by Krista Davis
Fluffy, loose curls the color of coffee with cream framed the man’s earnest face. His mustache and beard were carefully trimmed. Brown eyes appraised Oma through rimless glasses. “You appear to be a sensible woman. Surely you don’t believe that anyone can make a love match by picking two strangers out of a crowd.”
I held out a form to him. “Want to try?”
“Very amusing.” He took it in spite of the sarcasm in his tone. “Thank you. This should be entertaining reading. I was wondering if there is a list of attendees.”
Oma answered him. “No. People can come any time they want. For one day, for a particular event, or for the entire ten days. There is no roster.”
His hand tightened on the form I had given him, crumpling it. He gazed around as though he was looking for someone.
“The idea is that you’ll meet people through your dog or cat.” I looked around for his animal. All I saw were his pressed trousers and city-slicker leather shoes. “No dog?” I asked.
“Hmm? Oh, spare me. I have no attachment avoidance issues necessitating me to lavish attention on a drooling ankle-biter.”
Oh! I glanced at Oma. Her eyes told me what she thought of him. I tried to give him a break. “Are you a cat person?”
“Do I look like a neurotic introvert with a need to worship a creature who is completely indifferent to me?”
I was flabbergasted. I had no idea what a neurotic introvert looked like, but I now had a pretty good idea what a stupid jerk looked like. Difficult as it was, I bit my tongue. For all I knew, he might be a guest of the Sugar Maple Inn, and if there was one thing Oma had ingrained in me, it was to always be polite to the guests.
I contemplated telling him he was in the wrong place. Could it be that he didn’t know Wagtail was the premier resort for people who wanted to vacation with their pets?
When I didn’t respond right away, he continued searching the crowd but asked, “Cats or dogs?”
He didn’t appear to be talking to anyone else. “I beg your pardon?”
He enunciated with slow precision, as though I weren’t smart enough to comprehend. “Do you like cats or dogs?”
“Both.” Trixie returned to my side with a yellow Lab. They sat down contentedly and watched the goings-on. I handed each of them a mini dog biscuit. “Hello,” I said to the Lab. “Who are you?” I glanced at the tag on his collar. “Cooper!”
The man finally bothered to look at me. “You do know that he can’t understand you, right?”
Oma’s face grew red, and I feared she might blow up.
He obviously didn’t care. “Sorry, I should have known by the fur on your shirt. My mistake. From the looks on your faces, I can see that I have offended you.”
“I don’t know who you’re looking for,” I dared to say, “but Wagtail is all about dogs and cats. And this matchmaking weekend is specifically geared to people who love their furry companions.”
“You delude yourself by imagining that the beasts at your feet have any feelings for you whatsoever. What they like is food, and by being the source of said food you have their attention, thus causing you to fancy you have a relationship with these creatures. In truth, you have no more of a relationship with them than I have with the man who served me dinner last night in a restaurant. A man I shall most likely never see again. You have simply projected a loving emotion on your pets because they like to be fed. By anthropomorphizing—I presume you know what that means—you have filled the basic human desire for human companionship with an animal who would just as soon eat you. It is, of course, folly. You would do better to find yourself a similarly deluded human counterpart among these masses.”
“You have never had a dog or cat, have you?” Oma asked.
“That old retort. I don’t need one to know they have brains the size of walnuts. They don’t care about you or anything else. They’re not capable of that kind of thought or feeling.”
He stared at us, obviously sizing us up. “It’s people like you who make it possible for frauds like Macon to stay in business. Love is merely an illusion that stems from an irrational dependency disorder.” He strode away into the crowd.
Oma sputtered, “What a horrible man! If he does not like animals, then what does he want here in Wagtail?”
I handed two more tiny dog treats to Trixie and Cooper as an apology. “Don’t worry. We know he’s wrong.”
They wagged their tails and gazed at me with loving eyes.
Oma spotted Rose. “You excuse me, yes?” She hurried over to her friend. I took a seat and handed the forms out to ten people. Most of them filled them out on the spot. During a lull, I had a chance to look at the forms.
1. Which of these scents turns you off?
a. doggy breath
b. kitty litter box
c. perfume/cologne
d. home deodorizer
The answers were an interesting selection and probably pretty telling. Maybe Macon knew what he was doing after all. I glanced at the next two.
2. It’s Saturday morning and you don’t have to work. You:
a. leap out of bed to go jogging with your dog
b. hope the dog and/or cat will sleep in so you can, too
c. snuggle in bed with your cat(s) or dog(s)
d. head for the gym
e. leisurely read the paper over coffee, croissants, and dog or cat treats
3. My cat or dog sleeps:
a. in the garage
b. outside the house
c. in a pet bed
d. in my bed
I handed out some more forms, skipped the rest of the questions, and read the instructions.
The more truthful you are, the more likely I can find a good match for you. Return the form before seven p.m. on Thursday. You may pick up your match after eight p.m. in the Dogwood Room at the Sugar Maple Inn.
That was a quick turnaround. My doubts returned. Even if he used a computer to make the matches, wouldn’t it take some time to correlate the information?
Paige McDonagh, whom I recognized from the Wagtail Animal Guardians—better known as WAG, the local shelter—walked toward me with a whitish shepherd mix on a leash. Her royal blue T-shirt said Live Long and Foster in white lettering.
I grinned at the play on Spock’s words from Star Trek.
“Hi, Holly! I’m dropping off this sweet guy for the If the Dog Fits program.” She handed me the leash.
“Sorry, Paige. There must be some kind of mistake. We don’t have anyone participating this week.” Visitors to Wagtail enjoyed getting to know dogs through the program. By spending the weekend with a dog, people could determine if they were a good match for adoption. The truth was that it gave them time to bond with the dog. So far the program had a one hundred percent adoption rate. Paige usually dropped off three or four specially selected dogs at the inn for a guest to choose from.
“Hoo-ey,” she mumbled, “is for Ben. Very last-minute.” Paige ran her hands through shoulder-length blonde hair. I had never seen her when it wasn’t tousled. Her eyes slanted downward the slightest bit at the outer corners, and her pug nose was adorable. I knew the animals loved her because she was kind and patient with them, but her friendliness had also endeared her to the human residents of Wagtail.
“Ben Hathaway? My former boyfriend? Ben isn’t here, and he doesn’t like dogs.”
“Really?” she asked. “I can’t imagine you dating someone who isn’t into dogs.”
“Maybe that’s why things didn’t work out.” It was more complicated than that, but it might have helped if he had been an animal lover.
“He must have changed his mind about dogs. You don’t mind watching him until Ben arrives.” It was a statement, not a question. “See ya!”
“Wait!” I cried. “What’s his name again?”
“At WAG we call him Huey.” She rushed into the crowd
as if she was in a hurry.
Huey had already made friends with Trixie and Cooper. I, meanwhile, was a little bit miffed that Ben thought he could just visit me whenever he liked without so much as a courtesy call. I had two bedrooms in my apartment on the top floor of the inn, but it would serve him right if I told him someone else was staying with me. I wasn’t crazy about him popping in without letting me know.
A flurry of participants handed their forms back to me.
Macon emerged from the crowd, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. “This was a mahvelous idea. I can see bonds forming between couples already. Have you got those questionnaires for me? I’d better get up to my room and make some matches.”
I handed them over to him.
“Did you fill one out?” he asked.
“No.” I smiled at him, feeling a bit embarrassed.
Macon tsked at me. “Good thing a stubborn girl like you has a cupid for a grandmother.”
I was folding up the table when a woman rushed up to me. She shoved a thick strand of lustrous dark hair off her shoulder and fanned herself with her hand. “Are you Holly?”
“Yes.” I stopped folding and extended my hand to her. “Holly Miller.”
She shook my hand. “Laura Pisani. I’m staying at the inn. I’m sorry to bother you, but my cat, Marmalade, jumped out of my arms. He has a GPS tag on his collar, so as you can see”—she showed me her phone—“he’s still in the inn somewhere. Is it okay for him to explore on his own?”
“Sure. In my experience, most cats are frightened when they get away on their own. He’s probably hiding in a little nook somewhere waiting for things to calm down.”
“That doesn’t really sound like Marmalade. He’s a very social cat and always wants to be around people.”
“Then maybe he’s living it up and making new friends. Do you want us to contact you if we see him?”
“That would be great!” Laura showed me a picture of an orange tabby on her phone and wrote down her phone number on the back of a business card. “Just text me, and I’ll come running.”
I flipped over the card, which belonged to an L. Nicholas Gordon, inventor. I wondered if she knew she had given me someone else’s card.
“Oh! Don’t worry about that.” Her fingers fluttered at the business card. “Just some guy who was flirting with me.” She squinched up her face. “So not my type. I’d have thrown his card away anyway.”
I smiled at her. “I totally understand. And I’ll let the staff know to be on the lookout for Marmalade.”
She wandered off, and I carried the table toward the side of the inn. It was a little awkward with Huey on the leash. But he was a good sport and followed Trixie’s lead. We made it to the reception lobby, and I stashed the table away.
Zelda, our daytime desk clerk, was touching up her eyeliner. Full-figured and fun, Zelda thought she could communicate with cats and dogs. I had my doubts, but she did seem to have a way with animals. When she wasn’t working at the inn, she was building up a business as a pet psychic. Unfortunately, her ex-husband had left her with a stack of his bills to pay off, so she worked long hours to get back on her feet.
“There’s an orange-striped tabby running loose in the inn—”
“Marmalade?” Zelda asked.
“How did you know?”
“I checked him in. He was eager to stretch his legs after the trip here.”
I still hadn’t gotten used to her pronouncements about what animals were thinking. That was probably true, though. “If you see him, text his owner at this number.” I wrote it down for her.
Zelda propped the note up on the desk. “Did Trixie match you up with a date?”
I looked at her in surprise for a second. “Trixie?” I looked over at my dog. She sat next to Huey like they were old pals. “You mean Huey?”
I told Zelda about Huey and Ben.
Zelda put away her mascara and fluffed her long blonde hair. “You’d think Ben could have called. But Trixie is thinking about a big yellow dog with ears that flop down.”
How could Zelda know about Cooper? Maybe Zelda had taken a break and seen us outside? “That would be Cooper, a yellow Lab.”
“And did he have a cute dad?”
“For all I know, he belongs to a woman. Are you ready to take a dinner break? I can cover for you.”
“Great! Your grandmother said I can leave as soon as we check Gustav into the last room at nine o’clock. I filled out one of Macon’s forms, and I’m eager to meet my date.”
“What happened to Felix?” I asked. Felix had been a guest at the inn and had hit it off with Zelda. She was taller than geeky Felix, but they had made a nice couple.
“I wish he didn’t live so far away,” Zelda said. “I never see him. He’s probably dating someone else by now. Too bad. He was such a sweetheart. One of the really good guys.”
Then Zelda gasped and her face registered horror. She ducked behind the registration desk.
Three
“Zelda?” I walked behind the desk and looked down at her. The sliding glass doors opened to admit someone.
Zelda placed a finger over her lips in a signal to be silent.
Trixie yelped at the man who entered. She backed away from him with a growl but never took her eyes off him.
Judging by the stubble on his face, he hadn’t bothered to shave in a few days. His unkempt light brown hair was short. If he had done anything to it when he rose in the morning, it wasn’t with a comb. He wore a white T-shirt and carried a leather jacket over his shoulder. Altogether he had the type of rugged look that was popular. But something about his eyes made me wary. Not to mention Trixie’s reaction to him.
“May I help you?” I asked.
“I hear Zelda York works here.”
Zelda’s hand clutched my ankle, and I jerked ever so slightly. More deftly than I’d have liked, I lied to him. “She’s off today.”
He was staring at Trixie, who now peered at him from the far side of the registration desk, which was actually a counter.
Trixie growled softly.
“What’s wrong with that dog?” he asked.
She had never reacted that way to anyone before, but it would have been rude to point that out to him. I glanced at Huey, who sat like a perfect gentleman but didn’t take his eyes off the man. “The other dog is new. I think his presence upset her.”
Another lie. I didn’t really like this skill I had developed. I wasn’t even sweating or feeling guilty about it.
He nodded and leaned against the desk. “You must be new around here. I don’t remember meeting you before.”
“Holly Miller. Are you a frequent visitor to Wagtail?”
“Nice to meet you, Holly Miller.”
Any polite person would have said the same thing, but there was something about his tone that was slick, like he was trying to flirt.
“I’m Hank Abernathy. Listen”—he reached a hand across the desk—“since Zelda isn’t here, how about having some dinner with me?”
The hand on my ankle squeezed like talons.
“I’m sorry. I have to work.”
“What time do you get off?”
This guy wasn’t giving up. So far I’d told him nothing but lies, which bothered me in principle. But when I looked into his eyes I felt the desire to keep him away from Zelda by getting rid of him. “I’m sorry, but I think my fiancé might object to that.”
And at that moment, just like magic, the doors slid open and Ben, my former boyfriend, walked in.
“And there he is now!” I chirped.
Hank’s eyes shifted, giving me the willies. “See you around then.”
Heavens. I hoped not!
He strolled out the doors. When they closed behind him, I looked down at Zelda. “Who was that?”
“Is he gone?” she wh
ispered.
Ben walked around the corner of the desk. “What’s going on?”
“You can stand up now,” I assured her.
In spite of that, Zelda raised her head slowly, peeking over the top of the desk at the door before standing fully erect. “That was my good-for-nothing ex-husband.”
“You’re kidding. The one who left you broke and loaded with debt?”
“The very same. It’s a shame he’s so handsome. He sucks me back in every time I see him.”
“Not today,” I pointed out.
“Trust me. I have to stay away from that man.”
“Was he violent?” I asked.
Zelda snorted and giggled. “Are you kidding? He’s too lazy for that. He’d probably like to shack up with me and mooch off of me again. Three square meals a day and a comfy bed at my expense? No, thanks. I’m done with him.”
Even though I hadn’t looked forward to seeing Ben, he had arrived at a perfect time. Ben wouldn’t deter many men, but his mere presence had done the trick of getting rid of Hank.
Bespectacled and studious-looking, he was the ultimate geek. Ben had asked me to marry him by texting me a message of cryptic abbreviations. And then he had followed up that abysmal act with what could only be called a pity proposal. It was more like a business transaction because I had lost my job, and he thought I had no foreseeable source of income. I turned him down and had come to the realization that he wasn’t the right man for me. But I didn’t mind being friends. My irritation that he hadn’t told me he was coming to visit faded. After all, he had gotten rid of Hank by showing up.
I crooked my finger at him and walked over to the beautiful shepherd mix. “This is Huey. Did you really ask for a dog from the If the Dog Fits program?”
Instead of petting Huey, as I would have, Ben studied him. “I thought it would be a small dog, smaller than Trixie. Huey is huge.”
“He’s a great dog, though. I’ve had him with me for an hour, and he’s been a sweetheart.”
Ben nodded reluctantly. “What do I do with him?”
Zelda burst out laughing. “Huey says he would like a long walk and then dinner, preferably beef and a cookie for dessert.”
