Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
I’m fully awake before my clock goes off. I’ve been watching it for an hour, going over at least three separate to-do lists for my first day back. But it feels like I need permission before untangling myself from Anton’s embrace. When the alarm finally sounds, I quickly silence it, trying to take a moment to savor his warmth and comfort. This is actually the most we’ve touched since we left for Texas, and as his arms tighten around my waist, it occurs to me how much I’ve missed it. Except—something’s different. I’m not sure what until I realize he isn’t really touching so much as clutching me like a security blanket.
I turn to study his face. His eyes are open, focused out the window, but somehow much further away. I rest my head against his chest, breathing in his clean, earthy scent.
“Hey. How are you doing?” I ask gently.
At the sound of my voice, he tracks back. Into the room. Back to our bed. Or at least the vicinity. “I’m fine.”
He’s been telling both Seth and me he’s fine for the past week. And I don’t really think he’s lying. I just don’t think he truly knows. “Are you sure you want to go back to the office today?” I say quietly. “Carl said to take all the time you need.”
Anton’s body tenses, and he immediately shakes his head. “No. It’ll be good to get back into routines. I was already feeling swamped before we left for Dallas.”
He throws back the covers, and the next thing I know I’m in the center of the bed, alone. He slips into boxer briefs and is pulling on a shirt before I can think how to respond. For a moment, I wonder if I should try to regain his attention. Call him back to bed. Try just a little harder.
But the thing is, I’m also swamped. Henry and I put our Pooch II meeting off for a week, but he’s anxious to go over the business plan and first-month reports. Our managers have done a decent job holding down the fort with me gone, but I need to make time to check in with each of them and get back up to speed. So as Anton’s scent fades from the sheets next to me, I’m relieved he doesn’t notice me checking my phone.
Or the face I make when I open my email and find out our newly hired groomer just bailed on us. My fingers fly all the way to the shower, copying and replying. Adding to our meeting agenda and scrambling for a plan to deal with her scheduled appointments.
I exit the bathroom ten minutes later, phone still in hand and a towel twisted in my hair. Anton stands in front of the closet mirror straightening his tie. He catches my eye in the reflection, gaze dipping to the damp towel gathered at my breasts with a faint smile—and maybe a flash of regret.
And just like that, I hate myself for not trying. He’s struggling. Obviously needs my support, needs me to reach for him. But I didn’t. I let myself fall into old patterns. Got sucked into work, and left him to fend for himself.
“See you for therapy at five thirty?” I ask quietly, hoping I can atone for my shortcomings there.
He pauses. “Right . . . it’s Monday.”
“We missed last week,” I point out, not wanting to remind him why.
His gaze is far away, not looking at me anymore. “Maybe... could we rain check again?”
I raise my head in surprise.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I think... I don’t know. I’m just not... feeling it yet. ”
A lump forms in my throat. I probably understand not feeling it better than anyone. It’s something I’m still working on—something we’ve been working on. But this seems like a strange time to put a hold on something that’s been helping us both.
“Uh, sure. I’ll let her know.”
“Thanks.”
For just a moment, I consider dropping the towel to the floor. Seeing if I can still make something happen. Remind him, no matter how he’s feeling, that we are still good; we’re getting better. But when I look back at his face, his eyes are somewhere else again. Unfocused. Far away. And I don’t know, seduction seems like the last thing to try. He looks like he just needs a hug.
So I do—wrap him in my arms. Getting his suit damp with my towel, though he doesn’t seem to care. “Take it easy today,” I say, stroking my hand up and down his back.
He mimics my movements in return, but it’s stiff, congenial. The way you might hug a relative you don’t know well. And just then, his face looks so lost. Shattered. Like he truly needs something... But I have this weird feeling it isn’t me.
He straightens and sighs. “I’ve got to go or I’ll hit traffic.”
Caprice
Are you guys back in town? How did the service go?
Got in last night, hitting the ground running today.
I don’t know. It was a funeral. Just glad it’s over.
Caprice
I’m sorry. 3 You want to meet up this week?
LOVE to—I’ve missed your face.
How have things been? Have you gotten any more of those emails?
Caprice
Unfortunately.
Oh no. A bad one?
Caprice
Prefer to show you in person. Can we shoot for tomorrow?
I’ll come over after work.
It’s been three months since my journalist best friend published her article about Unmatched, the cheating app where she found my husband among a slew of high-profile philanderers. Caprice’s investigation may have ultimately saved my marriage, but it set off a firestorm of hate mail from some less-appreciative people. Most of it has been rude or gross, but ignorable. Expletives and dick pics, according to Caprice, are sadly par for the course for female journalists. However, some of the messages have crossed the line into worrisome or even scary. Enough that I regularly track her phone and check in before work most days. I’m anxious to spend some time with her in person now that we’re back. I have a feeling she’s been downplaying the situation.
“Donuts!” My eighteen-year-old employee, Kai, spots the white bakery box balanced in my arms as soon as I step through the door of The Pooch Park II. They whisk it toward the brand-new break room, which Henry insists on calling our conference room . Relieved of one burden, I re-shuffle my armload of cleaning supplies and printer paper, finally managing to extend Heartthrob’s leash to Francie, my manager at the front desk.
“Hey!” She brightens when she sees me, then notices the donuts and looks confused. “Is there a staff meeting today?”
“Nope. Henry and I are just going over the numbers. But I found myself in the Dunkin’ drive-through on the way over.” I wink at her. “Tell everybody to grab one.”
She grins, then takes Heartthrob with her to the large dog playroom. I watch for a moment through the observation windows, still marveling that this place, which was a mess of brick and wires and dirt a few months ago, is now a cheery, brightly painted canine oasis.
Francie removes Heartthrob’s leash and collar, then he bounds through the gate into the pack. For five seconds, he holds perfectly still, letting the other dogs get a good sniff, then he and a young Irish Setter go bounding away, chasing each other around the plastic obstacle course.
I let out a contented sigh. The last seven days have been sad and stressful, and I’m not thrilled about the way things went down this morning. But the tension in my spine eased as soon as I walked through the Pooch Park door. I know what to do here. I know just what’s expected of me.
“Welcome back,” Henry says, appearing from around the corner. He doesn’t have much of an accent, but combined with his perfectly coiffed dark hair and aloof Mr. Darcy expressions, his voice is just British enough to make half my employees swoon. Once I glance at him, though, I snort.
“If Tom Ford only knew where you wore his suits.” I grin, shaking my head. “Do you have a lunch date or something?”
Henry rolls his eyes. I spent our first couple weeks together trying to convince him he didn’t need to dress to the nines at the Pooches (my nickname for all three businesses), but he has steadfastly ignored me. While he might be overly groomed, he quickly proved his business sense, so I mostly shut up about it. But since he is a handsome guy, his suits only add to the aesthetic. I’ve heard plenty of the staff whispering about their “hot boss” since he came on as my partner, and I know they’re not talking about me in my messy bun and Old Navy leggings.
He straightens. “It’s our first official meeting with a solid month of profit and loss. I didn’t think it prudent to go on a full retreat just yet since we’re still building clientele, but this is a major moment in our endeavor and I intend to treat it so.”
I bite my lip at his stuffy tone.
“Well. I brought donuts!” I say, leading the way toward the conference room .
There are only four pastries left in the box when we get there, and I snag the last Bismarck, but Henry declines. We set up our laptops on the repurposed dining table I scored at a secondhand store, and he takes out his ever-present notebook. But as we sit down he looks at me and lowers his voice. “How is Anton doing? Did everything go all right in Dallas?”
I’m licking chocolate frosting off my fingers, grateful for the excuse to take my time answering. “The service was beautiful. Seth’s eulogy especially.” I pause, swallowing hard. I miss my kind, sweet mother-in-law, but I’m grateful her struggle is over. “Anton will be all right. He’s taken it kind of hard, but I think he just needs some time.”
Henry seems satisfied with that, and I’m thankful when we launch straight into spreadsheets, profit and loss statements, and cash flow projections for all three businesses. I’m not sure how long we spend there, but at some point the afternoon crew clocks in, and Francie brings us a couple of delivered sandwiches.
“So—not bad for one month in,” I say, sitting back in my chair.
“Not at all,” Henry agrees, looking surprisingly pleased with the numbers. “Considering we’re averaging half capacity still, we should be doing quite well by end of year.”
I nod. “So, what do you think about offering some kind of employee health plan down the road?”
Henry’s gaze slides over to mine. “I’ve never heard you say that was a priority.”
“The groomer we hired to start tomorrow? She left a message that she took a job at Pets’N Co instead. A few of the daycare employees have told me their friends would love to work here, but they need something with insurance.”
“I told you she was a weak candidate.” Henry glares at me. “That guy who applied was a more solid hire.”
“The guy had tangles in his bichon ears and had to be told what a lamb clip means on a standard poodle,” I push back.
“Okay, but he had a bachelor’s in?—”
“A degree means nothing in grooming, Henry. What matters is how someone handles dogs, their knowledge and experience, and skill . That girl and Scarlet might not look amazing on paper, but they are talented in what they do.”
“Don’t get me started on Scarlet,” he says, face reddening .
“Look, I know she’s a hot mess personally.” I roll my eyes. “But when she has it together, she can scissor and blend like a dog hair Da Vinci.”
Henry exhales. “Look, if we call the guy back, there’s at least a chance we’ll have someone to groom the dogs booked for tomorrow. Otherwise, who else will do it?”
I bite my lip and scowl at him because he’s making a familiar sour-faced expression, and I know he’s trying to force me to say it.
“Fine. I will groom them—but I’m not just going to hire the first dog lover who walks in the door and can hold a brush. We need a stronger candidate. And we need to reward them for their skill. Which means we need something special to attract them.”
Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I think it’s horrible that Americans have to pay for their healthcare, but the way the businesses are set up right now, we can’t afford employee benefits.”
I look at him completely straight-faced. “Do you know how expensive healthcare gets in this country?”
“Yes, of course?—”
“Then you can agree it isn’t just a competitive business decision. It’s the right thing to do.” I fold my arms over my chest.
He stares at his screen a long time, not looking at me, and for a second my stomach knots over this whole endeavor. If I hadn’t sold half my company, there would be no discussion. I’d be doing things exactly the way I want.
“I will do some more research, but Lydia?” He turns his screen to face me and levels me with a stern gaze. “Ooh La Pooch causes more headaches and doesn’t perform as well as the daycares. If you really want to pursue employee benefits, we need to close it, or at least consolidate.”
I stare at him, open-mouthed. My eyes flicker back to his screen, though I don’t actually need to see. I’ve known for a while the daycares were more profitable than the grooming. I was just trying not to think about how much.
“I’m not eliminating anyone’s jobs,” I finally say, eyes pricking.
Henry gives a stiff nod. “I thought you’d say that. Why don’t you just think about it? We don’t have to address this today. But if we intend to grow, or add benefits, some tough decisions need to be made.”
Suddenly, all I want in the world is to run home to Anton, curl up on the couch enveloped in his arms, and hear him tell me everything’s going to be fine. But then I remember the distance between us this morning, the faraway look in his eyes, and my stomach knots. How can I ask Anton to comfort me when I should be figuring out how to comfort him?
My phone starts vibrating on the table, and my sister Celia’s contact photo—throwing a bouquet in her designer wedding dress—lights up the screen.
“I’m going to take this,” I say brusquely. And it’s officially a cold day in hell if I’m opting for my sister over anything. “I definitely need some time to process.”