“Benji.”
“This is historic. This is a moon landing. Thisis—”
“Benji. Go to bed.”
He grinned at me, the real grin, the one that wasn’t for an audience, and backed toward the foster room with his phone still recording and his eyes still bright. “Goodnight, Peter. Goodnight, Hiro. Goodnight, General Tso, you beautiful, complicated fraud.”
He disappeared down the hall, then his door closed with a soft click.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment, listening to the quiet settle. General Tso and Beyoncé were still on the refrigerator, still curled together, the big cat’s paw still resting on the kitten’s back.
Apparently, even General Tso had cracks in his walls.
I turned off the stove light, then turned it back on, because Hiro didn’t like the dark.
Chapter 9
Benji
The idea came to me at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday, which is when all my best and worst ideas arrive, usually at the same time and wearing the same outfit so I can’t tell them apart until it’s too late.
I was behind the bar during a slow stretch, watching Mia scroll through adoption listings on her phone while she waited for her ride, and something clicked in my brain with the almost audible snap of two things Iknewshould have been connected all along finally finding each other.
“Mia.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“How many followers does the Barbacks TikTok have?”
“Twelve thousand and change. Why?”
“And how many views did the Beyoncé jailbreak video get?”
She looked up from her phone. “Three hundredand forty thousand. Why?”
“And how many foster animals does Peter’s clinic have available for adoption at any given time?”
“I don’t know, Benj. I don’t have a census of your roommate’s veterinary practice memorized.”
“A lot. The answer is a lot. They always have animals. Peter says the clinic is constantly over capacity because people surrender pets they can’t afford and the shelter system is backed up and there aren’t enough foster homes.”
Mia’s eyes narrowed in the way they did when she could see where a conversation was heading and was already calculating the content potential. “Keep talking.”
“What if we did an adoption event here at the bar? Peter could bring animals from the clinic. We could set up a little meet-and-greet area. I’ll film everything for TikTok, you’ll handle the social push, and we’ll even tie it to a drink special so Finn and Mark see the revenue angle. Pet adoption meets happy hour. We call it . . .” I paused for effect, because timing is everything. “Paws and Pours.”
Mia stared at me for three full seconds, which was the longest she’d ever gone without responding to a pitch. Then she grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me on the forehead.
“You brilliant, sparkly disaster,” she said. “That’sthe best idea you’ve ever had.”
“Better than the glow-in-the-dark shot glasses?”
“The glow-in-the-dark shot glasses gave four people green tongues for a week. Yes, this is way better than the shot glasses.”
I pitched it to Finn and Mark the next morning before opening. I’d prepared, which was unusual for me. Finn noticed immediately, his eyebrows rising when I produced actual notes on my phone instead of my typical strategy of talking very fast and hoping enthusiasm would compensate for a lack of specifics.
“Adoption events are huge on social media,” I said. “Every bar and brewery that does them gets massive engagement. We already have the audience from the foster videos, we have a direct pipeline to adoptable animals through Peter’s clinic, and we have Mia, who could sell ice to a penguin if you gave her a camera and fifteen minutes.”
“Health codes,” Finn said, because Finn always started with the problem. It wasn’t pessimism; it was the way his brain worked, identifying every obstacle first so he could figure out how to get around them. “Animals in a food service establishment.”
