A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

Typically, we would walk potential adopters through the second door that leads to the kennels and let them pick a few dogs to meet one at a time. But Eli isn’t typical. For one, he’s made it clear he can’t adopt a dog. His job—whatever it is—requires he keep hours that aren’t conducive to pet ownership. So he’s said. Which is a shame, really. I’ve seen the longing in his eyes when he’s playing tug-of-war with a lab mix, the widening of his smile when a tiny mutt climbs in his lap, the way he brightens when I walk into the room with any dog at all. The man should have a dog if for no other reason than it lights him up inside. I’ve never asked what he does that won’t allow him to care for a pet. I don’t ask him any questions. That would mean crossing over some invisible line I’ve set for myself. And fighting against the shyness holding my words hostage. Technically, I shouldn’t let Eli keep coming in to hang out with the dogs. Technically, I don’t care. The second reason Eli isn’t like other people who come in is that he lets me pick the dogs for him. After his first time here, he refused to go in the kennels. He said it made him too sad to see all of them lined up and waiting for homes. I remember the way his eyes widened, how his gaze traveled down the long row of enclosures, at the noses pressed between bars. His swallow had been visible, throat bobbing in a way that made me sad at the same time as it made me want to remove a layer of clothing for fear of spontaneous comb...