Chapter 5

“Woof!” The dog was back at the window.

I agreed with his take. Woof was right. I wanted him to move so I could look at his master some more.

“Other side, Columbus,” the guy said during a quiet moment in Rochester’s rock song.

I liked how he spoke to his pup, with a smile and a congenial tone, that and a scruff of the Labrador’s head. Even when the beast—at least a hundred pounds by my estimation—was being raucous and naughty, Mr. Armpit Hair seemed patient and loving.

Whether or not he was following orders or just being rowdy, Columbus bounded back onto the passenger side. His owner turned my way then. Running my fingers through my dark curls, I hoped the wild wind from the open windows didn’t have me looking like Medusa—or perhaps “Harry Poodle,” a cross between the literary wizard and the curly-haired canine. Abby had come up with all that the first time she’d seen me with my current long, unruly do.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh. Yeah, yeah, yeah.”