Chapter Twenty-Six
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Caprice
Are you and Anton for sure spending Thanksgiving in Ohio?
Unless the earth opens up and swallows me.
Caprice
Crossing fingers for seismic activity. ??
Can I ask a TINY favor?
Of course. What’s up?
Caprice
Could you watch a video and tell me what you see?
Sure . . . send it over.
My phone pings again as I exit the Dunkin’ drive-through. I’m less than five minutes from The Pooch Park, so I pull it up once I’m in the parking lot. At first, I’m not sure what I’m looking at. There’s a person walking toward the camera, they hover in front of it, then they walk away. The whole thing is only fifteen seconds long, and I’m wondering if she even sent me the right thing. But when I restart it, I recognize the hallway outside Caprice’s apartment through the weird fish-eye lens of the peephole camera.
I sit up straighter and watch again.
It looks like a white guy carrying some kind of sack. He comes down the hall from the elevators, stands in front of her door, then turns around and heads back the way he came.
I turn up the volume and watch again. He doesn’t say anything, and he’s staring so hard at the ground I can’t see his face, but there’s a clear knock when he gets to her door.
I dial Caprice. “When was this? Did you get some kind of delivery?”
“It was Tuesday when I wasn’t home,” she says, voice wavering a little. “And no, I never have anything delivered.”
I press my lips together. The guy could have just knocked on the wrong door. It happens all the time. Even my neighbors have received our Thai delivery before. But something about the video doesn’t sit right with me.
“Did it seem like he was trying to hide his face?”
She huffs. “That’s what my brother thinks.”
“You showed it to Theo?”
“He wouldn’t stop asking about the camera, wanting to know how often I checked it. So yesterday I gave him the passcode and told him to monitor my neighbor’s DoorDash habit himself. Apparently he went through hours of footage. I had only glanced at it and assumed the guy was going across the hall.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Was this the only weird thing Theo saw?”
She scoffs. “I mean, depending on how you define weird? But yeah, pretty much. The guy only came by once, and it was the only time anyone approached my door.”
I tap my finger against my lips. “Well, my take—it definitely gives me a weird vibe. But since he didn’t do anything besides knock, and it only happened once, I’m not sure what you can do.”
“Yeah,” she says, voice unsteady again. “That’s sort of where I’m at too.”
“What’s Theo’s opinion?”
She sucks her teeth. “He wants to organize a stakeout. ”
I chuckle briefly, but then I clear my throat. “Maybe you should check the videos more carefully. And it might not be a bad idea to run at the gym again, at least for a bit. Unless you want to resume our jogging buddy system?”
“If we make it a power walk,” she says, amused. “That actually sounds nice. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
I bite my lip. It has been weeks—we’ve only met up for lunch once since I found out I was pregnant, but she asked a lot of questions about why I had no appetite. I haven’t exactly been avoiding her since. More like keeping her sharp, journalist instincts an arm’s length from my knocked-up hormones. But my nausea has started to settle and the weather has cooled. I might not be ready to tell her or anyone else our news. But I miss her. If I’m careful, she might not notice anything different about me.
“Let’s do it. I’ll see you Sunday morning.”
I release Heartthrob as I push through the front door of The Pooch Park, donut boxes balanced precariously in my arms. Tomás looks up from the computer with raised brows. We don’t have a staff meeting. I’m not even supposed to be at this location today, but I asked Henry for a face-to-face chat in my office, and the Dunkin’ drive-through was between here and the house.
I set the boxes down on the counter, clutching the small, hot cup of decaf I ordered with them, trying to pretend it’s the real thing. Anton and I might disagree about what changes to make to our home, but I am grudgingly following his yes-list . I take prenatal vitamins every morning. I try to drink the sixty-four ounces of water I’m supposed to each day, even though it makes me pee nonstop. And I’ve been avoiding soft cheeses, undercooked anything, and alcohol. Not that I drink much anyway. But sweets aren’t on any yes or no list—so they’ve become my vice.
I have to admit, though, it’s a relief coming to work where no one questions what I eat, asks how I’m feeling, or otherwise has any clue about my condition .
“Dibs on the Boston cream,” Tomás says, carrying the boxes to my office. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Lydia. We’re short-staffed and I could use some help unpacking the food delivery if you have a sec.”
“Of course.” I furrow my brow. “Who didn’t show up?”
“Nadia is apparently having car trouble. But Jamal and Stella have got it, I think. We’ve just been tag-teaming.”
I frown. We only hired Stella a week ago, and she doesn’t have much experience. “Why don’t you go back with them for a bit. I’ll stay up front and unload the dog food. I’m just waiting on Henry.”
Tomás disappears into the playroom in a chorus of barking, and I get started putting away a large pallet of dog food. It crosses my mind as I’m slinging forty-pound bags around that pregnant women aren’t supposed to lift heavy things. But the food isn’t going to put itself away, and I’m not about to make excuses to my own manager. There are only two more weeks left in the second trimester anyway, and despite my misgivings, everything’s going ridiculously smoothly.
Ready or not, here a baby comes.
The door chimes as I’m stacking cases of canned food, and a high voice shrieks, “ BIG doggie!”
I pop my head around the retail shelves to see Heartthrob nose to nose with a familiar toddler by the front door. She’s looking at him with a face-splitting grin, and he’s staring at her curiously with his tail arced over his back. Paloma reaches out and strokes his ears more softly than I would have expected, and in return, he slurps his tongue up the side of her face.
She squeals with delight. “Doggie kiss!”
Behind her, I spot Marisol holding Biscochito’s leash. She catches my eye and waves, pointing to an earpiece on the left side of her head. “Right, Harold, but you told me the shipment would be here Friday and it hasn’t even been sent out.”
Oh. I recognize that sort of conversation. I take the leash out of her hand with a nod, then glance at Paloma, standing there in pigtails and an adorable white-corduroy dress. “Do you want to see where Bizkit plays?”
She claps her hands, and I wave at Tomás through one of the windows. He retrieves the terrier mix, but as soon as they disappear I realize the little girl can’t see where he’s gone. I glance back at Marisol, but she’s facing the other way, deep in discussion.
“Um... is it okay if I pick you up?” I ask Paloma.
She raises her arms automatically. “Up! Up!”
Awkwardly, I reach under her arms. I handle four-legged creatures all day long, but other than Celia’s infant, I can’t remember the last time I held a tiny human. I’m surprised by how light she feels. And how easily she settles in my arms, fitting into the crook of my elbow and wrapping her little arm behind my neck. She smells faintly of strawberry yogurt.
As soon as she glimpses the playroom, her eyes go huge and she lunges forward, pressing her face against the glass. “Doggies!”
I smile, recognizing a fellow animal lover when I see one. My mother and Celia have always said I was nuts for dogs by this age. “Yes, look at them running around. Aren’t they silly?”
Paloma watches, clapping, with a smile that lights up her whole face. I smile too, and out of nowhere, I’m flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. I realize, with some surprise, that I’m not in a hurry to put her down. It’s... different than when I held my nephew. If I’m honest, Marisol’s bright-eyed daughter is more interesting than a sleeping bundle. The expressions on her face and the way she pronounces words with so much care is undeniably cute. And she doesn’t seem as fragile as an infant. When she turns in my arms and smiles right at me, that warm feeling intensifies. Vaguely, I realize it must be hormonally driven. But it causes something to ease in my mind.
Maybe I could do this? At least, if our little raspberry-olive is half as cute.
As I grapple to accept that I am now referring to the human-looking cluster of cells in my uterus as a fruit, Paloma turns her head and screeches. “Mama! Doggies!”
Marisol glances at us from where she stands by the front desk, still talking. She waves, and to Paloma’s and my dismay, turns away.
Paloma juts her lip out and slaps the window. “Go doggies.”
“Uh... what? You want to go in there?” I shake my head. “Sorry, we can’t. It’s only for dogs.”
Paloma aims a surprising scowl right at me. “Go doggies! ”
Pulse spiking, I glance back at Marisol, who’s still pacing back and forth on her phone. Worried the little girl will start screaming during her business call, I set Paloma down and look her in the eye. “How about this... Um, do you like donuts?”
Paloma’s eyes go huge and she claps, nodding. “ Pease! ”
Grateful for a distraction, I lead her into my office where the bakery boxes sit on the desk. I can’t really remember anything Marisol fed her when we met at the restaurant, but the kid’s enthusiasm convinces me she’s had one before. I have Paloma climb onto the vinyl couch, then put a pink frosted donut with sprinkles on a paper napkin and place it in her lap.
“Fank you,” she says adorably, smiling like the sweetest little cherub. And then I watch in horror as she proceeds to destroy the donut, only getting small amounts in her mouth as she squeezes until frosting oozes between her fingers, smearing the rest all over her face and clothes.
“ Oh . Oh my?—”
I reach toward her with both hands, but I have no idea what to do. Taking it from her seems like a bad idea. But do I just stand by and watch this pink frosting destruction until her mom finds us? Her outfit is done for. She’s going to need a full-on bath. If we were at Ooh La Pooch, I could at least put her in one of the tubs.
At that moment, Marisol steps into the office and takes in the scene.
“I—I’m sorry,” I say, wincing. “This did not go quite how I expected.”
Marisol presses her lips together, raising her eyebrows at Paloma. “Did you get a dessert?”
She nods, beaming like she found a pot of gold, and holds out a fistful of goo. “ See? ”
Marisol glances at my face, then chuckles. Without missing a beat, she reaches into her purse, which I now realize is some sort of stylish diaper bag. “This is why baby wipes were invented. And why we always carry a change of clothes.”
I stand by, twisting my fingers and feeling useless as she lets Paloma finish, then strips her down to a diaper and systematically wipes down every inch of her skin.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Her outfit was so cute.”
“Her dad bought that,” Marisol says, dismissively. “Honestly, who dresses a toddler in white?”
I look up, surprised by the humor in her tone. “Um... my mother did. And she got near hysterical if my sister or I dropped a single crumb.”
“Oh goodness. If I freaked out over every mess, I’d lose my mind.” She pulls a pink-striped shirt over Paloma’s head and sinks to the couch, rummaging in her bag until she pulls out a tablet in a plastic case. “Here, P. How about some Bluey ? Honestly, I could use a donut.”
I blink. I’d expected her to swoop Paloma out the door, in a hurry to get far away from me and my wearable pastries. But since it doesn’t look like she’ll be unfriending me just yet, I hold open a box for her to select one herself.
She takes a bite of something chocolate frosted and sighs, sinking into the couch. “Oh, this is exactly what I needed.”
I pick out a glazed ring for myself, stealing glances at Marisol while she closes her eyes and chews. She’s dressed professionally, in slacks and cute chunky heels with her hair styled in trendy waves. Even with a toddler in tow, Marisol always seems so professional. So together .
But the exasperation currently on her face is something I can relate to.
“Supply chain got you down?” I ask, nodding at her phone.
Her lip curls. “Well, I shared your suggestion with my production team, and we did decide to go with a line of extra-tough dog toys. They’re going to be part of their own specialized box. I’m really excited about it.”
“That sounds perfect,” I say, sensing there’s more.
“Yeah. If my supplier ever gets his act together, it should be great.” She sighs. “What’s new with you? Any more thoughts about expansion?”
I snort. I might dread Caprice figuring out what I’m hiding, but for the briefest moment, I consider telling Marisol the truth. That I’m pregnant and overwhelmed. Afraid my business partner will exploit my maternity leave and inability to balance things to make changes I don’t want. Part of me wonders if she’s already guessed. I might not have a baby bump yet, but what if she can tell? Is there some second sense other mothers have? Maybe she could offer advice.
But she just waits for me to answer, so I force a breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, reminding myself there’s no rush. Plenty could happen in the next few weeks, and there’s no sense in sharing until after Thanksgiving when my mom’s told the whole world anyway.
“Yes, I’m considering it. I’m still not big on a franchise, but Henry and I agreed to talk. There are some things I’d like to do, and...” I pause a moment, my mind spinning with too many logistics. “Well, it’s worth having a discussion.”
At that moment, the front door chimes, and I’m about to jump up to see if there’s a customer when Henry blusters through the door.
“Hi, sorry—” He stops short when he sees Marisol and Paloma, then looks at me. “Ah... car trouble.”
His hair is disheveled and his shirt un-tucked. Not only that, I know for a fact he just leased a brand-new Porsche. I glance at my watch, only just realizing he’s nearly an hour late. “You look like you could use a donut too,” I say, offering him the box.
Henry declines. So far, the man does not seem to have a sweet tooth in his body. That, or he hasn’t created a spreadsheet for enjoying sugar.
“We’ve got to head out anyway,” Marisol says, standing and gathering her things. “Don’t want to miss story time at the library.”
I wrinkle my nose, walking her out the door while Henry fixes himself some tea. “Sorry again about her outfit,” I mutter.
“Are you kidding? Thanks for giving me five minutes to talk on the phone uninterrupted. Juggling the business mom thing is no joke.” She smiles. “But Paloma never cooperates for anyone but me. You’re great with kids.”
This catches me off guard. “I... I’m not. But I figured treats worked for Pavlov.”
When I head back into the office, I close the door, ready to leave everything but the Pooches outside, at last. Henry has parked himself on the couch, texting intensely on his phone, and I watch with interest. He is apparently furious with whoever it is.
“Right,” he says, tucking it away when he sees me. “Now, what was it you wanted to discuss. And why couldn’t we do it properly in the conference room?”
I glance at him again. Like my husband, Henry keeps himself in superior shape, but he’s a pretty tall man. He looks somewhat ridiculous folded up like origami trying to fit on my tiny IKEA couch. Back when I was only running a single Pooch Park and Ooh La Pooch by myself, this tiny office was my headquarters. Home base for everything. Some nights I even slept on that couch. I can see why Henry prefers his conference room at the new location, but I needed to be in my safe space for the conversation we’re about to have.
“Well, I’ve been doing some thinking...” I take a deep breath. “What would you say to a Pooch Park III?”
Henry shifts his jaw, studying me. But as each second ticks by, I’m more sure this is the right move.
“I’ve been thinking over your suggestions,” I go on. “And while adding bathing to the daycares is fine, I think we could do something really intentional with a new location. Make grooming part of the design from the get-go.”
Henry shakes his head and chuckles. “You want another business? After... four months?”
“Go big or go home?” I say, avoiding his eyes, afraid he might laugh.
“Why?” he asks, sitting forward in what I have come to think of as his cutthroat CEO pose.
I purse my lips. “I thought all the reasons you needed came in tens and twenties.”
He frowns, then leans back and sips his tea, looking like an out of place gentleman, crammed on my small sofa. “We could just keep running the three shops we have. They make money; they’re plenty to keep you busy. Why make this the next move?”
I sit back in my desk chair, hand resting over my stomach—until I realize what I’m doing and pull it away. That isn’t the reason. But it is a reason to put a plan in place. If we make these decisions now, there will be less room for him to second guess me later. Once he doesn’t just see me as his business partner, but also a mother.
“Look, I know you want to franchise. You’ve wanted it since the first time you offered to buy the Pooches. And while we both know I have very different feelings, you probably understand better than me that a model like this would make that easier.”
His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything, so I continue.
“In the dog industry in particular, success only comes with the right ingredients. You suggested we close Ooh La Pooch—but I propose we open Pooch III and incorporate it there. We’ve already established there’s demand. It would solve the overhead, reduce costs... maybe even get to a place we can offer employee benefits.”
Henry straightens. “Ah . . . now I see.”
I allow myself a small smile.
“So, your plan to avoid eliminating jobs is to create a whole new business model.” He strokes his chin, then picks up the notebook he always carries and starts jotting things down. “Lydia, you’re either crazy, or a very savvy businesswoman.”
I chuckle. “Maybe a bit of both.” But as I watch him write, I realize how much I’ve missed this. With everything going on at home, and in my womb , I haven’t been focused enough on the Pooches. I feel more energized sitting here hashing out this new vision for The Pooch Park than I have in weeks. But then my conversation with Anton flits through my head. How he wants me to step back, take time off. I frown.
Henry puts his pen down and shifts to his laptop. Crunching numbers, if I had to guess. My least favorite part of business planning. Which I guess is why this works. I supply the vision—he brings a talent for numbers and projections.
“We don’t want to grow too fast,” he mutters. “We’ll need to do more market research. Scout locations. Maybe consider other areas of the city. And while I’ve still got some capital, I don’t think we can really make a move on this at least until Pooch II’s profits match Pooch I. But we are on track to get there, so maybe in the spring...” He pauses, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “You do know this will be a lot of work.”
“I know,” I say, and I can’t help grinning.
He shakes his head. “I guess Anton was right about not giving up on you.”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
“He told me you might come around about the franchise. ”
My mouth sours. That doesn’t seem fair. “We might be laying the groundwork, but I’m not committing to that yet.”
“Of course.” Henry gives me a patient smile, then turns his laptop around so I can see a bar graph on the screen. “But if we do, in another five to ten years, our profits could be here.”
My nostrils flare, studying the image. Truly, the Pooches have never been about the numbers for me. I have always been able to pay my bills. And as long as my clients and employees were happy, anything else they earned always felt like a bonus. But despite his ability to tolerate dog hair on Armani, Henry’s had dollar signs in his eyes since day one. And if he’s been strategizing a franchise with Anton, maybe I’m the only one really invested in the Pooches.
I take a deep breath, thinking about Marisol keeping her cool while going through a divorce, dealing with inept shipping companies, and finding her daughter swimming in pink frosting. Then I reach for the bakery box on my desk.
“Well. I think this calls for a donut.”