20. Yappy Hour
YAPPY HOUR
SAWYER
“I’m thinking of asking Latanya to be my girlfriend.”
This announcement comes from my father as we walk past the gourmet market on a warm Saturday morning in July, passing stands full of flowers—tulips and lavender. Which makes me think of Chloe, since her friend works at the lavender farm.
I snap my gaze away, focusing on Dad. “At your age? Is that even allowed?”
He scoffs. “Watch it. I’m young.” He shoots me a teasing look, puffing out his chest. He’s dressed like a happy old guy living well—khaki shorts, neatly pressed, a peach polo shirt, and barely a care in the world.
It’s good to see him like this, especially since my parents divorced—a good divorce, they called it—a couple of years ago after thirty-five years of marriage.
Something I’d never expected to see. But if you asked my sisters, they’d tell you they weren’t entirely surprised.
They both said they always got the sense that our parents liked each other…
but they didn’t love each other. I suppose Mom and Dad both seem happier now.
They live in the city and have been enjoying the apps a lot.
Or so my sisters tell me. I wish I were as observant as they are. Then maybe I would’ve noticed that Katya was cheating on me.
“Anyway,” I say, shifting topics as we near The Slippery Dipper, its black-and-white awning flapping gently in the breeze, the caricature of a woman in a sudsy bathtub folding and unfolding with the wind. “So you’re finding time to have a girlfriend. I guess you’re really enjoying retirement.”
“Highly recommend it,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “How are you finding the new business—with dogs?”
There’s some healthy skepticism in his tone.
I get it. When I told him I wanted to open a dog daycare, he cross-examined me for days, even though he’d already retired.
He didn’t get it. Didn’t understand why I’d want to make that move after everything we’d accomplished in management consulting.
Translation: after he’d turned over to me the business we’d built together.
I take a beat to consider my answer, weighing the tension clinging to my shoulders over the last week—the sexual tension, that is.
I’ve had to avoid Chloe as best I can every damn day, including during a very painful team meeting to discuss the upcoming shoot.
Being near her? Wanting her? Remembering the night we spent together?
It’s fuck-all hard. In my pants. So I visit the other locations more than they honestly need me to.
When I’m here, I hang out in my office, texting or Zooming with the other managers.
I stay away from the front counter. I keep my head down.
“I like it a lot. I’m enjoying Dog Tails,” I say, reasoning that’s true enough. “I’m focused on growing it, running it smoothly, marketing it smartly.”
“Good. You’ve always been good at that. I was proud of the work you did for Dumont Management Consulting. You really think you can do that with…dog daycare?”
I bristle inside but remind myself these are not new concerns.
They’re also, frankly, understandable ones, especially from a man who prides himself on taking work seriously.
“I do, Dad. I can apply the same leadership skills across the eight franchises, but also the same philosophies of how we treat employees with respect while growing revenue and improving the bottom line. That’s honestly what I’m trying to do here.
Take all the skills I acquired working with you and apply them to this business. ”
He stops outside a sculpting studio, his brow furrowed, his eyes flickering with questions. “Is that all you’re trying to do?”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
With a tilt of his head, he gives me a thoughtful look, and he’s not unkind as he says, “Your ex. You wanted to get away from all that. How’s that working out for you?”
Not as well as your divorce. But I keep that thought locked up, just like I try to keep the bitterness to myself. I’d rather do well at things than publicly fail like I did at love.
“Great,” I say, since I just don’t want to talk about my ex. With anyone. Maybe especially with him. Don’t need to hash out my failures with my father. Especially since Katya would say her cheating was my fault.
“Sometimes I feel so alone with you,” she’d said, the night we hashed it out in the kitchen of the home we’d just bought.
“You travel for work! You’re alone on the road all the time,” I’d pointed out, trying to keep my cool but failing. Miserably fucking failing.
I’d been devastated. I’d loved her, I’d trusted her, and aside from the dog allergy, there’d been no red flags.
Maybe it’s best if I don’t date. I do not want to go through that pain again. Not the hurt to my heart, nor the annoying time it took to sell our home, sort out furniture, and cancel a wedding.
I push thoughts of unworn tuxes and unused napkin holders out of my head and look my dad square in the eyes. “I’m not really interested in dating anyway. I’d rather focus on Dog Tails.”
He arches a suspicious brow. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I say, with as much damn certainty as I can muster.
Besides, isn’t his marriage proof that you can’t really have everything? He certainly didn’t have it with my mother—not if they divorced so late in life. Sure, he’s having a good time now, but he should. That’s what retirement is for.
“So are you going to show it to me, or are you hiding it from me?” he says, elbowing my ribs. “Or are you just worried all the lovely ladies you work with will wonder if your dad’s single? But I’m taken.”
“You’d never date one of my employees either,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“You’re right there too,” he says, and that’s one more reminder of why I need to keep things exactly where they are with Chloe—it’s never a wise idea to let your guard down at work.
We turn around, and I take him to Dog Tails, hoping he won’t pick up on any tension I’m feeling around Chloe. Or vibes, either, like Esmeralda did.
When we head inside, I double down on my resting grump face. I barely break a smile as I introduce my dad to the team. I don’t even react when they call me “Mister Serious Boss.”
And I definitely don’t crack a smile when Chloe comes up to my dad at the front counter and gushes about what a great business I run. “He’s fantastic at this, Mr. Dumont,” she says.
My dad beams. “Aww, that’s sweet of you to say.”
“It’s just the truth,” she says.
And fuck, I’m an asshole.
I should smile. But I don’t. If you give an inch, you’ll be in her bed again.
* * *
A week later, the script arrives via email. I’m in my office, but I pop out to head to the training nook just as Chloe’s finishing with a client. When she’s done, I give her a chin nod. “Script’s here. Want me to help you break it down?”
Her lips twitch, and is that an almost eye roll? More like she’s fighting it off. She says, “I’ve got it. Don’t worry. I know how to be ‘part of a team.’” She sketches air quotes.
I sigh, frustration rising in me—over me. “Chloe, I’m just trying to be—”
“Helpful. Right? But it’s all good. I’ll let you know when I need efficiency advice,” she says, flashing me a bright smile, the kind that looks legit. Since she is this person—all sunshine and sugar.
As if to prove my point, a few days later, she strolls in with vanilla lattes, setting one down for me on the counter.
“These are from Pick Me Up. So don’t try to pull that I don’t like donuts routine on me.
Especially when I need efficiency advice,” she says, then shows me a question on the script about a handful of extra dogs.
“I need to get them from here to here. Do we have an hour’s worth of training time with all the daycare regulars? ”
“Let me figure that out,” I say, then roll up my sleeves and check the schedule and the local dog talent releases. “We do.”
“Which dogs?”
I peer back at the scheduling software. “Looks like Dandelion and Gunnar for sure. There’s also Baxter.”
“Oh! The sheriff’s dog. I trained him.”
“You did it well. We’ll also have Shortcake, since Veronica’s in town. Florence has been bringing Bagel here. Your dad and Luca are dropping off Porcupine. And a few others.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait to see Porky,” she coos. But when she slides in next to me at the counter to get a closer look at the timing on the screen, I freeze.
Do not inhale her scent. Do not sniff her hair. Do not groan at her being that close to you.
I stay very, very still. When she stretches an arm and points to the screen, a stupid rumble works its way up my chest. I smother it with a fake cough.
“We can do it right here?” she asks.
Filthy images flash by. Me on her couch. Her on my lap. My hands in her hair. Her nails scratching my back.
“Yes,” I grit out, then glance at my phone. “I’m waiting for a call. From…a bar. About Yappy Hour.”
I turn and walk away without another word.
Yappy Hour, man. Is that the best you can do?
Evidently. But it’s true. I have been talking to a local bar about that. I just wish it didn’t sound so stupid.
* * *
Then it’s showtime. Or dress rehearsal, really.
The place is ready. I made some fast adjustments to the front counter so that it could easily double as the register at a pet supply shop.
It’s stacked with treats and dog bags, but we’ve added more stickers and some dog tags as well, since that’s a staple at most stores.
Chloe’s trained the regulars like Dandelion and Gunnar, and their job is simple.
To play with toys as Ava—playing the local librarian—walks in with Jubilee and asks the world’s cutest dog to pick a new collar, only to be distracted by the pretty bartender who just dropped her dog off.
That character will be played by Saffron.
Jubilee’s role? To give a “Really, Mom?” look to Ava at just the right moment when Ava’s flirting goes on for too long with Saffron. Then an eye roll.
I’m checking that we have exactly the proper setup at the front counter. No doubt the logistics producers will do that too, but my job is to make this shoot easy for everyone. As I check off the items on the list, the chatter behind me grows.
“Did you hear she can roll her eyes?” Levi squeals to Hazel, raving about the dog star as he brushes out a Maltipoo. “I can’t believe I’m going to meet her any minute.”
“I’m such a fan. But also of Ava Hartley. And Saffron Morgan. They’re all going to be here,” Hazel says while adjusting the dog beds on the floor for the regular canine crew.
“I can’t wait to tell my guy. He’s going to be green with envy. He’s obsessed with Jubilee. He’s seen all her vids,” Levi adds as he ties a bow around the Maltipoo’s collar.
“But you can’t take pics of the shoot itself,” Nisha puts in, emerging from the back to sweep unseen dirt.
“I know. Maybe I can sneak in a pic beforehand,” he muses.
Pretty sure that’s not how it’s going to work. “Levi, it’s best if we don’t play paparazzi today. Let’s just see how things go. It’s our first shoot. Only take a pic if the handler or producer invites you to. Got it?”
Levi sighs like I’ve deflated all the wind from his sails. “Okay.”
“And don’t forget, you’re being paid to help with the dogs who are here. To check them out at the end of the night,” I add, since it seems like I need to remind him. Maybe I sound like a dick, but somebody has to lay down the law.
“I know, I know,” he says.
“Good. Appreciate you,” I say, firm but fair.
“And we’re going to have fun even if we can’t take pics,” Zuri pipes in, doing her part to keep the kids under control as she snaps pics of the dogs here today—for our socials.
The crew arrives. They set up, asking us to keep going about business as usual—talk about efficiency—while Chloe reviews the action in the script with the dog extras.
Soon enough, the episode director for Happily Maybe After arrives, along with Alexandra and the talent.
Canine talent first.
Jubilee struts in, her honey-blonde coat all fluffy and perfectly shampooed I’m sure, and a pink rhinestone collar on. Her chin is held high, and her ear tufts could melt a man.
Chloe, looking effortlessly good in cute jeans, Converse sneakers, and a pretty blue top, strides over and says, “Hey, cutie pie,” then kneels to dog level. Jubilee looks her way and, I swear, she smiles.
The dog smiles.
Jesus.
My heart goes a little mushy.
Saffron and Ava walk in next, all dolled up and empirically pretty in short dresses that I’m sure are trendy for twentysomethings, but I barely notice them. My eyes are still on Chloe. She’s the woman I can’t look away from.
She’s not a star hanger-on. She’s simply this engaging, outgoing, friendly woman who makes everyone, from dog to person, feel welcome.
Even me.
Even when I’m a grumpy, broody, stubborn ass.
I check my watch. I can’t wait to get out of here tonight and blow off some steam. If I stay any longer, I’ll do something stupid. Like…flirt. Or kiss her, and like last time, I won’t stop.
And she won’t want me to.