Queen-Bees are like rock stars!
The rest of the afternoon is a busy whirl of kennel tours, answering questions, and watching smiles grow big when a customer hears a Q-Bee purr for the first time. As Rory would say, it’s an “awesome-sauce” moment!
Of course, I never stop thinking about Derrick, checking my cell phone and sighing as I slip it back into my pocket. The more hours that go by without a reply, the more my hopes sink. I try to guess what he might be thinking, but there’s no way to know. And I have a sick feeling that Beatrice poisoned him against me.
Amber-gold rays of sunset are sinking over the horizon when Blake comes home. I’m heating biscuits in the oven and tossing mixed greens with veggies for a salad when I hear the door open and heavy footsteps. Blake joins me for buttery hot biscuits, salad, and iced tea.
We don’t say anything for a while, and the only sound is our chewing and the clink of forks against our ceramic bowls. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and blurt out, “How many?”
“Eleven completed transactions, but it’ll be a lot more once Claire finishes background checks.” Blake shakes his head with a look of wonder on his face. “Even with all the people who left after they found out the price of a registered Q-Bee, there were still nearly twenty applications for purchase. Most of them will be back tomorrow to pick up their dogs.”
“The most we’ve ever sold in one day was three.” I’m grinning as I take our dirty dishes and cups to the sink. “Wow.”
“Ditto, but man do I have tons of paperwork to do.”
“Finish in the morning,” I tell him. “You need to get some sleep.”
“Tonight I’ll sleep better than I have for weeks. I’ll dream of big checks and paying off bills. First thing in the morning, I’m going straight to the bank to pay them off in full. Bow-Wow Boutique will stay in business for a very long time.”
I grin. “Best. News. Ever.”
“Now I can afford to give you clothes and whatever you need,” he adds.
“A car?” I joke.
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” I pause, thinking of something I’ve been wanting to ask him. “But I’d like to start planning for college. I know you don’t think much of my wanting to be a pet therapist, but it’s what I want to do. I know college expenses are really high.”
“Whoa.” He shakes his head. “Ashlee, whatever you want to be, even if it’s not something I agree with, you have my support one hundred percent. Even if we had lost the business, you still would have gone to college.”
“You mean with a scholarship?”
“With your college fund.”
“What college fund?”
“When your mom and I received money from the gas company, we put half of it in an account for your future.”
“You did?” I blink.
“Of course. We both agreed you’re our best investment.”
“But if you had money, why didn’t you use it to save the business?”
“It’s for your education,” he says firmly. “Nothing else.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m touched, but annoyed too because he should have told me this a long time ago. To be fair, though, I shut him out as much as he shut me out. From now on, I vow to be the best daughter ever.
“Bow-Wow Boutique is going to have a record sale year,” Blake adds as he refills his iced tea glass. “Thanks to you.”
“Not me. Toffee.” At the sound of her name, she jumps up on my lap. When Blake reaches out to scratch under her neck, she rumbles with purring.
“Talented Toffee,” he says, scratching Toffee’s head as he returns to his chair. “Turns out the dog with the most flawed markings is our MVD – most valuable dog.”
“And don’t you forget it.” I grin.
“As if you’d let me!” He gets that teasing look in his eye, and I know what’s coming next. “Ashlee, did you hear the one about the Dalmatian?”
“No.” I groan like he’s going to torture me.
“Why are Dalmatians no good at hide–and-seek?”
“I don’t know,” I say obediently.
“They’re always spotted.”
We both laugh.
I’m feeling the opposite of laughter when I finally go to bed.
No phone message from Derrick.
I look at his number in my recent call list and consider calling again. Maybe he didn’t check voicemail. But even as I consider this, I know it’s no use. The spark of hope I’ve clung to all day burns to ashes. He doesn’t care, not about me. Beatrice convinced him to stick by her and turn away from me.
No matter how badly I want to call or text him, I won’t.
There’s nothing to do now except go on with my life.
And forget all about Derrick.
Then the poor child had to do the most difficult work. She had to get up before sunrise, carry water, make the fire, cook, and wash. (Grimm)
Blake holds a briefcase in one hand and a cream-covered bagel in the other as he hurries to the door. “Whew! It’s going to be crazy again today.”
“In a good way,” I say with my best optimistic smile so he doesn’t guess how badly I slept last night and how I’m so sinking in sadness that simple things like getting dressed and coming down to breakfast zap my energy.
“You okay here by yourself?” Blake asks.
“Sure.” I nod.
“I’ll call before I send buyers to the kennels.”
“I’ll be ready for them,” I assure him, mentally clicking off a list of things on my “to do” list. I always create “pup parent” gift baskets for each new dog owner with samples we’ve collected from the businesses that sell us canine products from kibble, flea shampoo, and squeak toys to canine couture items like woven leashes, quilted dog beds, and rain slickers with sheepskin linings.
It’s early so I take my time getting ready, not really caring how I look but knowing appearance matters when greeting customers. I smooth on concealer extra thick to hide the dark circles under my eyes and add peach-rose color to my cheeks and a shimmer of cinnamon-frost to my lips. I brush my hair until it’s shining like I’m getting ready for a date rather than mucky kennel cleaning chores, twist it into a braid, and cram on a sports cap.
I’m clean and presentable yet hurting inside so much and don’t know how to make it go away. I need something comforting and don’t have time to read a favorite book or watch a Disney movie. So I heat hot chocolate, squirting on whipped cream. I take my steaming cup to a cushioned chair by the kitchen window, watching prisms of sunlight streaming through glass on a fall day that feels like summer. I smile at birds flitting branch to branch and match cloud shapes to dog breeds. The heaviness inside me lightens as I slip into the quiet of my own thoughts and lick whipped cream off my lips.
It’s not quiet for long because Rory arrives with a sinfully delicious bag of donuts from Crown Bakery and wicked gossip.
“Hannah and Beatrice are having a tweet war,” she tells me as she plops a lemon custard donut on the plate I’ve placed in front of her.
I bite into an apple cruller and read the tweets on Rory’s phone, a few causing my eyes to widen. “Soul-sucking vampire?”
“That’s one of the nicer things Hannah says. Scroll down. Farther. Stop there. Can you believe she said that?”
“OMG.” I shake my head.
“Keep scrolling. It gets better.”
“Oh, wow.” I point to one line while shaking my head. “No one should post that in a public forum.”
“You’d think.” Rory shrugs. “But best friends make the worst enemies because they know all your secrets.”
“Is that a warning to me?” I tease.
“Well, there was that time when we were swimming in Codfish Creek and a fish bit you on your – “
I hold up my hand. “Stop right there. Don’t forget I know all your secrets, too. Like that piercing on your – “
“Yeah, yeah, and ouch.”
She glances down with a grimace. “Just proves my point. We’ll have to stay friends forever.”
“I’m all for that.” I smile.
“You know something weird? I almost feel sorry for Beatrice.”
“Don’t.” The apple sweetness in my mouth sours. “She’s back with Derrick.”
Over donuts and hot chocolate, I tell Rory everything. She sympathizes and says all the right things, and while I’m still bummed that Derrick didn’t chose me, it feels good to vent. We hang out for a while, me talking and her supporting, until I look at the spotted Dalmatian clock over the fridge.
“Want to help me with my kennel chores?” I ask, even though we both know she’ll refuse. Her weak stomach doesn’t mix with ripe animal smells.
Rory shakes her head. “Maybe next time.”
“You always say that.”
“Maybe next time I won’t.”
“You always say that, too.”
“And yet you still ask.” She jumps to her feet and says she has to go. “Mom ordered this cool stain glass kit, and we’re going to try it out. Could lead to a great business.”
“What about henna tats?” I gesture to my palm.
“Too much work for not enough profit. I couldn’t believe how much Mom spent on all those henna kits. Ridiculous!”
Here we go again. I can’t wait to see Rory’s first piece of stained glass art.
“Got to run.” In an unusual display of affection, Rory gives me a big hug. “Don’t let Derrick get to you, okay? If he’s too shallow to call, then you don’t want him. I’ll help you find someone better.”
I nod, but my heart sinks because there’s no guy better than Derrick. And I do want him, more than I care to admit even to myself.
Once she’s gone, I head for the kennel. Decked out in my sports cap, overalls, gloves, and sturdy boots, I’m ready to tackle a hard day of work and an even harder day of good-byes.
The dogs jump excitedly and rumble with purrs when the door bangs behind me. Most of them will be going to new homes, which makes me happy and sad. I love them all so much.
I’m even bonding with Cretin, who seems lonely with Brutus still away on stud duty. Cretin has picked Toffee for his “Brutus” substitute, finding a squeaky ball and bouncing it with his nose over to Toffee. They play fetch down the aisles of cages, and I have some quality time with the other dogs while I clean and fill food and water bowls in each cage.
Kneeling down so the two-month-old pups can crawl all over me, I tell them how exciting today will be. “You’re all going to new homes with new families who will love you so much. I know you’ll miss each other and especially your mom, but you’ll be so happy with your new families that you won’t have time to feel sad.”
The puppies don’t understand and they’re in super-hyped play mode, yipping and tug-of-warring with a knotted rope while their mother curls up in the plush doggie bed and wags her tail. I pat her soft head and try not to think how much I’ll miss her. Good-byes are always hard.
But there will be new pups in a week. When I go into Daisy’s cage, she’s fidgety and her food dish is untouched. I press my hand to her velvety belly which is taut and straining as if the pups inside are crowded and eager to come out. Daisy seems anxious, yet she wags her tail to show she’s glad to see me. “Eight more days,” I tell her, although I’m wondering if it will be sooner. I’m glad for new dogs to look forward to because in a few hours the kennel will be very empty.
Sure enough, my cell phone dings with a text from Blake while I’m starting on the “pup parent” baskets. The first customer is on her way to take a puppy home. I haven’t completed even one basket before the phone dings again. Blake, of course, reminding me to make sure all the vaccination records are in the customer packets. As if I’d forget something that important? Really, Blake, give me some credit.
He calls four more times before the first customer arrives.
After that, it’s a blur of answering questions and giving advice on how to raise Queen Bees. Watching dog parents fall in love with a Q-Bee is wonderful. I make it clear that with Q-Bees it’s not an owner-pet relationship but more like a parent adopting a child.
When the customer leaves with her fur-child, I get back to work. I still have six baskets to make and am sorting through boxes of sample dog treats when my cell phone dings yet again with a text message.
“Blake,” I grumble as I reach for the phone, tired of being interrupted. I’ll never get anything done if he keeps calling to tell me about a new customer or ask a question about the dogs.
But when I look down at the phone number, I gasp.
Derrick.
At first I can’t think, like my brain has slipped from my ears and rolled out the door. But then my emotions grab hold and I hurt all over like I’ve been punched from the inside. If he cared about me, he would have called yesterday. Why is he texting now? To tell me he’s back with Beatrice? It’s a no brainer that he’d prefer stylish, eloquent, sophisticated Beatrice.
I’m staring at the text but not really seeing the message. Slowly, the three words sink in:
Look behind you.
I turn around.
And there he is.
Derrick.
Here, in my kennel where walls echo with excited dogs yipping and purring like the heartbeat of my life.
I don’t know what to say and can only gape at him.
OMG! He’s soooo fine. Not in a princely stylish way of designer shirts and overpriced shoes, but a casual attitude of dark-black jeans with worn knees, a plain green T-shirt, and faded white sneakers. Yet there’s nothing casual about the tight lines on his forehead, which slant down to his unsmiling lips.
“Ashlee.” It’s the first time he’s ever spoken my real name, and the sound shocks through me.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Will I have the willpower to let him go if he’s come to tell me he’s gotten back with Beatrice? My pride kicks in, and suddenly I’m angry because why should I be the one waiting for him? He can’t expect me to stick around while he makes up his mind. Okay, so I’ve done some stupid things, but he either likes me for who I am or not at all. I want to know where we stand now. I can’t go through another day of waiting, not knowing, fearing the worst.
“What do you want?” I ask with my arms wrapped around my chest as if I need to hold myself together.
“To talk.”
“Why wait until today? I left a message for you yesterday,” I accuse harsher than I intend. “And don’t tell me you didn’t get my message, because you wouldn’t have known my new number if you hadn’t.”
“I got it, but things got complicated.”
Calculate “complicated” to include Beatrice in the equation. When I tense, Cretin, who has positioned himself like a sentry guard beside me, growls at Derrick.
I raise my brows, waiting for him to explain. He has more of a right to be angry with me than I do him, but I’m dizzy being so near him, wanting so badly to fold into his arms and hear him say he wants to be more than my friend.
“It wasn’t easy finding you,” he says.
“I’ve been here.” I gesture around the kennel of cages, raising my voice to be heard over the dogs. Q-Bees may not bark like ordinary breeds, but their yips can get really shrill.
“I didn’t know that yesterday morning when I tried to find you.” He sighs. “It wasn’t until after midnight that I saw your phone message—only by then it was too late to call back.”
“You could have texted,” I say, lifting off the sports cap. My braided hair slips loose, falling around my face.
“I couldn’t say what I need to in a text.”
I stiffen, sure now he’s going to tell me how great things are going with Beatrice. His expression isn’t giving anything away, and I long for that lost moment in Pete’s dog run where we almost kissed. Please, let him step closer and open his arms for me. Don’t say you prefer her. Give me a chance.
“What do you want to tell me?” I spit t
his out like a challenge for him to speak honestly even if his words might cut like blades through my heart.
“I had this whole speech planned, but now I can’t remember any of the words.” He’s holding a medium-sized paper bag, which rattles as he shifts uneasily on the concrete floor. “I thought things were going great with us, until you ran from me. Why didn’t you stop?”
“I wanted to, but I was too ashamed to face you or anyone.”
“Because your performance got messed up?” He scrunches his forehead like he’s puzzled.
“More than messed up.” I groan.
“But it wasn’t your fault. Beatrice shut off your power.”
“You saw that?”
“I saw everything.”
My face reddens.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he says quickly. “You were off that stage too quick for anyone to see…well, you know what I mean. I grabbed the remote from Beatrice then picked up the sweats and hoodie you’d left behind and ran after you. But you were too fast.”
“Sorry.” I mean it. If only I’d waited for him, that night would have turned out so differently.
“Here.” He shoves the paper bag at me. “Everything should be there – the remote control, your clothes, and what’s left of your cell phone.”
My eyes widen. “You fished it out of the water?”
“All the pieces I could find.” He hangs his head. “Sorry I couldn’t fix it.”
I look inside at metal pieces of mauve. Instead of sadness, though, I’m feeling warm inside. The image of Derrick wading into the moat and picking up phone pieces is priceless.
There are so many things I want to say to him, and they tumble through my mind like clothes on spin dry, falling over each other. I’m grateful and touched and liking him dangerously too much. I hold back, afraid of being hurt again and not sure what he’s feeling or what he wants from me. There’s still Beatrice, too, lurking like an unseen shadow between us.
I’m trying to figure out a tactful way of asking how things stand between him and Beatrice when I hear a shrill yelp.
“Daisy!” I drop the paper bag on a stool and sprint down the aisle to the last cage.
Never Been Texted Page 15
