Logan sighs. “He’s going through kind of a tough time. I’m wondering if there’s any work we can find for him here.”
“W-work?” I struggle to remain composed. “You want to give him a job?”
“He really needs it.”
Thoughts swarm in my head of my conversation with Bash just before I got in the car. I agreed to a date with him.A date.Something I’d never in a million years normally do. But the way he made flutters course from my hairline to my toes with that charming, dangerous twinkle in his eye and that easy grin clearly affected my ability to think straight.If you think it’s bad now, just imagine what it will be like if he works here with you.“How badly?”
Logan blinks in surprise, unable to hold back an uneasy chuckle. I’m not sure I’ve ever questioned helping someone in need before, and he’s definitely taken aback. “I’m thinking pretty bad, based on some private things he’s told me.”
Private things? Curiosity pricks me, but I ignore it. If Logan doesn’t feel right about spilling Bash’s secrets to me, I’m not going to push him. And this is about more than just me. It wouldn’t be right to turn away someone who needs help because I can’t get a hold on myself. My shoulders sag. “I guess we could use an extra leader for autumn camp. But wait…is he even a Christian?”
“Bash? Oh, yeah. He’s just a little rough around the edges. And you’re right.” Logan claps once and points at me. “He would be perfect.”
“You think so?” I scrunch my nose. Bash has a lot of things written all over him, but “church camp leader” definitely isn’t one of them. And he already said so himself.It’sthisI don’t do very often. Sundays. Not really my thing anymore.
But Logan nods. “Absolutely.”
“I’m meeting him for coffee tomorrow, so I’ll offer the job to him then.”
When he lets that sink in, his answering smile is blinding. “Oh, are you? Interesting.Veryinteresting. I really think this is all part of the Lord’s plan, you know?”
My cheeks catch fire. “He has questions about Harvest Valley, that’s all. I agreed to answer them.”
Logan’s eyebrow doesn’t move from its elevated position.
“Anyway, I have to get to work. I’ll see you Tuesday.” Before he can respond, I back out of my parking spot and drive away.
My thoughts are in a fluster as I drive to my cottage. I’m not sure what Logan finds so interesting about me having coffee with Bash, but I’m not sure I like it.
Shaking the irritation away, I park in my cracked driveway. I almost forgot the reason Zara spent the night, but when I step inside and see the freshly painted interior we worked on yesterday, my spirits lift. My kitchen walls are now sage green, complementing the natural honey oak cabinets and whitecountertops. I smile as I check out the living room next, now a calming sand tone instead of the aggravating red it was when I first moved in.
It looks beautiful.
I can’t help but feel a strong sense of pride when I realize how much all my hard work has paid off since last year. Sure, I’m working myself to the bone to be able to afford renting on my own, but it’s worth it. Not having to rely on anyone else for anything is worth it.
Speaking of work, I need to get going,I realize, glancing at the time on my phone. Even though it’s Sunday, I’ve scheduled myself a full evening to make up for my morning off the clock. Thankfully, my grooming salon is only a short drive from here.
Before I go, I find my cat, Jasper, curled up inside my old Miss Meadow pageant crown atop my dresser. This is his favorite place to sleep in my room, and I sometimes wonder if it’s his way of reminding me to smile. Though I’ve aged out of that pageant, winning funds for the homeless was the award I was granted more than once, and that knowledge always makes me happy.
I rub Jasper’s fuzzy head with a grin. “I’ll see you tonight, buddy.”
The Paw Spa oftenfeels like a sanctuary to me. I know most people probably don’t feel that way about their place of work, but I can’t help the rush of relief I experience every time I enter mine.
I love the sound of the clippers and shears, snipping and buzzing away the thick manes of Doodles and Aussies. The various scents of puppy shampoos and canine colognes. I lovethe wagging tails of my regular clients after a few long weeks of separation while their fur grows out between cuts. But most of all, I love the distraction work offers me.
Here, there are no lonely thoughts.
And it’s a good thing, too, because I spent every last dime of my savings on the buildout for this quaint, private dog grooming salon.
“Hey, Romilly,” my bathing assistant says. She has one hand under the belly of a golden retriever who keeps trying to sit on the elevated work table where she has him standing. The tray between our stations carries my expensive, professional dog-grooming clippers.
“Hi, Lana.” With a smile, I glance around the salon I worked so hard on, admiring the teal accents on the doors and ceiling. The color very much complements the warm wood paneling. There’s a blush pink wall behind the check-in desk and a cozy seating area with coral-pink chairs, giving the space the inviting, boutique feel I envisioned. A wall displays my colorful array of leashes, collars, and pet clothing for sale, adding a touch of whimsy. The faint scent of high-end hair products lingers in the air, along with the pumpkin spice candle glowing on the reception desk. They both do their job to mask any typical kennel smells.
It’s just me and Lana here, as usual, and it looks like she’s already gotten started with bathing and drying Cindy, my first dog for the day. I feel a wash of gratitude. I couldn’t make this work without her. In order to afford the payments on this place and my cottage, I have to groom at least thirty-six dogs a week. And there’s no way I could do it alone.
I stop at the front desk and open the schedule on the computer to see how many more dogs I’ll be working on today. Three are currently booked, with my first one—a Rottweiler named Betty Lou—arriving in less than an hour. Excitementbubbles in my gut. I haven’t seen Betty Lou in over a month. Her pet parent, Paige, is a ballet instructor who I’ve seen around town but formally met and befriended at last year’s Miss Meadow pageant, and seeing her on my schedule always lifts my spirits.
But the feeling only lasts a moment, because I open the mail next. And instead of my usual bills, a notice stares up at me.
