“It doesn't need a name right now.”
“But—”
“I need to finish Buddy's exam.” He turned toward the barn. “And the puppy needs quiet.”
“Wait.” I jogged after him. “You're just going to leave it in the truck with no name?”
“Yes.”
“That's so sad.”
He stopped walking, shoulders tensing. When he turned back, his expression was flat. “It's been alone behind a dumpster for who knows how long. Having a name is not what's going to make the difference right now.”
The bluntness hit like cold water. I opened my mouth, then closed it.
Cal scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I appreciate... whatever this is. But I'm running an hour behind schedule, I've got two more farm calls today, and a puppy that needs to be dewormed, vaccinated, and checked for a microchip before I can even think about finding it a home. So naming it isn't exactly my priority.”
Fair.Also, he did look exhausted. Like bone-deep, haven't-slept-in-days exhausted.
“You're right,” I said. “I didn't mean to?—”
“It's fine.” He was already walking back to the barn.
I followed, chewing my lip. The puppydidneed quiet. And Cal clearly had enough on his plate without me pestering him about?—
“Peanut?”
Cal's stride hitched. He didn't turn around.
“Pancake?” I continued. “Muffin? Oh, Biscuit!”
He stopped at the barn entrance, one hand braced against the doorframe. “You're just naming breakfast foods.”
“Nugget? Marshmallow?”
His head dropped forward. “Those are not?—”
“Pudding.”
Silence.
Then Cal turned, and something almost human flickered across his face. Not quite a smile. Maybe the ghost of one.
“You like Pudding,” I said, pointing at him.
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn'tnotsay it.”
His jaw worked like he was biting back words. Finally, he exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Pudding.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He turned back toward the barn. “Now can we finish the exam?”
I followed him, grinning at the small victory of naming Pudding.
Inside, the barn was cool and dim. Buddy stood exactly where we'd left him, ears pricked forward with mild interest.