Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
ROMILLY
The first thing I notice about Elena Ferrera is that she means business. I don’t know if it’s her firm handshake or the way she gazes directly at me through the stylish glasses on her button nose. There’s a self-assuredness about her that makes me instinctively stand a little straighter.
“ The Meadow Bee is so happy to have you. Paige spoke highly of you for our Small Business Spotlight. And she was right. This place is great.” She snaps a photo of me standing in the lobby with no warning.
The sharp click of the camera makes me flinch, but I recover quickly. I paste a smile on my face in case she continues taking photos—the smile that’s won a dozen pageants and mollified countless customers. “Thank you. I’m honored to partner with you.”
She snaps another photo. The flash bounces off the glass counter behind me, leaving me momentarily blinking. “I’m going to photograph the interior if you don’t mind, and then I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
“Of course.” I nod and gesture toward the grooming stations, but she’s already moved on, her camera lens trained on the teal-and-pink accent wall. Her efficiency makes me feel slightly breathless, like I need to catch up.
I excuse myself to go find Bash. He’s in the back room, already washing a Pug named Winifred. The scent of sweet almond shampoo fills the air, mingling with the tang of wet fur. As soon as I lay eyes on him, some of the nerves leave my body.
As if sensing my gaze, Bash turns, his hands still submerged in the tub. A soapy bubble clings to the end of his nose, and he wipes it off with his forearm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Elena is here.” I bite my lip, trying to steady my voice. “Could you just…I don’t know. Make sure you’re on your best behavior?”
He smirks, one dimple appearing in his stubbled cheek. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Bash.”
“I’m kidding, pumpkin.” His grin widens, but it softens when he sees my expression. “Of course I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll charm the pants off her if you’d like.”
Jealousy blooms, unbidden and sharp. The thought of Elena swooning over his smirk or his laugh hits me harder than I’d like to admit. “Well, maybe not that far.”
“Alright, got it.” He winks. “Be charming, but at a level which ensures all pants stay on.” He searches my face, probably expecting me to laugh.
But he must see how nervous I am because his brows draw together in concern.
“Romilly, it will be impossible for her to scrounge up anything bad to say, even if she tries. Trust me. You’re not doomed to fail again, I promise. ”
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile from spreading. “Thanks. I’m going to see if she’s done taking photos.”
I speed-walk back to the lobby, where Elena is crouched near the counter, snapping a close-up of my decorative basket of grooming supplies. Her camera clicks rapidly, and her highlighted ponytail sways as she adjusts angles.
She looks up when she hears me approach. “Can you tell me about your color choice for the lobby? Maybe dive into what made you go with teal and pink?”
I chat with her for a while, explaining the inspiration behind the decor—calming tones to make pets feel at ease, paired with cheerful pops of pink to give the space personality. She nods along, her tablet balanced on her knee as she types furiously.
Thankfully, I chose not to schedule many dogs today. Mostly all of them are baths except for later this afternoon, when she’ll already be gone. This way, I can spend as much time as possible mitigating any negative impressions of my business she might form.
Elena seems satisfied with my answers, nodding as I speak and typing on her tablet with fingers that fly across the screen. A customer enters the salon, and both of our gazes dart to the door.
Mrs. Long, one of my elderly pet parents, hobbles in. I smile and greet her before turning back to Elena. “I’m going to let my bather know Mrs. Long is here to pick up Winifred.
I head back to the grooming station, where Bash is spritzing pet perfume on the Pug’s dry fur.
“Mrs. Long is here,” I tell him.
He nods and grabs her leash, securing it to Winifred with ease and patting her on the head. “Right. Let’s get you to your mum.”
I follow him to the front of the shop, where the evidence of last night’s rain is still visible through the windows. Droplets cling to the leaves of the oak trees lining the street, and the retention pond just outside glistens, brimming from the downpour.
Bash hands Winifred’s leash to Mrs. Long. “Here you go, ma’am,” he says, and heads to the computer to ring her up.
Elena studies him with open curiosity, her fingers pausing over her tablet before she scribbles something down. “Would you like me to include him in the article?” she asks, looking at me.
“Sure. His name is Sebastian Black and—fun fact—he’s also a professional fighter. His fighting name is Bash the Smasher.”
Her brows lift in intrigue, and she tucks a highlighted strand of hair behind her ear. “Interesting. I think readers will love that.”
After asking Bash a few questions, which he answers smoothly, she sighs in satisfaction. “Perfect. I think I’ve gotten just about everything I need here.”
“Great. I’ll walk you out, then. Thanks, Elena.”
Mrs. Long is already halfway out the door as we approach. She tries to hold the door for us with wobbling hands, but she loses grasp of Winifred, and the Pug goes running right out the door.
“Winifred!” Mrs. Long cries, reaching out, but it’s too late. “Not the water. Not the water. She can’t swim!”
The little dog bolts straight for the retention pond.
“No!” I shout, already sprinting after her.
Bash is faster. He darts past me, his long strides eating up the distance. By the time Winifred tumbles into the pond with a splash, Bash is already diving in after her.
The world seems to hold its breath. I watch with my hands clasped tightly over my mouth. Elena’s camera clicks relentlessly, but I barely register the sound.
Bash resurfaces with Winifred cradled in one arm, paddling toward the edge with the other. I nearly collapse in relief when he pulls himself out of the water and sets the soggy, but safe, dog onto the grass.
Winifred gives a mighty shake, spraying droplets everywhere, before trotting back to Mrs. Long.
“What just happened?” Elena asks, wide-eyed, her tablet poised mid-air.
I explain quickly, my voice shaky. “Pugs can’t swim well. Their flat faces make breathing while swimming nearly impossible. They just—” I stop, swallowing hard. “It’s really dangerous for them.”
“And your bather-fighter just saved the day?”
I nod. My gaze drifts to Bash, who’s wringing water out of his soaked shirt.
Elena grins and resumes typing. “This is going to make a fantastic addition to the article. Do I have your permission to include it?”
“I—of course.” My words come out in a stammer, because I’m still having trouble processing what just happened. “That would be fine.”
Elena thanks me, packs up her camera, and drives off, leaving me and Bash standing in the damp grass.
Bash trudges the rest of the way over to me, shaking water off him.
He looks mildly annoyed, but I’m distracted because of course, of course he didn’t wear his scrubs today.
He just had to wear a white, long-sleeve shirt and fully immerse himself in a retention pod, only to emerge looking like the BBC version of Mr. Darcy.
“Thank you for saving Winifred,” I mutter, still staring at his chest.
He scowls, shaking water off his arms. “Little beast just had to go for the water, didn’t it? Does this mean I have to bathe her all over again?”
I can’t help it. I laugh.
Mrs. Long approaches us with her dog. “I’m so sorry for the trouble. I don’t know what she was thinking.”
I take the leash from her. “Don’t worry. I’ll give her a quick shampoo and dry her off. She’ll be back to one-hundred percent in no time.”
She places a hand to her chest. “Bless your heart, dear. And you,” she says, turning to Bash. “Thank you so much for saving her.”
“Of course. It was my pleasure,” says Bash. Ever the charming gentleman.