Model Behavior

by Carter, M. E.

  I don’t tell anyone at work that my motives are selfish because I’m very strategic about it. I wait until the schedule comes out and as soon as I hear someone complain about working on a holiday, I pounce like Rocky, our resident feline. Except I don’t jump from table to counter, and I have much more accurate precision so I don’t fall into the gap in a humiliated heap.

  No one said Rocky is the most graceful thing.

  What I am, though, is an evil genius. I offer to switch shifts to help relieve the poor mom who wants to be with her children, give the obligatory “It’s not a problem” when they tell me they owe me one.

  And truly, I get it. If I lived closer to my family, who all still live in New Jersey, I’d want to take my cousins’ kids trick-or-treating too. It’s a family affair. But I made the choice to stay in Texas post college, and it’s not in the budget to fly home for every holiday. Especially the one I hate in particular. So instead, I make the best of the situation by making a mental note of who I need to switch with should I get stuck working on Memorial Day. Because that’s the holiday I love.

  Sleeping in, maybe a boat ride on the lake, barbeque—way better than Steven King clowns and Freddy Krueger masks. I get tingly all over just thinking about the feel of the sun on my skin and the breeze through my hair.

  It’s a far cry from today’s perfect Halloween weather. A roar of thunder rolls through and I walk toward the front window to see how bad it is. There’s never anyone here on our extended hours days so I have a chance to really look at the sky. It’s getting darker quickly, and not because of the time. The clouds are rolling in and fast.

  “That’s gonna suck when I walk to my car,” I say out loud to myself as the first of many claps of thunder breaks, but I know it’s going to suck even more for the animals here.

  The Critter Keepers and Wildlife Rescue has two sides to it: the pet rescue and adoption side—where I don’t normally work—and the wildlife rescue side where I spend most of my days. I love it. We take in all the orphaned and injured animals people find and do our best to raise them until they can be released into the wild. Most of the actual rehab happens in the home of one of our many volunteers. When eight litters of baby squirrels come in at the same time, it’s hard for two employees to feed two dozen babies every three hours. Sending each set to a foster home ensures the babies get the round the clock care they need. Plus, release is a lot easier when it’s in someone’s front yard.

  We also rehab raccoons, possums, and the occasional armadillo. We even had a baby deer one time. She wasn’t here long before we found a specially trained person to raise her on their farm, but it was still a fun experience.

  I don’t normally work on the pet adoption side. It’s more of an “as needed” basis, and Halloween is when it’s needed. I don’t mind, though. It’s an easy way to make a buck and keep all that money I’d waste on candy safely in my bank account.

  The downside is a day like today. When storms come in, the dog kennels can get loud. None of the dogs like thunder. I’m sure by the time I get back there to finish up for the night, I’ll decide I need to stay late to comfort some poor baby with massive anxiety. That’s nothing like the wildlife side. Those critters hear bad weather coming and they dig deep into their nests and sleep through it.

  That’s what I hope to do once I get home. No wonder I relate to squirrels so much. Hibernation during bad weather sounds amazing.

  Glancing at the clock, I’m pleased to see it’s finally closing time, and not a moment too soon. The wind is starting to pick up. That can only mean the rain is right behind it. If I’m lucky, I’ll stay dry getting to my car.

  But of course, my luck is about to run out. Just as I’m reaching for the lock, a big black truck comes to a screeching halt in front of the sidewalk. I’ve come to know only one type of person drives a vehicle like that. Young, cocky, and wearing a too tight T-shirt across his “I lift weights and here are my muscles” torso. Bonus points if he has blinged-out jeans too. Just great.

  “Oh shit,” I grumble to myself, cursing our policy to never kick someone out until they’re done. “It’s worth it for that one adopted animal,” the boss always spouts. Yes, she’s right, but I have yet to do an adoption at closing time on Halloween. After six years here, I think it’s safe to say that pattern is pretty solid.

  I don’t have time to keep getting my feathers ruffled, though, because a very large Elsa and very little Anna jump out of the truck and start running toward the building as the first drops of rain fall. I snicker as the blond jogs like the man he very clearly is. It reminds me of when Channing Tatum did that lip sync. Man, that was funny.

  Flinging the door open, the pair race in just as a total downpour begins. Not a nice little shower, but a complete and total soak. So much for staying dry in the parking lot.

  “Phew! We made it just in time, Sprite,” a familiar voice says behind me. I quickly lock the door, stalling because this can’t be. There is no way the one person I was hoping to never see again just ran through my doors in a dress.

  When I turn around, there’s no denying it.

  “Matthew?”

  Very tall Elsa turns away from very short Anna and faces me. It takes a second for his eyes to widen in recognition, which isn’t insulting at all, but when they do a huge grin crosses his face.

  “Carrie? What are you doing here?”

  My brain takes this exact moment to short out from the shock and not understand what he’s asking me. What am I doing in town? At the shelter? At this hour? In scrubs? The possibilities are endless, so I just pick an answer and go with it.

  “Locking up.”

  “I can see that. But… you work here?”

  “Yep. Not normally on this side of the shelter, but it’s Halloween so I switched so someone else could have the night off, which is normally great but that rain is going to be a bitch to drive in. And… Oh shit, I said bitch.” I throw my hand over my mouth, just now registering that I’m in the presence of a child.

  Matthew chuckles and I hate that it sounds so, so… perfect coming out of his perfect mouth. It’s so unfair that he can dress like a Disney princess and still be hot as hell.

  “It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.” Gesturing to small Anna, he says, “Carrie, this is my daughter, Calypso.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but falter when her name registers. “After the siren who held Odysseus captive on an island before she was ordered to let him go?”

  Matthew’s lips quirk to the side, like he’s trying not to laugh at how very obvious my book nerdiness is. “We call her Sprite.”

  “Okay,” I say because I got nothin’. “Well it’s nice to meet you.”

  Cue the longest, most awkward pause.

  Well done, Carrie. If you wanted the man to leave you alone, insulting his daughter’s name should do the trick.

  It’s probably a family name or something and I unknowingly made fun of a beloved grandma too. Fortunately, the smallest one of us turns out to be the most focused. And probably the most mature, if this whole scene is any indication.

  “Dad. We’re here for Olaf, remember?”

  “Right.” Matthew snaps back into focus like the man on a mission he is. I have no idea what that mission is, but I’m about to find out. “We need a dog.”

  I furrow my brow. What odd timing to decide to adopt. “Any breed in particular or are you just wanting to adopt a shelter mutt?”

  “No, I mean, we’re looking for our dog. The storm scared him and he ran off.”

  That makes so much more sense.

  “Oh! Okay now I’m following. Come on.” I gesture for them to follow me into the kennel area. “We always pick up a bunch of dogs when it storms like this. Although, with it being Halloween, we haven’t processed many of them yet. What does your dog look like?”

  “Like a snowman,” the little girl blurts out as I swing open the door to the back.

  As suspected, the noise is horrendous, and it goes up a notch w
hen all the dogs catch wind of us coming inside.

  The girl, who I now refer to as Little Anna in my head because I just can’t call her the name of a sex-nymph, immediately covers her ears. “They’re so loud!”

  “They always are,” I shout back at her even though she probably can’t hear me anyway. “It gets worse whenever there’s a storm.”

  Noah, our canine resident, takes that moment to trot over on all fours, looking completely comfortable in this environment. I still don’t know how he ended up being a permanent part of the shelter, but it happened before I got here. He doesn’t even have a kennel, just roams around at will. It’s surprising that no one has ever taken him home because he’s actually a pretty good dog. Except when he lifts his leg and pees on people’s dresses, which he’s doing right now…

  “Noah!” I admonish and shoo him away. “No peeing on princesses!” I glance up at Matthew sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I’ve never seen him do that before.”

  “Don’t even worry about it.” Matthew shakes the liquid that pooled at the bottom of his hem off quickly. “Gives me an excuse to throw this thing away. When I promised to dress up for trick-or-treating, I didn’t expect it to be so damn itchy. Being a woman is hard.”

  That makes me smile. I love that he is one of those parents who dresses up with his kid. It’s endearing.

  Not that I care. Because… I don’t. At all.

  “Dad.” Little Anna tugs on his lacy sleeve. “We have to find Olaf.”

  I jump in and answer before he can. “You’re right. Let’s go to the back kennels. That’s where any new guys will be. You say he looks like a snowman?”

  Little Anna nods vigorously. “He was wearing an Olaf costume. It even had sticks for his arms and a carrot nose.”

  “Hmm. Well I haven’t seen any dogs matching that description. Maybe his costume fell off. Let’s check.”

  After twenty minutes of looking in every kennel, a potty break, and one huge pitch for why a particularly cute puppy needed to go home with them (Little Anna lost that round, but I suspect it’s only the beginning), we all come to the same conclusion—Olaf isn’t here.

  “I’m so sorry, guys.” And I really am. Looking at Little Anna’s sad face, I feel terrible that her beloved pet, which I now know is a beagle, has seemed to escape the clutches of the law at this point. “It’s not over yet, though. He could be hiding somewhere, waiting out the rain to make his way home soon.”

  Matthew tucks his little girl into his side, blond wig beginning to slide off his head. “I hope so. With his nose, there’s no telling how far away he is at this point.”

  “Well why don’t you fill out our missing dog report,” I suggest, making my way behind the counter and pulling out the form he needs. “I’ll get it in the system and should Olaf show up, we’ll call you.”

  “Really?” Little Anna’s eyes brighten.

  “Really.” I hand a clipboard over to Matthew with everything he needs attached to it and wait while he fills it out.

  I kind of hate myself for it, but while I wait, I watch. It’s interesting seeing the way he interacts with his daughter. He’s so patient with her, even when she bumps his arm making him draw a line across the page. Most people I know would reprimand their kid for not paying attention, but Matthew simply points to the line and explains why she needs to be careful.

  When he takes off the wig, though, that’s when I see him in a totally different light. Here is this physically beautiful man putting all his ego and looks aside to make his daughter happy. And not just trick-or-treating. He’s actually in public dressed like that for her sake.

  Dammit. I hate when the hot guy is awesome too.

  It doesn’t take long for Matthew to fill out the paperwork and bring it back to me.

  “Done?” That was a dumb question, Carrie. He wouldn’t give it to you if he wasn’t.

  “Yeah. So how does this work?”

  I glance over the application quickly, making sure everything is filled in. “We’ll put all your information into our system. When a new dog comes in, we scan for microchips first. If there isn’t one, or we can’t find information on it, we then cross reference your information with his to see if there are any matches. Fingers crossed, we’ll find him really soon.”

  “I really appreciate it.” He reaches down and picks up his little girl who lays her head on his shoulder. I’m sure between the candy, the dog hunt, and the weather, she’s pooped by now. “And my number is on there. Maybe you can take it in case you happen to see him before he’s processed.”

  “Um… yeah. Sure. I can text you if I see him.” That’s innocent, right? It doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about his character when it comes to women, does it? He’s just a guy.

  A hot guy I don’t have any interest in.

  Pushing my very inappropriate thoughts aside, I walk them to the front door.

  “Thanks for stopping by. Try to stay dry.” I cringe because they’re already wet and there’s practically a hurricane out there. Way to not be awkward, Carrie.

  “You too.” Matthew smiles, perfectly confident in his ability to have a conversation. Unlike some of us. And by some of us I mean me. “And thanks again, Carrie.”

  He flashes me that megawatt smile that’s made him a household name in the romance book community before ducking out into the now light rain, using the wig to shield his daughter’s face from the drops.

  I quickly lock the door, thankful for the break in the weather.

  That doesn’t mean I’m giving up my hibernation though. A girl’s still got to have some sort of pleasure in life, even if it’s not of the male variety.

  Chapter 5

  Matthew

  When I was in college, Friday nights were the highlight of my week. Not only did it kick off my weekend of partying but it was also the only weekday I didn’t have classes. You better believe I scheduled it that way on purpose.

  While my life today is nowhere near the shit show it was then, I still look forward to Fridays. Calypso and my parents have a standing sleepover date, one that has only been rescheduled a handful of times since she turned two. My parents would have been fine to start the tradition from almost day one but I wanted to be there for her. Hands on for every moment. Each milestone.

  Then, after her second birthday, my parents all but locked me out of the house and demanded I get a social life and as my mother called it “some lady loving.” According to her I was a grumpy asshole, except when I was with my daughter, and it could only mean I was in need of female companionship. That was the first conversation we had about boundaries. Hers, not mine. One I know we’ll have again tonight. It is Friday and our own sort of tradition.

  “Daddy, what if Olaf comes home? I won’t be here and he’ll be so sad.”

  Sitting down on the couch, I pat my legs for Calypso to climb up on my lap. Her normally chipper and happy personality has been dampened by Olaf’s still missing status. I was hopeful the first few days he was gone that we’d get a call from the shelter. Or, more truthfully that Carrie would call or text me herself and tell me she found him. By day three, I knew it was unlikely he’d come home.

  “I promise, if Olaf comes home or someone calls about him I will call Grandma right away. You don’t want to disappoint your Papa do you? He was excited to work on your puzzle tonight.”

  Sighing, she settles into my chest. I know her little heart is worried about her four-legged best friend but sitting around wallowing won’t help. Besides, my dad really is looking forward to working on the jigsaw puzzle they’re putting together. Somehow in the last few months, the two of them have become obsessed with puzzles. My mom says it’s quite competitive and they get in very heated discussions over who found the puzzle piece first. I can only imagine my normally chill Dad sparring with my headstrong little Sprite.

  “Oh Daddy, he’s not excited. He’s scared. I’m way better at puzzles than Papa.”

  And just like that, the gloominess in her is gone and repl
aced with the normal sass. She hops off my lap and trots down the hall to her room for her little rolling suitcase. When she returns, I’m waiting by the door with the keys in my hand. Before we step into the garage, she stops and, leaving her suitcase behind, runs to the backyard and opens the slider.

  “Olaf! Olaf!,” she shouts and waits for a few seconds before closing the door again. When she catches my eye, she lifts one shoulder and returns to take her suitcase and walks out the door. Well, okay then.

  Our drive to my parents’ house is quick and only long enough for one song to be belted out from the backseat. Thank goodness. My daughter is many things but a singer she is not. Unbuckling herself, she waits for me to come around and help her down from the truck before she runs toward the front door.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get your bag!” I shout as the front door opens.

  “Thanks, Daddy. Hi, Papa, are you ready for me? Do we have snacks?”

  Laughing to myself, I grab her suitcase, and favorite blanket, and favorite pillow, and favorite stuffed animal, because why wouldn’t she bring half her room for one night, and follow her path to the front door. Leaving her stuff by the entryway, I close the door just as she lets out a string of giggles. It’s a welcome sound after the week we’ve had.

  Pans clanking in the kitchen tell me where I’ll find my mom and I head that way. Greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, I steal a carrot from the cutting board and settle in on one of the barstools. She doesn’t say anything, not even about my thieving ways with her vegetables.

  “Hi,” I say and still nothing. “Mom?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Something wrong?”

  Setting the knife down, she pauses, taking an audible breath before releasing it and turning to face me. I quickly run through the last few days, trying to figure out if I’ve done anything to earn the look on her face. Normally an expression she saves for my brother, her eyes are narrowed my direction, lips pierced in a fine line. Oh boy.