I do a little happy dance. “Yay! It’s finally warm enough to debut the new patio.”
The second the snow started melting, Nina announced an addition to the Busy Bee—a side patio with a few café tables, neutral-toned cushions, wool throws for chilly mornings, and a string of warm lights that bring her Danish heritage “hygge” concept outdoors.
“We are now a dog-friendly establishment. The water bowls are full and with thanks to you, the Barkery baked goods are in their usual canister labeled with your logo and website. Now, we’re just waiting for you to open your storefront.”
“I’m telling myself to be patient. I sent off my business proposal to the loan officer today. Fingers crossed.”
“And prayers up.”
“Thanks. I need all the help I can get.”
After paying, I grab my latte and head through the side door to the patio area that overlooks what used to be an outdoor ice rink with the “Barn” on the other side. The ice has melted, leaving behind a muddy but serviceable space that the local dogs have claimed as their unofficial park.
I have a sneaking suspicion that, in addition to this being a nice spot for bakery patrons to sip and snack, Nina and Lane’s kids wanted to get a front row seat to the “dog park” with possibly the intention of asking for a pup of their own.
Ella, Jess, and Whit are already here, their pooches playing in the muck with the kind of wild abandon that only animals with four legs can appreciate.
“Baloo, your bestie is here,” Whit calls out, her wavy light brown hair pulled back in a messy bun.
On cue, her bear-like mutt bounds over to sniff Moose in the intrusive way of saying hello that would never fly with people. The two of them immediately start play-wrestling, which is hilarious given their size difference.
I unclip the other dogs’ leashes and they instantly scatter to join the fun. Ranger, Jess’s Bernese Mountain Dog mix, greetsBuster with playful tolerance, while Bark Wahlburger—Ella’s medium brown mixed breed—attempts to herd Scout, which results in two herding dogs herding each other in circles. It makes me dizzy, just watching.
After the girls and I greet each other, I settle into one of the metal chairs. “This is why we need an actual dog park.”
Whit nods, likely dreading the full-works doggy car wash that will be required later. “With drainage and maybe some agility obstacles.”
“Add it to the list for the Community Activities Commission and town council funding agenda right below ‘fix the potholes on Golden Bantam Lane’ and above ‘stop Mrs. Gormely from starting rumors,’” Jess says with a sigh.
Ella raises her eyebrows. “So, never happening?”
“Pretty much.”
Fueled by coffee and pastries, we fall into the kind of conversation that flows naturally between women who’ve become friends through small-town life, dogs, and a shared love of hockey. Or, more accurately—at least in their cases—a shared love of hockey players since they’re each married to a member of the Nebraska Knights.
As for me, I’m just friends with one of their goalies. Yup, that’s all. Just friends. So what if I have a crush? It’s no big deal. I mean, civilizations have survived worse. As for the United States of April, that remains to be seen.
“So,” Whit says after a few minutes, her tone taking on a particular quality that suggests she’s about to pry. “Clark went on a date.”
I nearly choke on my latte as my heart decides right now is the time to do cardio—I am not built to keep up with Scout when he goes at a full sprint. “Clark. Yes. Sure. He’s a man. With a face. Shoulders. Toes. He can go on dates andstuff. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.” She exchanges glances with Ella and Jess. “Just wondering if anything has developed. You two spend a lot of time together. Proportionately speaking, far more time than he does when taking someone out to dinner or a movie.”
“We’re friends. Best friends,” I say automatically.
“Right,” Jess says slowly. “Just friends. And I’m the Queen of Cobbiton.”
“If Liam had anything to say about it, you would be.” Ella bobs her shoulders.
“Yes. Just friends. That’s what we are. Friends who are just friends in the friendliest friend zone of friendship. If you’re asking if I like him more than a friend, obviously not. I just enjoy his company as a friend.” Frequently. In great quantities.
“You said ‘friends’ eight times in one sentence,” Ella points out not-so helpfully.
I bury my face in my hands. “I’m pathetic.”
Ella leaps to her feet and cheers. “I knew it!”
Several of the dogs bark whether to ask if everyone is okay or in agreement. I’m not sure.Turncoats.
