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12 Ava: Husky (I)
I turn the key in the lock, the familiar click signaling the start of another day at The Novel Grind. Mrs. Elkins is reading a book in one of our plush,
overstuffed armchairs, content to let me take over her morning chores.
“Keep the door open, dear,” she says, flipping a page and squinting through her bifocals. “An open door brings traffic, and it’s such a nice morning.”
The heavy door is a beast to prop open, and I wonder how Mrs. Elkins has managed all these years. Eventually, I find the sweet spot to jam the doorstop in, but sweat is gathering in my armpits by the time I figure it out.
I take a moment to breathe in the pine–fresh air, enjoying the chill that curls into my lungs as the sun warms my face. A soft whine catches my attention and I glance down in surprise at the silver husky sitting just outside the door, its tail thumping gently against the sidewalk.
The dog’s eyes are a blue so light that they almost
12 Ava: Husky (1)
seem white and seem to pierce right through me, as though they can see every secret I’ve ever hidden deep into the recesses of my mind. But then that thought is gone, because hey, it’s just a dog.
Though, I can’t help but notice the uncanny similarity between the husky’s eyes and my own. It’s a little creepy. Plus, they look better on the furry one.
“Hey there, buddy,” I say, easing into a crouch. “What are you doing here so early?”
It does an adorable head tilt, perking its ears forward as though listening with deep thought to every word that I speak. It doesn’t make a sound, but I can’t help but think, again, there’s an uncanny intelligence in its
gaze.
The dog doesn’t seem to mind when I reach out a hand, and my fingers brush against the soft fur of its face. It leans into my touch, its eyes half–closed in pleasure, savoring the contact.
I know I’m smiling a freaking megawatt smile. I love animals. For obvious reasons, the pack doesn’t have dogs around. Or cats. Or rabbits. Well, actually, there are rabbits–but they aren’t the kind you cuddle with.
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12 Ava: Husky (1)
We eat them.
“You’re a friendly boy, aren’t you?” I murmur, still
scratching.
The dog pulls back, and I swear there’s affront all over that furry face.
“Friendly girl?” I try again.
Her tail wags harder, and she lets out a soft whine of
agreement.
I glance around, looking for any sign of an owner, but the street is empty save for a few early morning
joggers in the distance. “Are you lost, sweet girl?”
She stares at me, and I have the distinct sense that she thinks I’m stupid.
I sigh and stand, brushing my hair behind my ear. The wind keeps catching at it, blowing it into my face. Between that and the fur I’d managed to loosen with happy scritches, I feel like a sneeze is trying to explode out of my nose.
Huh. Is it possible for even a wolfless shifter to be allergic to dogs?
The husky makes an odd, rhythmic string of chatter at
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12 Ava: Husky (1)
me, and I swear she rolls her eyes. Property © NôvelDrama.Org.
Get a freaking grip, Ava. You can’t possibly miss being in a pack so much that you’re starting to wolfy–ize a stray dog.
“What an interesting development,” Mrs. Elkins says from behind me, and I almost fall over in surprise. She tuts and swats at my arm. “You’re too young to have balance issues, Ava. Maybe you should try some squats? I hear those fitness influencers really help.”
If it isn’t obvious, Mrs. Elkins is pretty hip to new technology. She says it’s her job, because she needs to
know how to cater to an audience.
“Do you want to come in, little pup?” Mrs. Elkins asks the husky, who woofs at her. “That’s what I thought. Come on in. Don’t get your fur all over my chairs. Those are for clients, not dogs.”
I laugh and follow behind, I can’t shake the feeling that something is just off with this dog. Then again, I have never been away from a pack before, and I’ve heard that going solo does weird things to wolves. I’ll have to keep an eye out for that. There’s no point in freedom and independence if I’m going to go crazy.
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12 Ava Husky (1)
“I’ll start brewing the coffee,” I tell Mrs. Elkins, who’s acquired a bag of dog treats from somewhere. The husky is ignoring them, content to flatten herself on the ground and stare at me. The most action my boss gets is a disdainful flick of her furry ears.
The slow morning picks up with a vengeance, and I spend most of my time behind the coffee bar. In the time since I started working here, I realized that most of the travel mugs people bring here say things like, Mama Bear and I can’t mom until I’ve had my coffee. They’re usually some sort of glittery ombre.
At some point, Mrs. Elkins had the husky leave the establishment, though it seems to be hanging around every time I check outside. Several customers try to pet her, but she just sits like a stoic little dog statue
outside of the storefront.
Sometimes, when I take too long between checking in on the dog, I’ll glance up and see her snout pushed up against the window, squished up and showing her sparkling white teeth. I giggle every time, then poke my head out the door and hiss at her to stay off the windows.
I’m going to have to wipe them down.
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12 Ava: Husky (1)
Carlos comes in just after the lunch rush, and Mrs. Elkins pats my shoulder as she leaves. “I’ll get out of you young people’s hair, now. Carlos, take care of our new little angel, will you?”
He winks at me in outrageous flirtation that I’ve learned means absolutely nothing beyond mild affection. “Oh, you know I will.”
It’s not hard to laugh. Carlos just brings it right out of me. It used to be that I only ever laughed with Lisa, but now I feel like most of my day is spent smiling. Real
smiles, not customer service smiles. Those, I have perfected.
I used them on my family all the time, and they definitely never noticed.
Damn, I’m thinking about them again. I’ve got to figure out how to stop doing that.
“Are you sure you’re okay working until closing again, Ava?”
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