“Good enough!” Gramps replies, and gets into the front seat next to Patrick. “Name’s Ed, the grandpa. Nice to meet you, Pat.”

“Likewise,” Patrick says, holding his hand for a fist bump.

Gramps awkwardly tries to shake Patrick’s fist. In turn, Patrick switches to an open-palm high five position, which Gramps proceeds to bump with his fist. Macy and I get ourselves buckled into the back seat, Dewey sitting in between us.

“Gramps, we can teach you about fist bumps later. Step on it, Patrick!” I yell. And with a rumble of thunder from the engine, we squeal out of the parking lot and onto the road, the animal shelter growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

You did it! Dewey says, nuzzling her soft head under my chin. You saved me!

From the front seat, Patrick lowers all the windows, letting the cool air flow in.

“It’s your freedom ride, Dewey!” Patrick shouts. “Woooot!”

We all cheer and woot and holler yay out the windows, Dewey chiming in with her own low, joyous baying like a wolf at the moon.

On the drive home, we fill Patrick in on everything about Code Name: Home, Sweet Home—except for the part about Dewey’s telepathy.

He lets out a long exhale and glances over his shoulder at me and Dewey in the back seat, and finally says, “I’m just glad I was there—you know I wasn’t supposed to even be there today. I usually only work afternoons, but someone asked me to switch shifts with them at the very last minute today.”

“Well,” Gramps says, right as we’re pulling into our driveway. “If there were ever a more fitting stroke of serendipity . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence, though; he just chuckles.

Macy and I look at one another with scrunched faces. “A stroke of what?” I finally ask.

“Serendipity,” Gramps repeats. “It’s when—well, it’s hard to describe—it’s when a little bit of luck and a little bit of magic come together at just the right time.”

“Serendipity,” I repeat to myself, the word making my mouth turn up into a smile.

Chapter 21

HOME, SWEET HOME

We’re home, I silently tell Dewey. She follows us to the front door, but just before we walk through, there’s a tug on her leash. She’s looking into the house, her nose twitching and her tail trembling.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, kneeling down next to her so I can see what’s making her so afraid. “You’re home.”

I’m not afraid, really. Just nervous. I’ve never been home before. What if I’m not any good at it?

“You’ll be great at it, you’ll see. You belong here, I promise. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Gramps then appears in the doorway behind Macy and calls out to us, “Home, sweet home, Dewey!”