Winnie squints her hazel eyes at me. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing,” I say, dubiously.
Right on cue, a woman with a knitted beanie squints at the display case, clacking her long fingernails on the glass. “Winnie, honey, what in the world is a cod explosion?”
Winnie whirls, sees the swapped labels, and gasps so loudly the minnow windchimes above the front door rattle. “You two did not!” she screeches, whirling around on me. “You monsters!”
“Can I get a big slab of the fish head deluxe?” I wink.
The entire café erupts into laughter.
“Finally time someone got you back, missy,” the woman next to me says, offering me a high five.
Questions erupt around us.
“Jamie, who is this?”
“I saw them together at Grandpa’s Basement last week.”
“Is that the woman who biffed it outside the elementary school?”
“She’s a vet helping Jamie out.”
“Heard she’s from New York.”
“I love her hair.”
“She did the girls’ makeup for the Cranberry Social last week.”
“Ooh.”
Winnie sends me a wide sneer before she joins in on the conversation. Why do I have a feeling that this prank has backfired?
I hear a whimper. A golden retriever is tucked under a table, one paw curled tight, ignoring the tiny dog biscuit that Gary—the same Gary who left me stranded in the middle of nowhere—waves in front of her nose.
I kneel. “Is she nervous from the noise?”
“You are getting popular for someone who didn’t know how to ride a snowmobile two weeks ago?”
“I could’ve gotten lost,” I say, half joking.
Gary’s wiry ear hair seems to mock me. “But you didn’t.”
The dog whines again.
“What’s wrong with her?” The dog’s eyes are bright, gums are pink, breathing is fine. But she won’t stop licking her paw.
“Beats me. Butters was peachy until her breakfast, then she just started yipping. Got an appointment in Woodstock tonight. Thirty-minute drive, if I don’t skid into a snowbank first. Still cursing Cathy for retiring.” He rubs one of Butters’s fluffy ears, looking at her with so much love.
“Mind if I check her out?”
Gary shrugs. “Please. Save me the drive if you can.”
“Butters,” I coo, holding out my hand. She sniffs, tail twitching, before she licks my palm. “Good girl.” I smooth her ears down, scratching them for a second to get her comfortable with me. Then I gently lift the paw she was fussing with. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. Between the furry pads, something glints, pale and sharp.
“Fork,” I say.
Gary blinks. “You want to eat lunch or—”
