Page 22 of Something Like Shelter

“They’re livestock guardian dogs.”

“They are. The other cousin has Anatolian Shepherds for the same reason. I love them all. But I think one gentle like Tuna would be great.”

“His mom was dumped at the side of the road over in puppy mill territory. Guess they thought she was useless to them. But she was pregnant. With seven puppies. Tuna was one of only four that made it, unfortunately.” Willa’s eyes went wet again. “And the mom!” I rushed to add, hoping that news might make the tears disappear. “I actually took him to meet her once.”

“She got a good home?”

“With four kids and five acres. She’s living her best life.”

“Oh, good.” Her shoulders lowered. “Sorry,” she said, wiping a tear off her cheek. “This happens a lot lately.”

“You don’t need to apologize for being soft in such a hard world. It’s something you should be proud of.”

“I never used to be,” she said, shaking her head at herself. “I blame you for this,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the baby, who just looked up at her with impossibly wide eyes.

“Don’t think she could bring something out that wasn’t there to begin with. Even if you didn’t show that part often.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “There’s not a lot of room for softness in the corporate world.”

“I can’t imagine. Sounds like it’s still a big boys club.”

“It is. I had to fight for the maternity leave I’m entitled to. And some part of me is still paranoid they are going to try to push me out somehow before it’s done.”

“I think the potential lawsuit would prevent that.”

“That’s what my mom keeps saying. She’s the ‘girl in a boys club’ blueprint.”

That made sense. Willa had that kind of unshakable confidence that had to come from a strong maternal figure.

“Your dad too?”

“Oh, God, no. My dad is a tattoo artist.”

“No shit? Sorry,” I said, wincing at the baby.

“Trust me, she heard worse from me this morning when I was trying to sneak out of the nursery to get some sleep, stubbed my toe, and woke her up with my cry of pain.

“But, yeah, my parents couldn’t be more opposite. She grew up pretty privileged. He grew up with a single mom in a rough area, got caught up in a gang for a long time, then finally got out and became a tattoo artist.”

“How’d they meet?”

“She was actually in his neck of the woods one night. Being chased by some guys. He took her in. And… it just went from there. Complete opposites. But it works really well.”

I was pretty opposite of Willa.

God.

I needed to stop.

“Are you an only child?”

“Nope. I have a brother, Jackson.”

“Is he more like your mom or dad?”

“Honestly, he’s like the perfect amalgamation of the two of them. He’s a crazy talented artist—with paint or with a tattoo machine. He helped paint the nursery with my father. But he does that mostly as a hobby. He’s in business otherwise.”

“He been here to fuss over her a lot?” I asked, nodding toward the baby.