Out front I hop into the car and ask Fred’s driver, Mac, to drive toward town. He keeps a slow pace, an easy thing to do with no traffic, it being a holiday and the fireworks display still popping off in the distance. While it comforts me that there aren’t many cars on the road, which could pose a threat to a frightened dog running around, it also means there’s no one to ask if they’ve seen Baxter.

Minutes tick by and the hope I felt earlier is slowly being replaced by panic again. Mac drives up and down the streets, but with so many gated homes, there’s no way to check every yard.

Guilt gnaws at me. While I’ve always wanted a dog, I can’t help feeling terrible about the reason I signed up to foster Baxter—to drive Barrett insane. I knew he would be displeased about a dog in his space, so, selfishly I used Baxter for my cause. I brought him here for the weekend, and now he’s missing and it’s all my fault.

When I feel like my chest is about to cave in, my phone starts ringing.

“Barrett!” I answer with my heart in my throat.

“I found him.” The second he says the words, the tears in my eyes fall with relief. “We’re heading back to the house.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

I tell Mac the good news and we circle back toward Fred’s house.

Upon arrival, I find Baxter wrapped in a towel, sitting in Barrett’s lap, only his head and wet, muddy paws peeking out. Barrett is rubbing Baxter behind his ears and talking to him in a soothing voice. I stand there for a moment, undetected, while this man I once thought was made of ice comforts an anxious animal.

Unable to stay away any longer, I enter the kitchen.

“Where did you find him?” I ask, moving to cup my hands around Baxter’s head, who immediately licks my face.

“He was huddled down under a neighbor’s porch. He went through the wooded area behind the house and ended up a few houses down.”

When I look up at Barrett, he’s smiling down at me. There’s a streak of mud on his cheek.

“Thank you.” With emotion rising in my throat, it comes out as a whisper.

His hazel eyes intent on mine, he simply nods. With that one look, my stomach cartwheels.

“He’s going to need a bath.”

Barrett stands, and for the first time I realize how dirty he is. The dirt on his face is nothing compared to the mud on his shirt. And his white pants…they’re gray now. I don’t know if they can come back from this. It’s a pity, his butt looked great in those pants.

“You’re going to need one, too,” I say.