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“It’s not too late to back out now,” Neil said as I approached him in the apartment building carpark on Friday morning.
I screwed up my face in mock disdain. “What makes you think I’d want to back out?”
Neil just smirked in that cocky way of his. “Get in,” he said, opening the car door.
I had dressed in old jeans with a hole in one knee, sneakers, and a baggy black t-shirt tucked in at the waist. I wore my hair pulled back in a messy pony. Neil sported a similar ensemble: jeans and a t-shirt. His usual luxury watch was absent from his wrist, and he lugged a backpack over one shoulder. He hadn’t shaved for the occasion, the greying stubble on his chin, throat, and cheeks eliciting a thrill in me.
I flung a bag containing wet-weather gear and a packed lunch into the car, then slid into the passenger seat. As Neil drove me to the animal shelter, he ran through what to expect. His confidence on the subject made it clear he knew what he was talking about.
“You’ve done this before,” I said.
“I adopted Bowey and Chichi from the shelter not long after I arrived in New Zealand. Since then, I’ve volunteered a few times.”
“So, this is how you spend your days off…”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I just help out occasionally.”
“You must really love animals.”
“I do.”
Of course, I already knew that. His affection for his two cats was evidence enough.
As we entered the motorway, the sky turned a deeper shade of grey, and raindrops began to batter the windscreen.
“Great day for it,” Neil said.
The wipers squeaked against the windscreen as I watched city high-rises give way to suburban sprawl.
When we arrived at the facility—an austere building on the outskirts of the western suburb of Henderson—Neil ushered me inside, the smell of wet dog wafting over me. An elderly woman emerged from a room behind the counter. Her greying hair was pulled back in a low bun, and she wore a polo shirt embroidered with the shelter’s logo.
Her wrinkled face lit up when she saw us. “Neil! So wonderful to see you again.”
Neil returned a polite smile. “Good morning, Margaret.”
I made the connection at once. This was the lady who had sent Neil the dog plush toy.
“Thank you so much for volunteering today. You already do so much with your generous donations.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Donations? So he donates as well…
My heart fluttered at yet more evidence of Neil’s kindness and generosity.
Margaret turned her attention to me. “And this must be—” She drew a blank and looked at Neil for support.
“My…” Neil started. “Amelia.” His face coloured.
My Amelia.
It sounded nice, even if he hadn’t intended it to come out that way.
“Nice to meet you, Margaret,” I said.
“Nice to meet you too.” Margaret clasped her veiny hands together. “Right. Let me take you through.”
She led us down a dim corridor lined with locked doors. Faint barks and whimpers emitted from behind them. A young woman with short hair and a side-swept fringe sat at a table, reading an old magazine. She had fair skin, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and bright green eyes.
