Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
ZOEY
The analog clock on the wall finally reaches two.
One more hour, and I’ll close up the shop, prep for tomorrow like my life depends on it, and get ready for tonight.
Even though I told Quinn I was going to make reservations, Luna gave me a great suggestion for an alternative. I cannot wait to put it into motion.
The doorbell jingles and I glance at Colby and Kona strolling in. “Hey, guys,” I say, coming around the counter to pet Kona. “Is Kona loving the snow?”
Colby nods and tucks the leash into her palm. “So much. All she wants to do is run. Has no care in the world that us humans get chilly.” She cocks her head at me. “Something looks different about you. The stress of the holidays must be fading.”
Well, I am destressing at a frantic rate every night.
Not that I’ll say that to a customer. “Oh, well, I think I’ve been exercising more these last few weeks, and that has done the trick.
” Oh gosh, I don’t know how she sees it on me, but Colby gives me a look that makes me blush.
She absolutely thinks I’m full of baloney. “And you are very observant.”
A soft grin passes her face. “I don’t chat with a lot of people, so I tend to notice… nuances. Well, that exercise program seems to be working. I’m glad you found an activity you can enjoy.”
I shouldn’t be dying inside the way I am. But before I break into a giggle or blush any higher, the bell jingles and I peek up at Mrs. Pinkerton stepping in wearing a puffy down coat, fur hat, and her Pomeranian wrapped in a sweater.
Kona’s tail wags furiously and the impatient whimper of wanting to play starts.
Mrs. Pinkerton’s dog starts yapping, loud, cutting through the noise of the chatting customers.
I don’t think that the two dogs have ever been in here at the same time.
It’s obvious that Kona wants a friend and Mrs. Pinkerton’s dog wants to attack.
“It’s okay, Kona. You’re a good girl,” Colby says in a calm voice. She steps in front of Kona and strokes her fur. “We’ll come back,” Colby says to me. “I’ll take Kona around the block.”
I shake my head. Colby should not feel like she needs to leave this place because a seven-pound demon is here at the same time. “No, you don’t have to do that. I can’t imagine Kona hurting that dog.”
“No, she won’t,” Colby says with a small frown. “But the little ones like to bite the bigger ones, and my girl here doesn’t deserve that. It’s okay, I’ll be back in like twenty minutes.”
Mrs. Pinkerton’s dog yaps and snarls, while Mrs. Pinkerton blissfully looks at the display cases.
Seriously, does she not have eardrums? She’s acting like the dog is singing.
I love dogs. I really do. Someday when things settle down, and I can devote proper time to an animal, I’m getting one.
And really, the Pomeranian’s not the issue.
Mrs. Pinkerton’s obliviousness is the issue.
And then… everything seems to happen in slow motion.
Colby moves to the door, the little dog leaps from Mrs. Pinkerton’s arms, yapping as she tears across the bakery.
Kona’s barks are loud and urgent, ready to play with a new friend.
Mrs. Pinkerton’s singsong voice barely makes a dent as she calls out, “Oh, Peaches… come here.” A kid screams bloody murder in the corner, a mom scolds their child, a man in the corner watches the scene unfold.
I scurry out from behind the counter, when Colby positions herself between the little dog and Kona.
“Hey, stop!” I call to the dog as if it will listen to me.
Mrs. Pinkerton claps at the dog but barely moves, and a good-natured chuckle leaves her mouth.
My face grows hot. The little dog lunges, teeth bared, toward Kona.
Colby scoops up the Pomeranian with more fire than I’ve seen from her before.
She has a leash in her hand, the little dog in her arms, and her body blocks Kona as much as she can.
She plops the dog in Mrs. Pinkerton’s arms and storms out of the shop.
I give her a sympathetic nod, turn to face Mrs. Pinkerton, and something in me snaps. Enough.
I march over to Mrs. Pinkerton and the dog, who is still yapping in her arms.
“Mrs. Pinkerton.” I breathe out the shakes from my voice. “I love you coming in here and am so happy you enjoy my shop.” Don’t say sorry, don’t say sorry. Channel my fierce, independent inner goddess and be firm. “But dogs must be on a leash in order to enter.”
Mrs. Pinkerton turns and faces me, her eyes narrowing just a bit. A long moment passes where I think she’s waiting to see if I’m kidding or going to back down. I’m not.
“Well, Peaches really doesn’t like wearing leashes.” She bristles.
She absolutely, positively, flipping bristles. Oh, no… Nope. This is not fair. She must not think this is okay, right? Her dog is a terror, and sure, it’s not the dog’s fault, that rests on the owner, but come on. My neck prickles with tiny sweat beads and I’m twisting my apron so hard it may snap.
“I can understand that Peaches doesn’t like that very much.
But these are the rules. If Peaches can’t wear a leash”—I swallow back the boulder lodged in my throat—“then Peaches is no longer allowed in the store. I’m so sorry.
” I’m cutting myself a break for apologizing on this one, because this is hard and doesn’t feel very good.
“Well, I never…” Mrs. Pinkerton turns on her heels and stomps out of the store.
My cheeks burn so hot I’m not sure if I’m considered feverish.
The customer to my left looks at me, and I’m worried she’s going to stomp out, too.
Instead, she leans forward and says, “Thank you, Zoey. My toddler has been too scared to come in here since a few months ago when that dog barked at him in the stroller. I really appreciate you saying something to her.”
The heat dissipates from my body. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.” I glance at Luna ringing up orders. “Be right back.”
She nods, and I rush into the kitchen to fully exhale. A moment later, I grab my phone and press call as I move back to the office.
Quinn answers with a heavily breathed “Hello.”
“Hey,” I say. “Did I catch you in the middle of a workout?”
“Ah, sorry, no,” she says, a slight strain to her voice. “Just up on the ladder.”
I slump into the office chair and sigh. “Seriously, you shouldn’t answer your phone when you’re on a ladder. I promise I won’t think you are up to something nefarious if you send me to voicemail.”
A small chortle sounds from the phone. “I will always answer your call.”
She says it sweetly, but there’s a finality in her tone that I know she’s serious. Swoon. I roll a pen across the table with my palm. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, you know…”
I do, in fact, know. Or at least I have a really good idea.
Quinn finished setting up her shop a few days ago.
And it’s perfect. From the Santa stand to the calligraphy signs pointing to the free hot chocolate and marshmallows, to the s’more stand, she transformed the previously bare barn into a truly spectacular winter wonderland Christmas shop. Quinn is ready.
But at night after I’m done at the bakery and head out to the barn, Quinn does the same thing for hours—shifts a product a few inches to the left, then to the right, then stands back and stares for a while until she returns it to its original position.
Besides the first day I met her, she’s only snapped at me one time, and that was two days ago when I told her that all the shifting of products in the world is not going to make or break her shop.
In hindsight, I thought I was being helpful. She did not.
She’s burnt out, nervous, and not only navigating a new relationship, but a first relationship. Thankfully, when we’re alone, she lets herself fall and I hold her until I’m convinced she’s rested. But for her own sake, I feel like I need to force her to take a break.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yep. Do you have two minutes for a quick story?” When she says yes, I tell her about what happened with Mrs. Pinkerton.
“Damn… What have you done with my gentle, sweet, passive girlfriend?”
Girlfriend. She said the word. Oh my gosh, she said the word! I’ve thought it, felt it from the moment we kissed in the alley, but didn’t want to totally spook her. And now, I’m beaming. I’m literally beaming so wide the light is probably ricocheting from my teeth and bouncing against the walls.
“Although…” Quinn says, “you’re not always sweet and passive…”
Oh, that huskiness in Quinn’s voice. And now heat flushes my body.
She’s right, though. Quinn has unleashed something almost feral in me, and my sexual inner goddess is exploding.
Yes, we have sweet, romantic, beautiful sex in my bedroom.
But I’ve also been on my knees behind her in the shower, pushing her into the wall, with her wrists bound in my hands, seeing how loud I can make her scream using my tongue along with a waterproof dildo.
A man’s voice calls out in the background at the farm. “I have to go,” Quinn says. “The crew is here to help me move the precut trees. Tonight, I want to hear every single detail of how you were a badass with Mrs. Pinkerton.”
“Let’s just say after all that even Chuck Norris himself wouldn’t bring in an unleashed dog.” I laugh and roll back on the office chair. “But seriously, I just told you the story.”
“Nope, I want the full exclusive. How you felt, how she looked, if the dog bit you, everything,” Quinn says. “I miss you.”
My smile grows. “I just saw you a few hours ago.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do know what she means. Having the luxury of spending every waking moment with Quinn this past fall while my bakery was closed is something I’ll never take for granted.
But now, she’s in the heart of her busy season, which will stay busy leading up to Christmas, and our time is limited.
Thank gosh she’s slept over every night since the first night, or I’m not sure I could handle it.
“Don’t forget to save your appetite for tonight,” I say.
“That will not be a problem,” Quinn says, with a chuckle. “But I’m so curious what you have planned. Do I get a little hint?”
“None. Just wear something nice, and I will pick you up at six.”
“You know I can drive over to your place, right?” Quinn says. “Pretty sure I’ll be sleeping over anyway.”
“Pretty sure you will, too.” A smile inches across my face. “But tonight, I’m giving you a proper date. And I cannot wait.”
After we hang up, I settle back into my chair and tap my fingers against the desk.
As far as girlfriends go, Quinn is not fussy or high-maintenance; she has a go-with-the-flow mentality about how we spend our time together.
But just because she is complacent does not mean that I can slack.
I look around my office. Think, think. I need to have a wow factor tonight.
When I step out of the office and into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks. I rush into the fridge, scour the racks, and my insides start to tingle.
I know exactly what I need to do.