Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
BASH
I’m not sure what I expected Romilly’s workplace to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this .
Paw-shaped flagstone leads a pathway through the grass to a small, wood-paneled building nestled between downtown Meadow Hills and a suburban development.
It’s mostly isolated, save for a horse ranch half a mile down the road and a used car dealership.
I open the glass, storefront-style door and step into the entryway.
More wood paneling, but this time with teal accents on the doors, ceiling, and curtains.
There’s an entire wall painted light pink, and a group of coral accent chairs opposite the check-in desk.
Behind them is a wall dedicated to displaying a variety of leashes, collars, and… pet clothing for sale.
There are no cages in view. I don’t hear the barking and screeching of animals who think they’re being tortured. There’s a subtle scent of bleach, but it doesn’t sting my nose because it’s masked by a more intentional, pleasant aroma.
“Good morning, Sebastian.”
I smirk when I hear her voice. “Great place you got here,” I say, turning to face her. She’s wearing normal clothes instead of a uniform: straight leg jeans and a green, bohemian-style top.
Romilly beams. “Thanks. I actually had to move back with my parents to save up enough to afford it. I’m just grateful it all paid off.” She opens the picket-fence gate dividing us and motions me to join her on the side of the room.
I follow her to a kennel area against a wall.
But it’s not just any kennel area. It’s a long, horizontal strip with teal gates closing off each section.
But the most amusing part of all is the framed portrait of each dog hung above their designated area.
She literally has portraits of her canine clients hung on the wall.
I point to the photos. “So, you clearly love animals, but this is a bit excessive, don’t you think?”
She laughs. “I just like my dogs to feel welcome. I keep fluffy beds for them here, too. That way they’re nice and comfy while they wait for me to work on them.”
“I see.” How is it possible that she just got even more adorable?
“The first thing I’m going to show you is how to prepare the kennels for the day.
The photos are kept at the front desk, in the drawer on the right.
” She points to the line of kennels. “And the pictures aren’t just for aesthetics.
They’re a visual reminder of my schedule for the day, and they get switched out depending on who’s coming.
So, as you can see, we’ll be working on six dogs today, and the order of the photos represents the order in which they’ll arrive. ”
I smirk, examining the dogs. “Dibs on the Chihuahua.”
She fights a smile. “You’ll take that back, I promise. Besides, you’ll be working on all these dogs. Just like I will.”
“Wait…what?”
“You’ll need to wash, dry, brush, trim the toenails, and brush the teeth of each of them. Those are the duties of my bather.”
“Is that all?” She doesn’t miss the heavy sarcasm lacing my voice.
“If they need it, you’ll also have to express their anal glands.”
We stare at each other for a moment as I try to determine whether she’s joking. When she doesn’t crack a smile or burst into laughter, I contemplate thanking her for the opportunity and continuing back home. Mum and Dad’s controlling, oppressive nature doesn’t sound half bad in retrospect.
The bell on the front counter echoes through the room.
Romilly beams and immediately twists her long, black hair into a bun at the nape of her neck.
A little squeal escapes her as she bounces on her feet and gently claps her hands together.
“It’s Kujo! I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s the best. Come on.”
“Did you just say Kujo ?” I blink several times as she heads toward the front desk before processing that this is my life at the moment. Sebastian Black, working man. And not just any job. She wants you to express anal glands. Why is it again you’re so obsessed with her?
At the front of The Paw Spa is an elderly lady holding a leash attached to a dog larger than she is.
His coat is black with a splash of white on the tummy, and his eyes look yellow at first glance.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more terrifying dog in my life, in fact.
His gaze locks onto me immediately, like I’m an intruder in his home.
I swear his eyes shine red for the half second he takes me in, and then a loud, booming bark rips through his massive body.
No. No way is she going near that thing. Instinctively, I capture her hand and tug her back before she can approach it, earning a questioning glance from her.
“You can’t be serious, Romilly.”
Her face clears. “Trust me.”
She removes her hand from mine and waves at the lady. “Mrs. Camden, it’s a pleasure to see you again!”
“Hello, Romilly.” The elderly woman wobbles toward us, extending the leash forward for Romilly to take. “Looks like you have new help around here?”
I resist the intense urge to step in front of Romilly before she can take the leash, in case the dog decides to rip her face off or something. “I’m Bash,” I tell Mrs. Camden. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“He’s The Paw Spa’s new bather.”
Mrs. Camden looks skeptical as she takes me in. I wonder what she thinks of my crisp button down, my designer jeans and shoes, or my tattoo-covered arms. “What happened to Lana?”
“She’s moving,” says Romilly. “Packing as we speak.”
“First Agatha, now Lana? That’s a shame. I really liked her.”
Romilly stiffens but pastes a smile on. “Don’t worry. Bash here is well-equipped for the job. Or at least, he will be by the time I’m done training him.” She pats my shoulder. I’m hyper-aware of the contact, even after she takes her hand away.
“Just so you know, Kujo doesn’t like strange men.”
Romilly laughs. “No problem. Bash can mostly observe till they get to know each other better.”
“All right, then. Well, I’ll be going now.”
“Bye, Mrs. Camden.”
The woman leaves us alone with her…thing. I can’t even refer to it as a dog because I’ve truly never seen anything like it. “What breed is Kujo?” I ask.
“He’s a Cane Corso.”
Terrifying as he is, I can’t help but admire Kujo’s strong frame and menacing glare. I even kind of relate to him for a moment because here I am, judging the guy by his looks when the same thing always happens to me. I sigh. “Where do we start?”
She gestures to the dog with her chin. “We check him for any open wounds, matting, or dental problems."
“Alright.” But I make no move toward him.
Romilly must sense my hesitation, because she laughs a warm, bubbling sound. “He may look scary, but trust me. Kujo is such a softie." She gracefully kneels to the ground, reaching her hand out to peel back his lips. He wags his tail, letting her examine him, making me feel like a complete pansy.
"Let me try.” I model her movements, kneeling down beside her.
But when I reach my hand out, the massive canine's lips curl on their own. The skin at the top of his snout bunches together, and a low growl escapes him. I return to a standing position and cross my arms. “Not fair, mate. You haven’t even given me a chance to show you I won’t hurt you. ”
Romilly looks amused. “Come on. I’ll show you what to do, okay? Then I’ll expect you to take over with the other dogs today. But I’ll still be able to help you, since this is your first time working with animals.”
She leads me and Kujo to the washing area.
I swear the dog looks over his shoulder at me a couple times, simply to glare.
I try to pay attention as she shows me which shampoo and conditioner Kujo gets every time and directs me on how to wash him by modeling everything for me.
She has no issues scrubbing the massive dog down, getting him nice and clean.
She even trims his toenails with him right there in the bath, and the dog is perfectly polite, handing her each paw one after the other.
She shows me how to dry him with the velocity dryers attached to the wall, and how to brush his teeth as well.
I can’t help but admire her courage, the simplicity with which she performs the task. “What do you need a bather for? You’re so good at this.”
She blushes. “Thanks. But I need the help because I have to take a minimum of thirty-six dogs a week in order to afford this place and still make a profit. And both washing and grooming them all would take too long by myself. So having a bather on staff allows me to just focus on the grooming part, and it saves me half the time.”
“I see. Why don’t you hire more groomers as well, so you can make more of a profit and work less?”
“I…um…” She continues in a hushed, embarrassed tone, “The only other groomer in town doesn’t want to work with me.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“My last business failed, so she doesn’t trust me anymore. And I-I totally understand. It is what it is.” She stares at her hands as she worries them together, and I’m prevented from answering when another customer enters.
This dog, Janet, is a Yorkie, and much smaller than Kujo. Much more cooperative when I try to pet her, too. Romilly monitors me as I complete all the steps she demonstrated, stepping in occasionally to correct me, and reminding me what to do next.
The more dogs I work on, the more I get the hang of it. It’s all new to me, never having owned a pet before. And though I like dogs just fine, it takes me a while to get used to the smell of them when they’re wet.
“How am I doing?” I ask her.
She glances over from her grooming table to see my progress with an Australian Shepherd named Rosie. “You’re doing fine for now. And don’t worry, it won’t take long for you to improve. Hands-on jobs like this one make a fast learner out of anyone.”
I shake my head. “I’d love to learn how to not make a mess of my clothes.
Look at you. No fair.” Compared to me, Romilly looks spotless.
Her jeans have a few clumps of hair sticking to the bottoms near her ankles, but otherwise, no one would ever guess she’s been grooming dogs all day.
I, on the other hand, am not only completely soaked, but covered in so much hair, I’m starting to feel itchy.
But I continue. Because I’m determined to do a good job no matter how uncomfortable I am.
When it comes time to bathe the Chihuahua, Romilly hands me a tiny pink muzzle for Angel to wear. “You’re going to need this. Trust me.”
And she’s right. Angel makes sounds I’ve never heard before as I lower her into the water-filled tub. She snarls, twists every time I touch her. If it weren’t for the muzzle, I’d be way too scared to even touch her.
“You’re right,” I mutter. “I’m eating my words right now.”
She giggles. “Told you.”
A grown man like me, scared of a dog smaller than my boots.
This is truly a new low for me.
When I walk through the front door, it’s six p.m., and Ingrid is putting away leftover spaghetti she must have made while I was gone. I’m exhausted, but I know I don’t have a chance of making it past her to escape to my room as soon as I see her face.
Her mouth falls open as she takes in the chunks of fluffy dog hair stuck to my trousers, shirt, and face. The scratch marks on my forearms. The water squishing in my shoes.
“This is too good to be true,” she states in an even tone.
“I don’t want to hear a word.”
“Whoever this Romilly is, I’ve got to meet her.”
I roll my eyes. “Enough, Ingrid.”
“I mean it. Look at you, Bash. She got you to work . Like, actually lift a finger. I’ve simply got to meet her. Invite her over for brunch.”
“Brunch?” I arch an eyebrow. “You mean you want to serve her food from a can, or what we’ve been taking from her church?”
“Of course not. We can buy real food, because you have a job now.”
I arch a brow. For all the day’s moments I spent close to giving up, wondering how on earth I landed myself in this situation, only to push through from sheer determination and stubbornness, I forgot all about the reward portion of my hard work. The money.
“I made two hundred dollars today in tips alone, Ingrid.”
Her mouth falls open. “How come I never get tips like that?”
“Because you never smile.”
She scowls. “Whatever. I’ll go to the store in the morning. And I’m working this weekend, but invite her over for brunch next week. I’ll cook. When is her next day off?”
“Tuesday,” I say, and then realize what she just said. “Wait… you’re going to cook?”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “I’ve been learning new recipes. Haven’t you seen me watching the cooking channel? I just made spaghetti for the first time.”
I scratch my head and then feel a foreign substance beneath my nails. Probably nail grinds or dog dander. My stomach churns. “Fine, then. I’m going to shower.”
As I climb the stairs to get to the bathroom, I hear Ingrid whisper to herself, “Simply got to meet this woman.”
But I hardly register it, because excitement stirs in my stomach.
With this kind of money, I can finally get back into a gym to train.
I turn on the shower. While I’m waiting for the water to heat up, I send a text to my agent, Max.
Me
Any sponsors bite yet?
Max
Sorry, Bash.
Me
None? Why?
Max
It’s all still the same. You’re unproven in your promotion and your flashy debut wasn’t enough. Sponsors want consistency. Discipline. Proof you’ll stick around and perform.
Me
But I’m an undefeated street fighter.
Max
Yeah, but they don’t have that proof. And that’s kind of a running joke in Munera. Every street fighter claims he’s undefeated.
Me
But…I went viral online
Max
You’re one of many who have gone viral, and some fizzle out quickly. Sponsors just want to make sure you’re legit before they invest. But don’t worry. They’ll come eventually.
Eventually. But not before my next fight. Which means I won’t get the payday I’m hoping for if I win. Not even close.
And that will only keep me right where I am, or worse.
Running back home like my parents want.
Closing my eyes, I pray, Lord, if this is what you want for me, please help me succeed.