But she doesn’t sound contrite, or like she cares what the answer is as she pets the pups. And yup. She didn’t babysit at all. But the effect is the same. She stayed here at my house with my kid, and I appreciate that. “You were dog-sitting.”
She gives me a smile that says I’ve nailed the answer.
“And yes, they’re allowed on my couch. Not like I had a say.”
“Not to throw your kid under the bus, but she totally let them on the couch,” Mabel says.
“Why am I not surprised? Last year she made a Christmas ornament with Scrabble tiles and it spelled out D-O-G-G-Y.”
Mabel’s expression is thoughtful. “I know you travel a lot and you don’t think it makes sense, but would you ever share a dog with, say, Sarah?”
“That’s a fair question, but kids usually think they’ll take care of the dog and they usually don’t,” I admit. “And if I adopted one myself, I wouldn’t want to board a dog half the time during the season.”
“True,” she says with a sigh.
After I toe off my shoes, I set my phone on the table and join Mabel, petting the little dogs too. They’re soft and playful and Mischief rolls onto her back, letting me pet her belly.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I wish I could have a bakery dog.”
I laugh at the concept, but then stop laughing in a second. “Actually…”
“We should totally get a bakery dog?” There’s so much hope in her voice.
“What if we host dog adoption eventsoutsidethe bakery? Set up tables right on the sidewalk, work with the local rescue and so on?”
Her eyes sparkle. “I love that. And we could use the store’s social media to highlight adoptable dogs.”
“Yes. We could put their pictures on the top of the display case too. With QR codes, in case someone is interested in learning more.”
She hums appreciatively, running her nails down my shirt. “I don’t think you’ve ever been hotter than you are right now.”
“Saving animals gets you going?”
“Absolutely,” Mabel says, then scratches Mischief’s belly some more. “Right, girl?”
Mischief waggles her rear end, and I pet her some more too. The little critter snuggles against me, rubbing her snout on my leg.
“She likes you,” Mabel observes.
I raise my face, wiggling a brow, inviting Mabel to say that she does too.
“Oh my god, you’re so shameless. Seeking praise just like a dog,” she says.
And damn, she sees right through me. And yup, I’m just like a dog.
She reaches for the lapel of my suit jacket, runs a hand down it. “Nice charcoal suit.”
“Is it? Charcoal?”
She nods. “It is. You’d look good in burgundy too.” She tilts her head, studying me. “And midnight blue. Oh! And ice blue would look nice as well.” Her gaze turns a little dreamy.
“Mabel, are you giving me a suit makeover right now in your head?”
“I was.”
“You’re picturing a department store. The men’s section. Picking out all the colors. Dressing me. You’ve got a whole movie montage in that brilliant brain of yours, don’t you?”
