“Do dogs always like you? ” I ask him.
He squints, like he hasn't thought about this before. “Yeah. I guess they do.”
“They like me, too,” I tell him. “I'm not sure why.”
Colt smiles over at me. He has a wonderful, rich smile and a tiny gap between his front teeth that makes him adorable and handsome at the same time. “I have a theory about why dogs come to some people and run away from others,” he says.
“I'd like to hear that theory.” I'm not looking where I'm going. So when we get to the corner, Colt holds his arm out in front of me to keep me from crossing against traffic. It's a tiny gesture, but he's so not conscious of doing it that my heart beats a little faster, like he saved me from oncoming traffic without a second thought.
“I think dogs prefer people who don't chase them,” Colt begins. “People who don't try too hard to get them to come. You know? Then they get to come on their own, in their time.”
The light changes, and we cross the street. I have Eve's leash, and Colt has Adam's and Shirley's. “You're right,” I tell him. “I don't ever try to get dogs to love me.”
“They just do, right? ”
“Right.”
I don't say anything else, but he has to be thinking what I'm thinking. Why did I chase my boyfriends? Even when I didn't scare them off, did it start love out wrong? Put us on a course that could never be as natural or as real as it might have been?
“You know what a beautiful young girl told me once?” Colt asks.
He grins at me, and there's something weirdly familiar about him. Maybe I felt it the first time I really looked at him in Louie's. I shake my head, and I am riveted. I can't take my eyes off this guy.
“This girl told me that when people say men are dogs, they don't know what they're talking about. She said dogs love unconditionally. If you find a man who can love you like a dog, you just might have found real love.”
A shiver rushes through me, down to my toes. It's exactly what I said to Goofy that day. “
Who
told you that?” I didn't tell that part of my story back there in Louie's. I'm sure I didn't.
“A beautiful, but sad, girl told me that. Actually, I think she was quoting her mother.”
“Colt! How do you know that?” The only time I ever said that to anybody, except Amber, was years ago on a bench in Six Flags in St. Louis.
Colt is calm and cool, but his grin spreads over his whole face. “Just call me Goofy.”
“No way! You're not sayingâ! You're not trying to tell me
you
â. That's not possible.” Maybe I'm dreaming this. Maybe I dreamed the entire night in Louie of St. Louie's.
“I wasn't even supposed to be Goofy that day. I was quitting my job at the park. Then I saw you on that bench.” He stops walking, and so do I. We stare at each other for a minute. “I don't think I ever got over that day, Bailey.”
People walk past us and stare. Maybe it's the dress. Or the dogs. I don't care. “You're Goofy.”
Colt shrugs and nods. “Soon as you talked about going to Six Flags, I had this feeling. I already thought I'd seen you before. Then when you told us about being at the park with Went, I knew, even before you got to the Goofy part.”
I shake my head. I'm a little dizzy.
“And by the way,” he adds quickly, “Tweety Birdâthe real Tweety, not the park's versionâis definitely a boy. Everybody knows that.”
I crack up then. I can't stop laughing at the wonder of this. It's too big to be a coincidence. I wouldn't believe it if anybody else told me this story. But I was there. And we're here.
Shirley is barking nonstop. Adam and Eve are doing their business, synchronized in the middle of the sidewalk, to the frowns of people passing us in wide arcs.
Colt slips his two leashes to his left hand and puts one arm around my waist. “I think we better get out of here.”
We run, breathless with laughter and the morning's crisp air in our lungs. We don't stop until we get to the hotel.
“You're coming up with me.” It's a statement. I'm not asking. “You've got to back me up on this whole story with Mom. She's not going to believe you're
the
Goofy, the reason I have two hundred Goofy figurines in her overstuffed garage.”
My dogs lead us to the right hotel room. “I don't have a key,” I say, patting the sides of my prom dress.
“What? ” Colt acts shocked. “Are you telling me the designers of Strang prom dresses forgot to put in pockets? ”
“And they think they're so clever,” I agree. “Guess I better knock.” I'm about to when the door flies open.
Mom, dressed in her bright orange gown, is standing in the doorway. When she sees me, she stops fidgeting with her belt and puts her hands on her hips. “Bailey! Where have you been? ”
“Didn't you get my text message? ”
“Safe and warm and not kidnapped? Yes, I got that one. Still, I woke up an hour ago, and you and the dogs . . .” Her voice trails off as her gaze fixes on Colt. “Well, where did you get him? ”
Colt sticks out his hand. “Colt Carson,” he says. “I'm really glad to meet you, Mrs. Daley. I've heard a lot about you.”
Mom lets her hand be shaken, but it's clear she has no idea what Colt's talking about. “You have? You've heard about me? ”
“From Bailey.” Colt smiles over at me. “Great dogs you guys have, too.” He reaches down and scratches all of them.
Mom raises her eyebrows at me. I can tell she's not mad anymore, just intrigued. “Well? Is anybody going to fill me in? ”
Colt and I exchange grins. “It's a long story,” I say.
“A very long story,” Colt agrees.
“On the other hand, we've got time,” I add.
Colt turns his charm on my mother, but there's nothing fake about this charm. “I have an idea. Why don't Bailey and I fill you in while I show you guys the sights of St. Louis? ”
“The sights? ” Mom's still thrown, but she's recovering nicely, grinning at Colt, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Just the highlights. The Arch, of course. Six Flags absolutely. And garages.”
Now Mom perks up. “Garages? ”
“I've lived here my whole life. I know where all the best garage sales are.”
Mom steps inside the room for her purse, and Colt turns to me. “We need to stop by my apartment and walk Sam first.”
“Sam?”
“My dog. I'd like you and the dogs to meet Sammy.”
“You have a dog? ”
“Of course.”
I can't explain why this fact makes me feel like I want to dance.
Mom comes back out with her purse and shuts the door behind her. “First we buy clothes.”
“I know some great rummage sales,” Colt says, leading the way. The dogs trot happily among us.
Mom glances at me over her shoulder. “Who
is
this boy? ”
“Mom,” I answer, moving in closer to Colt, “you wouldn't believe me if I told you. At least, not until you've heard the whole story.”