Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

glee.
“I think she’s got it,” Emanuel said, standing up straight again to face me.
“Thanks, El. Really. I’ll pay for her food if you want—”
“Forget it. What’s she weigh? Two pounds? She obviously doesn’t eat much.”
I looked at MoJo, still sitting on the counter next to the defaced ball. They were about the same size. The resemblance really was uncanny. “Dogs aren’t for kicking.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I never even played soccer.”

    I spent the next morning wondering how MoJo was doing. Brooke had called in sick again, and we were too busy for me to take a lunch break. Finally, at around three, I looked up the number for Tucker Pawn and called.
    “Tucker Pawn,” El said, curt and to the point.
“El, it’s Paul.”
“Hey there.” I could tell he was smiling. “I thought you’d
    be by at lunch to check on this dog.”
“I couldn’t get away. How’s she doing?”
“Well . . .” I could picture him rubbing the short hair on
    the back of his head. “I don’t know, man. She doesn’t seem good, you know.”
“Oh no! What’s wrong? Is she depressed?”
“Maybe—”
“Her owner did leave her. Is she eating?”
“She eats, yeah, but—”
“Is she vomiting?”
“No, but—”
“But she’s not doing well? That’s what you said, right?”
“Well, I don’t know much about dogs. I think you better come check on her. I think you’d feel better seeing her for yourself.”
“I will,” I promised. “I’ll come by after work.”
Of course that meant another two hours of worrying. Being abandoned was hard on an animal. Some people claimed dogs didn’t have feelings like people, but I knew that wasn’t true. I’d seen dogs who were depressed or lonely. I hoped that wasn’t the case with MoJo.
Five o’clock finally came. I took a handful of dog treats out of our cookie jar before locking the door and heading to the pawnshop. Maybe they’d help cheer her up.
I walked in the door, and my ankles were immediately under siege. MoJo ran around my feet, trying to climb up my leg any time I held still.
“Hey, girl,” I said, bending to feed her a treat. “How are you doing? Are you sad?”
She didn’t look sad, though. She ran gleefully around my feet, then sat up on her haunches, begging for another treat.
I looked up at El, who was standing behind the counter, watching us. “She looks fine,” I said.
“Does she?”
“She does to me. What had you worried?”
“Well, I don’t know that I was worried . . .”
“You said she wasn’t doing well, but she looks perfectly happy.”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “But that’s part of the problem, see? She doesn’t do what she’s told. Watch. MoJo, act sad.”
MoJo glanced over at him, panting happily.
“MoJo, be sad.”
MoJo sat down to look up at me expectantly, still waiting for another treat. Her tail thumped against the floor. “MoJo, bite Paul.”
MoJo sat up on her haunches and whimpered at me pathetically. A string of doggy drool hung from her jaw.
“MoJo! I told you to look vicious.”
MoJo gave up begging. She turned and ran to El. There was a strange pile of electronic equipment on the floor next to the counter. I wondered what it was for until MoJo clambered up it to sit on the countertop in front of El.
“You built her a staircase?”
“No,” El said, scratching MoJo’s ears. “I needed a place to store that stuff.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was so obvious the things had been put there specifically for her to climb up. “You’re lying.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.” He looked at the pile of old stereo components. “God help me if anybody decides to buy that 1972 cassette player from the bottom of the pile.”
I gave MoJo the last of the treats from my pocket. She gobbled them up, then panted at me, hoping for more.
“She looks fine,” I said.
“Well, like I said, I don’t know much about dogs. It seemed like a good idea for you to come down and make sure.”
It made me smile. I’d done the right thing in asking him to adopt her. “Thanks for taking her. I’m so glad she’s happy.”
“I’m glad you’re happy.”
His words made me blush for a reason I couldn’t quite define, but he didn’t give me a chance to respond.
“Listen, I have to help my sister with something tonight, but are you free tomorrow? Maybe we could have dinner.”
Was he asking me out? Like a date? The panic I’d carefully packed away since the ice cream incident came rushing back.
He cleared his throat