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boil.
    A quick bend of her neck and glance underneath the animal told her it was a male. “Okay, handsome,” she said to him soothingly as she continued to stroke his fur. “You’re all right.
    I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
    The dog seemed to be relaxing by the second, she was relieved to notice, and he inched closer to her until he curled his body between her bent knees so she could scratch more of him.
    She laughed at this.
    “Oh, sure. Pegged me as a sucker already, did you? You’re a pretty smart guy.”
    The sound of the bakery door made him stiffen and Natalie quickly soothed him with her voice as she turned to see Mrs.
    Valenti standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
    “Natalie, is cold. You catch your death,” she said.
    • 40 •
    FINDING HOME
    “I know. I know. But…” Natalie stood so that Mrs. Valenti could see the dog.
    “Ohhh… turchino ,” she said, her voice almost reverent as she stared.
    “ Turchino ?” Natalie frowned and looked down at the dog, who glanced up at her with the unmistakable question on his face of whether or not he could trust the older woman. “They’re not turquoise, they’re blue.” She took a step toward the building and gently called for him to follow, which he did, with trepidation.
    “It’s okay, buddy. She’s a nice lady.”
    “You say blue. I say turchino ,” Mrs. Valenti said, using her apron to wipe her hands.
    “Well, maybe you need new glasses,” Natalie teased her.
    She and the dog stopped at the door.
    “He too skinny.”
    “He was rooting around the Dumpster.”
    “He looks hungry.”
    “I thought so, too.”
    “Come.” She gestured for them to follow her inside. “I have idea.”
    v
    Half an hour later, the dog was stretched out on the ß oor in the break room, gnawing happily on the beef bone Mrs. Valenti had used to ß avor her vegetable beef soup the day before. Natalie watched him as she sipped a cup of coffee, reaching down occasionally to stroke his head. He had relaxed considerably.
    “It’s a good thing you use this kitchen to make your own stuff here for home,” she said to Mrs. Valenti. “I don’t know if he would have been all that fond of a cannoli. I think he’s happy now.”
    “He need bath.”
    Wrinkling her nose in agreement, Natalie nodded. “Yeah,
    • 41 •
    GEORGIA BEERS
    that Dumpster smell sort of clings, doesn’t it? I’ll take him up to my place when he’s done and see if I can clean him up a bit. We shouldn’t have him in the kitchen anyway.” It would be just their luck to have a surprise inspection happen when a Þ lthy stray dog was lounging on the ß oor in the back room of the shop.
    “What you going to do about him?”
    “I don’t know.” Resting her chin on her folded hands, she watched him chew, marveled at the way he used his white paws to hold the bone still so he could get to the good parts. “He’s got no collar, no tags. He’s obviously been on his own for quite a while. Makes me think some jerk gave up on him or got tired of taking care of him or something.”
    Mrs. Valenti grunted in concurrence as she swept the ß oor around the table. “He good dog.”
    “He is, isn’t he?”
    Since they’d come inside, the dog hadn’t barked, hadn’t messed or lifted his leg, hadn’t jumped up on anything or anyone.
    He’d slurped down an entire bowl of water and when Natalie showed him the beef bone, he sat handsome and straight, waiting patiently for her to hand it over. He was as well behaved as he could possibly be, despite the fact that he glanced toward the door at regular intervals, as if expecting somebody to arrive looking for him.
    Natalie felt a strange sort of kinship to the animal, not that she’d mention such a thing out loud because she knew it sounded hokey. But there was something about him. His icy blue eyes were kind and he hadn’t exhibited even an inkling of an aggressive cell in his body. If anything, he projected hesitancy and loneliness, and