The shelter was a little place, run by well-meaning people who were trying to save animals. A larger shelter sat two towns away, but I had no idea what it was like. I considered driving there, weighing the advantages of the longer drive time for adding to my stalling.

The puppy and I sat in the truck, the engine still running, and I stared at the front of the building. The puppy looked up at me with his big eyes and I ran my hand over his soft head down onto his warm body. He was sleek, like a seal or something.

I gathered him up in my arms again, cradling him between my hand and elbow. He was a wiggly little guy, definitely not the passive kind of puppy. I looked down at him with a feeling of pride. “You’re going to be somebody, aren’t you?”

I’m talking to a dog. A dog I can’t keep.

I felt like I was outside my body. My boots crunched on the gravel. My hand pulled the door open. A bell rung. I walked inside. Inside the small front area, a long counter ran across almost the entire width of the room. I blinked, and stopped in my tracks, just for a moment.

Behind the counter stood the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. Our eyes locked together, for what felt like forever. His eyes were dark. Dark brown. I fell into them, all the way from across the room. He stared back at me through his glasses until he turned his head and the light reflected off his lenses and flashed me out of my daze. He either had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen, or it was some kind of reflective trick with his eyes and the glasses. I wanted to get closer and find out which it was.

A mop of dark curly hair flopped on his head, with an extreme side part. This kid was stylish times a million. He was lanky and long, but his muscles were well defined under a tight lemon yellow t-shirt. He was like the sexiest Easter treat ever. Grounding the vibrancy of his shirt, he wore long dark skinny jeans. They looked expensive. But they were weirdly covered with…dust? So, he wasn’t afraid to get dirty.

This thought led me down a path I couldn’t follow right then, or probably ever. Definitely ever.  For a moment I forgot why I was there.

I drank in the sight of him, and finally only saw his mouth, open in a little o-shape as he stood equally frozen in place. Those lips! Pouty. Kissable. He looked young. Maybe mid-twenties?

I looked down at myself — noticed my fireman polo, my work pants, my work boots. We were not a match. Sure, I could get someone like him in a hot hookup, a semi-anonymous encounter in another city where neither of us were going to see the other again. But no way would someone as beautiful and…elegant as him want to be with me.

The pounding heart overpowering my brain said otherwise.

The puppy wiggled in my arms. I remembered why I was there. The dream that was this guy faded from my mind and my interrupted heart remembered the painful task ahead.

He looked me over, transferring his weight to one hip, and raised an eyebrow. “A fireman with a dalmatian?” He didn’t look impressed.

I grimaced. “Yeah, I know. He was a gift.”

I could tell that didn’t impress him either and that he was trying to hide his opinions.

He looked down at the puppy, and I realized I was going to have to hand him over.

I didn’t want to. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make myself do it.

He raised both eyebrows and locked his gaze with mine. “So…how can I help you?”

A full beat passed between us. What the hell was wrong with me? Usually I was Mr. Suave. Usually I owned the room. Usually I controlled the conversation. It was all that thinking about my past — it fucked with my head, and now I am off my game.

“I want to keep him,” I said lamely.

He pressed his lips together, and held his face in a neutral expression. Whatever naked intimacy we had earlier was gone. It was like he wore a mask. “Okay, let’s see him.” He patted the counter between us.

I walked closer, and gently eased the puppy down onto the counter. I made sure his sock didn’t fall on the floor and then placed it between his too-large paws.

I wanted to keep my hands on the puppy. I wanted to protect him. I forced myself to grip the counter and allowed this too-gorgeous-to-be-real guy to look over my dog.

He ran his hands all over him, starting at the top of his head and going all the way down to his tail. His fingers were long and slender, his wrists elegant. I stared down, watching him work. It felt like I was leaving my body again, so I gripped the counter harder. My fingers and knuckles blanched and I bit the inside of my mouth.

“I’m Oscar,” he said, not looking up. He rolled the puppy over onto his back. He had a gentle touch. The puppy just turned over for him and allowed him to check him all over, going floppy under his hands.

“I’m Rhett,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

Oscar glanced up at me and then turned his attention back to the puppy. He opened his mouth and checked inside. He looked in his ears. He examined and squeezed his paws. He turned the puppy right side up, settling him in a sitting position on the counter. Then he snapped his fingers next to the puppy’s head. The dog turned and looked at his hand and then up at him like, “What?”

“Did you know that a third of all dalmatians are born deaf?” Oscar looked up at me, waiting for an answer.

I ran my hands through my hair. “Really? And you’re sure he’s not?” I leaned over, making eye contact with the puppy. He looked back at me, his little doggy soul meeting mine. Was it possible to love him already?

Oscar snapped his fingers on the other side of the puppy’s head, and, thank god, he turned his head the other way. “They are bred foremost for their looks. The mostly white coat is considered desirable, but it’s connected to certain traits and behaviors that can be…” Here Oscar paused, searching for the right word. “Difficult.”

“That’s nice,” I said, thinking it wasn’t nice at all. Poor dog, it’s not his fault.

“He looks like a good one, though there’s no way of knowing without knowing his lineage and doing all kinds of tests. We do know he can hear and he seems to be alert.”

“Yeah, he was all over the place at the fire station.” I felt miserable. What was I doing? How did my day come to include this horrible moment? My whole life people passed me off to someone else, and now I’m supposed to do the same thing to this little guy?

“What’s your house like,” Oscar said.

I’d already expected this question, but that didn’t make it more fun to answer. “I live in an apartment.” My voice felt flat.

“That’s not great news,” he said.

“My lease is up soon, I could find somewhere else.”

He bit his lip and seemed to be thinking. “Dalmatians are a lot of work,” he said. “They aren’t like a beginner dog, or an easy dog. That movie did terrible things to the breed. Suddenly everyone wanted one, and began indiscriminately breeding puppies, further weakening the already fragile genetics. Even a good dalmatian is not an easy dog.”

“Okay…” I said. What did this guy want from me?

He continued. “Dalmatians are work dogs. The aren’t cuddly stuffed animals to roll around on the floor with you or with kids. They require a lot of discipline and training.”

Frustration filled my chest. “Okay! So what are you saying?”

He looked at me, looked away, and then met my gaze full on. “Having a dalmatian is pretty much like having a pet tiger.”

I couldn’t help it, this made me laugh.

“I’m not joking,” he said.

I scrubbed my face with my hand. “Look, I didn’t go out and get a dalmatian. But here I am. If I turn him over to the shelter, what will happen to him?”

He tilted his head back and looked up at me, his lips pulling into a frown that he couldn’t hide. “It’s probably a death sentence. If not sooner, then later. Someone may convince us they should adopt him, which is not likely. But if they do, it’s probable they will decide he’s too much for them to handle. Then they will bring him back here when he’s older and no one wants him, or take him somewhere else for the same fate.” He paused. “Or they will abandon him.”

“Jesus!” I exclaimed. I felt sick. That word. Abandon.

I hate that word.

My mind went into overdrive.

I’m a one-man band. I just take care of myself. I come and go as I please. I don’t get pulled into relationships. I know I would just mess them up. I don’t even know how they work, not really. I never sleep with the same person twice. That keeps life uncomplicated.

This puppy is complicated.

But it feels like some kind of second chance — a way to right the past.

I’m complicated too.

Everyone says he’s bad. Everyone said I was bad too.

“I don’t want to throw this dog away.” I kept my emotions tight, but I forced myself to looked into his dark brown eyes. Mask dropped, his gaze met mine. The chemistry was palpable. I knew he felt it too. It zapped between us, held us together, like magnets suspended in air.

My voice croaked, almost a whisper. “Just tell me what I have to do.”