Chapter 12
“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. This advice has never failed!”
— MATCHMAKING MAMAS
Jamie
“I have to get out of here, Marissa!” I called as I plated yet another sample for the bridezilla lingering in the shop.
Piper Lynch had shown up at for her appointment at four and dismissed four out of the six aperitifs as too pedestrian. Then, she’d rejected our main course as too pretentious.
Marissa and I were ready to lynch the bride, and she’d yet to select a menu. If she was this much of a pain in the ass now, she’d be even worse on her wedding day. And to top it all off, Theo had called in sick.
Normally, when a bride wasn’t happy with her tasting menu, we made notes and reserved a follow-up appointment. But not Piper. She insisted this had to be settled today. Her timeline was too short to delay. Of course, that tight schedule was the one she’d set, not us.
But hey, the bride is always right…or at least we have to pretend she is.
“What are we gonna do?” I asked Marissa. “Casual is too casual and gourmet is too freaking gourmet.”
“She wants the VIP treatment,” Marissa said.
I nodded along, but I had to leave at six to pick up Tramp and Lady at the doggy day care. I didn’t have time to reinvent a menu.
Marissa smiled sharply. “I say we recycle the aperitifs. Take the shrimp and put it into a bright salad with mango and a few trimmings, yeah? That should dress it up. Turn the charcuterie board into skewers of prosciutto, mozzarella, and tomato with a drizzle of balsamic.”
That would only take a few minutes. I nodded. “Done. What about the main entree?”
“I’ll do a lobster pasta instead of risotto. It’ll probably feel more familiar to her.”
We got to work, and I finished up the apps, but Piper was taking her time humming over each item. Eating every bite before she decided if it was a yes or no.
“Marissa,” I said tensely, checking the time on my phone.
She waved a hand. “Okay, go. Take some of the castoffs with you for your trouble.”
“Are you sure?”
“Maybe it’ll soften up Sammi and she won’t kick you out of doggy day care.”
“Fingers crossed!”
I rushed to box up a few of the best appetizers that Piper had turned her nose up at. Then I high-tailed it out of the kitchen exit and jogged to my car.
By the time I made it to BowWow, I was twenty minutes past the pickup time, and there was only one dusty sedan in the lot.
Hank’s car.
My pulse spiked, and not only from nerves about being late. Every time I saw him, my stomach fluttered like I was a twelve-year-old with his first crush. I couldn’t seem to turn it off.
This was the fourth time I was picking up my dogs from doggy day care.
The free trial had gone really well—and Tramp had settled down on those evenings—so I continued to take them in on my busiest workdays, at least. Sammi loved the dog biscuits enough that she gave me a discount rate.
It gave me an opportunity to pick her brain about the best biscuits, so it was good market testing too.
I rushed to the front door, but it swung open before I got there. Hank’s wide shoulders filled the door frame. “I was just about to call hospitals and make sure you weren’t gravely injured.”
“I’m so sorry!” I blurted. “There was this bridezilla in the shop, and her tasting was supposed to be over an hour ago, but she refused to like anything until the third time she’d tried it.”
He chuckled. “And I thought the dog mommies were bad.”
“I’m sure they are.” I shoved a couple of take-out boxes at him. “Here. This is for your trouble. Sorry for being late.”
He looked down at the boxes. “More dog biscuits?”
“No. Some of the wedding tasting menu. I figured it shouldn’t go to waste.”
A grin spread over his face. “Well, hot damn. If I’m going to get food, I’m happy to stay a few minutes late. Come on in. The dogs are in the playroom.”
I followed him inside and through the door to the playroom. It was just my dogs and Bruno at this late hour. They came running toward us as we stepped inside.
I crouched down to greet Tramp and Lady—and Bruno nosed forward for some pets too—but they quickly turned their attention to Hank. He gave them a few pats, then said, “Go play!”
They all trotted off, and Hank nodded toward a pleather couch to one side of the room. “Sit down for a minute?”
“Uh…sure.”
Even though I’d seen Hank in passing as I dropped off and picked up my dogs, we hadn’t talked a lot. He was often busy with a grooming job or handling other customers.
Maybe I’d been avoiding him the tiniest bit. Because I wasn’t quite sure how to interact with him, given our awkward start.
Hank opened up the first box, eyes widening. “Well, this is beautiful.”
I flushed, which was stupid. He was complimenting the food, not me. But I had made that. “Thanks. The bride thought they were too pedestrian.”
Hank popped a bacon-wrapped shrimp into his mouth and groaned. “My godddd.”
I chuckled nervously. “Good?”
“Very good.”
Too good, maybe, because my temperature rose a few degrees as he licked his fingers clean and grabbed a second one, making a sound of utter delight.
The dogs rushed back over, sensing that they were missing out.
“I guess we’ll have to share.”
Hank jerked the box to his chest protectively. “No way. There’s some treats on the shelf. They can have those.”
He curled over the box like Gollum with his precious, and I snorted a laugh I was sure was incredibly unattractive. But hey, there was one perk of the friend zone. It didn’t matter how I looked.
“Easy, man. There’s more to life than bacon-wrapped shrimp.”
“Mm-mm,” he denied with a shake of his head, mouth still full, as I got off the couch to grab the bag of dog treats. Tramp took his treat happily—he was a bit of a himbo and easily fooled—but Lady and Bruno both turned their eyes back to Hank.
With a defeated groan, he pulled off a tiny bite of bacon for each of them to scarf up. Tramp chuffed and ran over, his expression betrayed.
“Not you too,” Hank whined.
I opened the second box, which contained a sealed plastic container and a set of cutlery. He opened it, gazing down with his brow furrowed. “What is this?”
“Lobster risotto.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said.
I retook my seat next to him on the couch, our knees jostling. “It’s better than it looks.”
“I’m sure it’s great,” he said. “But lobster? I’m going to have to pay you by the time I finish this meal. It’s a little rich for a dog groomer salary.”
I chuckled. “Don’t be silly. It’s free. Besides, you gave me those free trial days.”
“And you paid Sammi in dog biscuits. This friendship doesn’t seem very equitable.”
Ah, the dreaded F-word. I forced a smile. If friendship was all I got with Hank, it wasn’t the worst deal in the world.
“You’ll just have to forgive me the next time I’m late, then,” I said lightly.
“Forgive you? I’ll be crossing my fingers if it means I get to eat like this.”
He spooned up a bite of risotto, eyes closing as he savored the flavor. His lips were a little shiny from the grease of the bacon-wrapped shrimp. His face was slack with pleasure, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
The friend zone was decidedly hot from where I was sitting.
Tramp whined, perhaps feeling as hungry as I did just then. Hank fed him a bite of shrimp, then when my stomach rumbled loudly, flashed me a look.
“Have you not eaten? Oh my god. I’m hogging it all.”
I laughed. “No, it’s fine. I like watching you enjoy it.”
A tense silence dropped between us as his eyes met mine.
“You know,” I fumbled, “because every chef likes to see their food appreciated.”
He relaxed, a grin spreading. “Yeah, of course. But I’ve had more than my share.” He pushed the risotto at me. “Have some.”
I took the same spoon that had just been in his mouth and dipped it into the risotto, then brought it to my lips. Hank watched as I took the first bite, eyebrow inching up.
I savored the rich, creamy texture, the sweetness of the lobster balanced with the savory notes of the risotto. I sighed. “Delicious.”
Hank was popping the last bacon-wrapped shrimp into his mouth—after giving the begging pooches one last taste. I noticed he hadn’t wanted to share those with me.
I smiled. “Thanks for being patient with me for being late. It really was a hectic day.”
He nodded. “It’s okay, I don’t—”
Tramp chose that moment to paw at his knee, his too-long nails snagging in a loose thread.
“Tramp,” I scolded.
Hank carefully extricated Tramp’s paw from his jeans, then studied his nails with a frown. “He needs a nail clipping.”
“I know. He’s just impossible. He’s too big and strong, and no amount of bribing worked, so…” I shrugged helplessly, feeling like a bad dog daddy.
“I could do it,” he said. “It’s a routine service I provide when grooming.”
“Oh, um…”
“He’s here all day for doggy day care. I could just work him into my schedule when I have a lull.”
“Really? That would be great. I do Lady’s regularly, but he hates it.”
He nodded. “Some dogs do. But I’ve got ways to keep him calm and still that you don’t have at home.”
“The vet did it last time, but he’s overdue,” I said guiltily.
“It’s okay, Jamie. I can take care of it.”
“Okay, just let me know what I owe.”
“Bring me more catering leftovers, and we’ll call it even.”
“Ah, I see. You’re just angling for more food.”
“Do you blame me? I live with my younger brother. The most gourmet we get is spaghetti sauce out of a jar.”
I laughed. “It’s a rough life.”
“First-world problems,” he agreed with a small smile.
Bruno hopped up on the sofa between us and settled in for a nap. Lady lay her head on my knee, and Tramp ran across the room to show off on the play equipment. Look Dad, I can run up the ramp, jump onto the foam mat, then dive into a collection of balls!
“Good boy!” I called.
“He is, you know,” Hank said. “One of the better pooches we’ve got at day care. He’s playful, but he gets along well with the other dogs.”
I nodded. “He’s always been great at the park. Other than, you know, running away and knocking your fliers everywhere.”
“Oh, that reminds me. We’re having another planning session for Dogtober Days. I need to recruit some extra volunteers. Would you consider coming?”
“Oh? Can I volunteer if I’m a vendor?”
“Sure. I can even waive the vendor fee. Sammi has got her hands full with the business, and she’s got a wife at home, so I’m trying to avoid asking her to help more.”
I nodded. “I’d be happy to help however I can.”
“Great. How about we meet up for drinks to talk it out? Maybe Friday night at The Stag Pub?”
“Okay, sure.”
“Unless you have plans?”
I might have met up with Maverick and Silas to commiserate over our week. But I could do that anytime. My heart flip-flopped. “Nothing important. I’ll be there.”
He smiled brightly. “Great. I’ll see you then.”