40
W e quickly settle into a routine of working during the day and training the dogs or hanging out at night. I’m treated to Leo fresh out of the shower, curled into a ball sleeping at two in the morning, and chasing me around the kitchen with peanut butter on his finger, ready to dab my nose. I don’t have the urge to be anyone but me, and I think he feels the same. Consequently, AlCaponesGhost25 and SingerQueen are on hiatus. Now if I want to tell him something, I just do.
A few days after my birthday, the florist down the street enters Happy Paws with an armful of peach-and-cream roses in a vase.
“Oh, those are darling,” my customer says. “Someone must think you’re very special.”
I don’t have to look at the card to know who that someone is. One glance across the street at the grinning man in the window tells me everything I need to know.
As soon as I’m alone again, I send him a text. Believe it or not, but I’ve never gotten flowers before.
He responds, You must have hung around the wrong people.
The crisp-sweet scent makes me smile every time I pass the counter, and when I go upstairs, I bring the vase with me. I would take it to bed if I could.
Leo knows exactly how to get my attention and hold it. Little by little, my sewing pile grows. I vow to spend my days off catching up, but then he invites me to go ice-skating or to go listen to a band downtown, and it’s so easy to say yes to him. I sleep over at his place as many nights as I sleep at home. My back is thanking me for it, but the dogs are not. In the back of my mind, I know I should slow things down, but I also haven’t felt like this since… I don’t know when.
When more than two-thirds of November has passed, Micki enters the store with my mail in her hand one day and a wrinkle above her nose. “You forgot to bring this in again,” she says. “Ugh, it smells like a funeral home in here.”
I shove the rest of my turkey sandwich into my mouth and take the stack of envelopes and mailers from her. I probably should throw a few of the bouquets Leo’s given me away. Some are definitely past their prime.
I finish chewing. “It’s not that bad.”
“Because you’re living in it. I’m telling you, it’s too much.”
As she says so, the door opens, and the florist enters again, carrying another bouquet. My heart sinks. The first one with the roses was a romantic bull’s-eye, but Micki is right—the daily offering is a little much.
Micki purses her lips but doesn’t say anything until the woman is gone. “It’s sweet and all, but please tell him to stop. This isn’t you.”
I unwrap the pink-and-burgundy arrangement and throw an old bouquet into the trash so I can use the vase. “But he likes doing it.” I pick up the tiny envelope that’s attached to one of the buds.
“Another note, too? It’s like he’s read a manual on how to be the perfect boyfriend and is determined to top it.”
That’s when I realize why the flowers no longer make me giddy and warm. He’s trying to impress. And while I loved the first thoughtful gesture, being showered in gifts isn’t what makes my heart go boom. Not like a home-cooked meal for my birthday or a genuine compliment. He’s doing this for him. But why does he think he has to court me like this?
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I tell Micki.
“You should talk to him. Maybe no one’s ever told him try-hards are a turnoff.”
God, I’m so stupid. This is Leo we’re talking about—the guy who’s never been allowed anything but excellence. He’s just falling into old patterns.
“I’m going to throw some of these out,” Micki says, shrugging out of her coat. “Flower corpses scare away customers.”
While she wanders the store, I sort through the stack of mail. One envelope in particular stands out. It’s from our landlord. I did pay the rent, didn’t I? I tear it open, and praise be, it’s not an overdue notice. Dear tenants , etc., etc. I skim the text until I get to the final paragraph where reality smacks me across the head so hard that tiny dogs flutter around me like stars. The rent increase… I knew about this, have known since early spring. And I forgot. Come the new year, the whole block is being rezoned, and the cost will be incorporated into our leases. Fuck me all the way to the Emerald City.
“What is it?” Micki stares at me while wiping a rotted leaf off her hand.
I sink onto the stool behind the counter and show her the letter. My stomach is solid lead. “I haven’t planned for it.” I bury my face in my hands. When I open them, the first thing I see is the next envelope in the pile—another notice for the electrical bill. To the right of me is my sewing machine that’s gone largely untouched since my birthday. And behind Micki, the store is devoid of customers. A glance out the window tells me Leo is having no such woes.
“I think I’ve messed up,” I say.
Micki’s eyes rest on me, dark and serious. “Nothing you can’t fix, right?”
“I don’t know.” It’s like waking from a dream, a fluffy pink mist dissipating to reveal concrete blocks and smokestacks. Now I smell the decay in the air. It’s making me nauseous. “I have so much to do.” I never even followed through with that vendor who didn’t deliver my dry food.
Micki leans over the counter and places a hand on my arm. “You can do this. How can I help?”
Where do I start? I can’t believe I dropped the ball like this. Because of a guy. “Would you mind feeding the dogs? And then finding the holiday signs in storage?”
“On it.” Micki takes off up the stairs.
Okay, what’s next? My pulse is a palpitating mess that sends flashes of heat up my neck. How could I let myself forget what’s at stake here? When Harvey is discharged, do I want to hand back the place in worse condition than it was before he fell? No. Tell him he and the dogs will be out on their asses come January first? Hell no.
“Eyes on the prize, Cora,” I mutter. And I was wrong; Leo isn’t the prize. The prize is $15,000, and Cholula, Boris, and Cap living out their full natural lives with us, the people who love them most. Don’t get me wrong—I’ll lose myself in Leo’s arms tonight, too—but he can’t be my priority right now. I’m going to have to tell him I need to take a step back. A small step. Temporarily. I need to focus.
I call the vendor first, and after being patched through from customer service to vendor service and billing, they insist my order was delivered as agreed.
“And I’m telling you, I never received it.”
They put me on hold once again to a discordant version of “Santa Baby.” I rub my forehead where tiny elves wield sledgehammers on my skull.
“Ma’am?” The service rep sounds as tired as I feel. “I have your delivery confirmation right here.” She rattles off the number of boxes, which is twice what I ordered. “Delivered October 29.”
“No, my order was for six boxes, and I never got them,” I say again, getting out of my seat and pacing toward the window.
She starts responding, but at the sight of Canine King, I stop listening. What if…?
“Sorry,” I interrupt her. “What’s the address on the delivery slip?”
She tells me, and while the street name is right, the number isn’t. She has Leo’s address. “I’m going to have to call you back,” I say and hang up as she asks if I’d like to place a new order.
Leo answers on the second ring, his voice warm in the way that makes me want to purr when I’m with him. Not today. I get right to it. “Hey, did you get a delivery from Pet-Pet Foods a while back that was bigger than usual?”
He looks up, finding me across the street. “How did you know?”
Damn. “They bundled our orders. I’ve been looking for those boxes ever since.”
“That’s a bummer.”
Bummer? It’s a little worse than that. How many customers have gone elsewhere because I haven’t been able to deliver? That food is our bestseller. I crack my neck. Not his fault , I remind myself. “At least I figured it out. Would I be able to come get them now? Micki can cover here.”
“Um, hold on.” He disappears from view. “I only have two boxes left. I assumed Jaz had placed a duplicate order again, so I did a promotion. This stuff flies off the shelves.”
“Okay, but I paid for them.” It sounds snippier than I intend.
“Obviously, we’ll settle that. I’m not trying to rip you off. I honestly didn’t know.”
Micki returns from the depths of storage with two signs that she holds up for me. I nod.
“I know,” I say to Leo. “I’ll be right over.”
“There should be two more signs,” I tell Micki after hanging up, grabbing my jacket from its hook. “The snowflake one we always put in the window and that old easel blackboard. Harvey always does a deal of the day on that for December.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
I explain the situation and ask her to watch things while I’m gone.
“Wait, so he had your boxes? And sold them? Wow, if you guys weren’t a thing, one could almost suspect he’s still trying to take out the competition.”
I stare at her, my insides chilling.
“Which, obviously, he’s not,” Micki hurries to add. “Right?”
“Right.” I swallow. He’s not. He didn’t know.