“Stuart, sit!” I yell from my rental’s living room to the front door. Damn dog is going to get me charged with damage fees by Mr. Newman. Keen businessman, that one. The dog barks back.
I check my watch.
9:30.
Damn. I bet Harper’s already in bed.
“Come,” I say, opening the door. The dog barks and bounds to me. I smile. Can’t be helped. This dog seems to truly love me. Want me. Choose me over all the other options available.
What a novel concept in my life.
I lead him to the back yard and find a stick. He fetches it once. Then looks at me, asking what else I’ve got planned.
“Fine, then we’ll train. Stuart, Sit.” He does. I cross the lawn, tell him to stay, then release him with, “Okay.” He must’ve had some training at some point. Not from Harper, but someone. He seems to enjoy it. I wear him out as best I can in my small yard. When he’s panting, I pull out my phone.
Aiden: Garage code?
The text ellipses pop up, then stop. Then start. I’m shocked when she actually sends four digits. Doesn’t protest, doesn’t come down. Good. I don’t need to see her anyway.
I put the dog back in her garage and assess the broken window. I’m not necessarily handy but this isn’t hard. Just an old hook style latch that needs to be bent back and tightened. I cross over to a work bench to find pliers.
I find sketches instead.
Of the shop.
Architectural drawings, logo ideas, even some recipes. Plans to renovate. New display case order forms. I file carefully through the papers. They’re covered in dust, but they don’t look very old. I don’t find any dates.
I sigh.
It’s always the same.
A sweet, big dreamer with one too may Pinterest boards, opens a brick and mortar shop they can’t run. It’s not enough to have a cutesy name and delicious food. You have to understand business. You have to have a strategy beyond posting to Instagram. They never do. ThenI’mthe bad guy when I arrive and turn what’s basically a financial sink hole into something that sustains the local economy.
I look around the garage. More hokey things. Holiday decorations, of course. Old snow gear. Multiple boxes labeledKeepsakes.Things normal families have, I suppose.
I feel almost itchy all over.
Big eyed, bleeding heart types drive me mad.
So what am I doing in the garage of a person who is exactly that?
Helping the dog.
The truth is she probably got him in a moment of whimsy as well.Won’t it be dreamy to have a Great Dane and name him something tiny?
“Ugh,” I groan.
I set the papers down and look through drawers until I find the pliers.
I fix the latch and tell Stuart to stay.
Then I flee back to my own place.
_____
I told myself I wasn’t going to bother coming in here today. But Ben insisted we meet here now that he’s back in town for a quick visit. And the cheery fool is basically family. I’ve no siblings and only a few remaining friends from school. He’s one of maybethree or four people in the world for whom I will do something I don’t want to do.
So, in I go.
