cleared her throat, and his hands froze mid-keystroke, his gaze snapping to hers.
“Hey.”
“Hi there.” Too cheerful. Way too cheerful. Ally ratcheted down the chipperness. “I brought you coffee. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, and you said your machine was broken—though it occurs to me now you probably have coffee here.”
“We don’t actually,” he admitted, still frowning. “There was an incident with a hot plate in the breakroom last year—old wiring—anyway, people usually bring their own.”
Ally held up the cup. “Is that a ‘yay, coffee’? Or did you already…?”
“Uh, yeah, yay coffee,” he said, straightening from behind his desk. “Thank you. Sorry. I’m not used to people bringing me caffeine.”
She extended one of the cups. “It’s black, but I have cream and sugar packets. I wasn’t sure how you took it.”
“Black’s great. Perfect.”
“Great.” He took the cup from her, and she realized she was blushing. She’d been hoping this would make her feel less awkward around him, not more. “I guess I should—” She waved toward the door.
“Actually, while you’re here, I could use your help with something. I’ve been working on the newsletter, the Twelve Dogs feature, and I need a description of Partridge. All I’ve managed to come up with so far is ‘impressively moist.’”
Ally released a startled laugh. “Probably not his most attractive feature.”
Ben waved back toward his computer. “Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He set down his coffee, quickly clearing a chair for her by redistributing the paper piles. He lifted the chair over the desk and set it beside his own, waving her toward it before resuming his seat. Ally came around the desk and perched on the edge of the chair, flicking stealthy glances around Ben’s workspace. There were a few photos scattered around. One of an older couple she assumed were his parents. Another of Astrid with a smiling pair who must be her mom and dad.
On the computer screen, she saw a draft of the newsletter, complete with the photo she’d emailed him yesterday, but the block for text beneath was blank except for the words “Something clever here.”
Ally grinned. “How about something like, ‘Loyal, sweet-natured bulldog looking for a family to provide lots of cuddles’—or does it need to be Christmassy? Like ‘On the first day of Christmas, Furry Friends gave to me a bulldog named Partridge who wouldn’t fit in a pear tree’?”
Ben’s teeth flashed white against his beard. “That’s cute, but your first idea might be better. Talking about what owning him would be like, helping people picture it. What else does he like?”
“Treats. Naps. Belly rubs. Partridge is a big fan of belly rubs.”
His fingers struck the keyboard, rapid-fire. “That’s good.”
“We should probably mention his age. And that he’s neutered and house trained and up-to-date on all his shots.”
Ben shook his head. “Leave that stuff for when you get them in the door.”
“I feel like people want to know that he’s not going to pee all over their carpet.”
He grimaced. “The joys of pet ownership.”
“Is that why you don’t want a dog?”
“Who said I don’t?” he demanded.
“You did. The other day. When I asked if you wanted to adopt.”
“Right. Sorry. Sore subject. I just don’t have space for a dog.”
“Not all dogs need a lot of space.”
“And not everyone needs a dog.” He shrugged. “I’ve never seen the point.”
“Of someone who loves you unconditionally and gets euphorically excited every time you walk through the door? Yeah. That sounds awful.”
He snorted. “They only love you because you feed them. I don’t think that counts as unconditional.”
“Feeding them definitely helps,” she acknowledged, “but that’s not the only reason they love you.”
He leaned back in his chair, picking up the coffee she’d brought him. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re their person,” she explained. “Dogs are just bundles of love, looking for someone to give it to. Why wouldn’t you want that in your life?”
“Because they’re messy and needy and they die much too fast.”
“Wow. That got dark in a hurry.”
“Don’t you ever feel like you’re setting yourself up for grief? Getting that attached to an animal that’s only going to live a decade or two?”
“Knowing there’s an end doesn’t make it any less wonderful while it lasts. It just makes it that much more special when you have it.”
He eyed her skeptically. “Let me guess, you’re one of those ’tis better to have loved and lost people.”
“Absolutely.” She had to be. She’d lost the people she loved the most. “Aren’t you?”
“I’m still making up my mind.”
“You could always get a dog,” she suggested. “Partridge is very affectionate, and he’s only five—he’s got lots of good years left.”
“I’m good as I am. Thanks.” He looked back to the screen. “Maybe we should add that. ‘Has at least one or two good years left.’”
“Have you always been a pessimist? Or is this just a side of you that comes out around Christmas?”
Ben turned to her, affronted. “I’m not a pessimist.”
“Really.” Skepticism saturated her tone.
“I’m a realist. People don’t think about the consequences of their choices. Everything has an effect.”
“But just because there’s a consequence doesn’t mean you never take action. Life isn’t about avoiding cause and effect. Sometimes the reward is worth the risk. Like with dogs.”
“You really love them, don’t you?”
“That surprises you?”
“I guess I expected you to be going through the motions since this is your grandparents’ thing, but you’re really into it.”
“I guess I am,” she admitted, grinning self-consciously. “Dogs make people happy—it’s hard not to want to be a part of that. I wanted to update things, bring the shelter into this decade—which my grandparents weren’t actually very excited about—but that was before we knew about the deadline. The funding.”
He winced. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Not your fault. And maybe this feature will save the day.”
He jerked his chin toward the text on the screen. “What do you think? Will that do?”
Ally scanned the words on the screen, smiling slowly. “It’s perfect.” Partridge sounded utterly charming. Someone was bound to fall in love with him. “Thank you, Ben.”
“Thanks for the coffee.” He lifted his cup in a toast.
“There’s more where that came from if we can get these dogs adopted.” Ally stood, gathering her half-full coffee and her bag. “When do you want the next pictures?”
“As soon as you have them. I’ll put out one feature every few days until Christmas. Try to keep building interest. Do you want help with the photo shoots?”
“Um, yeah, if you want. Maybe just with some of the bigger dogs.”
She didn’t know why she said yes. She didn’t need help. She was a professional. She could manage on her own—and she could always enlist her grandfather’s help. But she didn’t take it back as Ben nodded.
“I’ll text you to work out a time.”
“Great.” She jotted down her number on a Post-it and handed it to him. “See you then.”
Ally was smiling as she walked out the front door of the town hall building. Operation Fresh Start, complete success.
Chapter Eleven
The newsletter with the first Twelve Dogs of Christmas feature went out on Friday afternoon.
All weekend Ally found herself straining her ears, listening for the sound of tires on the gravel driveway.
It was going to work. She knew it.
She and Ben had been texting back and forth, exchanging random ideas for the dogs. I keep looking at these photos, Ben had sent Friday evening. You should send them to the news station in Burlington—see if they’ll do the 12 Dogs feature with us.
Ally had immediately replied to thank him for the idea—but why stop at Burlington? Tons of national morning shows had pet adoption segments, and she’d started researching all of them, trying to figure out how to get the dogs featured.
The next morning, her grandparents were discussing the town’s Christmas parade when an idea popped into her head. She knew her grandparents would just tell her not to worry and to enjoy her vacation, but Ben would listen.
Do you think we could get some of the dogs onto a float in the Christmas parade? she’d texted. She knew he was busy. She hadn’t expected an immediate answer, but his reply had come within seconds.
Good idea. I’ll talk to the organizers.
She’d grinned at her phone like an idiot, irrationally delighted to have him on her team. Her grandmother had seen her smile and asked if she was texting with some beau. Ally had flushed as she denied it. There was nothing romantic there. Yes, he was objectively attractive, but she remembered Gram mentioning his fiancée. This was purely a friends thing, but it was still nice. Better than nice. She felt like she had a partner, someone working the problem with her, and it made all the difference.
She’d texted him to share her excitement when she found a box of adorable bandanas with ADOPT ME printed on them in the storeroom for the dogs to wear for the Christmas parade. And Ben tripped across an old Santa hat in the town’s Christmas supplies and sent her a pic of it—so now they had one to use for the photo shoot for Jelly, which they had planned for later this afternoon.
Her grandparents didn’t seem worried at all about the cut funding—they seemed to think everything would simply work itself out. And maybe it would, with Ben and Ally on the job.