38. The Pop-In
THE POP-IN
SAWYER
I can count on one hand the days in my life that I’ve slept in. I can count on one finger the times I haven’t had the energy to get out of bed—and that was the morning after my last triathlon.
Which feels pretty fucking understandable.
Trouble is, it’s Saturday morning, I have to perform a goddamn fucking song and dance tonight in front of the entire town, and I also have to work today—since everyone else is going to be working late tonight, and it’s only fair.
But what am I doing?
I’m lying in bed, scrolling on my phone for cheat codes for Halo.
I should be running. I could be swimming. I could even be walking my dog—although he definitely seems to be enjoying this lazy morning, since he’s lying on his back with all four legs sticking up in the air as he snores.
I’m trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to get through tonight. At the theater. Singing and dancing in front of the whole town while wishing I were with Chloe, and knowing it’s all so stupidly risky.
My phone buzzes with a text message. I click over to it so fast, hoping it’s Chloe.
But it’s my dad.
Dad: This is your fair warning. I’ll be there in ten minutes.
What the hell? I thought he was just coming tonight. I tap out a reply.
Sawyer: Why are you coming now?
Dad: Is that any way to greet your father?
Sawyer: Hello. Why are you coming now? I have to work.
But he doesn’t reply. My phone is deathly quiet. And yeah, I could call him and ask why he’s coming early, but you can’t stop a hurricane.
I throw off the covers, drag my ass out of bed, and take the world’s fastest shower—which I definitely do not sing in. I don’t practice the song I’m supposed to sing tonight.
And I don’t sing anything else either. Not Oasis. Not the Backstreet Boys. Not Poison. Not Bon Jovi. Not Journey. Not Foreigner’s “Feels Like the First Time”—which is a really amazing song, and I love singing it, but I can’t even muster the energy for that.
When I get out, I run a towel over my hair, slick on some deodorant, then pull on slacks and a polo. I head to the door and swing it open just as he’s trotting up the steps. Mister Dog rushes over, wiggling in submissive excitement.
“Hey, buddy,” my dad says, walking inside and closing the door behind him. “I was hoping to meet my grandson soon.”
“Hi, Dad,” I say, and after he and the dog say hello, I shoot him a curious look. “You haven’t done a pop-in in a long time.”
“I believe the last time was about a year ago. When you told me about that little smartwatch incident,” he says, then points at me. “Your words. Little smartwatch incident.”
I drag a hand down my face and over my beard. “Yep. I remember now. I texted you, and an hour later you were there with breakfast.”
When I look down, my father’s holding two cups of coffee and a bag of bagels.
“What I’d really like to know is—how do you know?” I ask.
He shoots me a look like I can’t be serious. “I heard about what happened at Dog Day Afternoon.”
“Word got back to you?”
“We have the internet in San Francisco.”
“I know, I know,” I say, sitting on the couch and scrubbing a hand across the back of my neck.
He thrusts the bagel and a coffee cup at me. “Let me guess. You feel like you messed everything up.”
I feel like I’ve been gut-punched. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think?”
“Am I wrong?”
I sigh. “You’re right,” I mumble as Mister Dog settles down on the floor, curling up into a dog ball.
I take a sip of the coffee and then a bite of the sesame bagel—and damn, it’s good. A little sweet, a little salty, and just the right amount of chewy.
“You like it when things make sense. You like projects to be neat and organized. I had a feeling things didn’t feel so neat and organized, so I wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“A do-over,” I blurt out.
I don’t mean just of the dog event. Or Chloe. Or the goddamn viral video.
I mean of everything.
“So, let’s break it down,” he says.
I turn to him with a wry smile. “Like it’s a business problem we need to find a solution for?”
“Yes. Why do you feel like you messed everything up?”
That’s a good question. I mull it over as I take another bite of the bagel, and when I’m done, I say, “I want to do things the right way. Like you taught me. When you left the business, Dad, you left it in my hands.”
“And you ran it well,” he says, pride in his tone.
Sure. I did. For a while. “Right, but I sold it. I fell out of love with it. And you remember when it was time to sell the business? You didn’t understand why I wanted to make that move. With everything we’d done…you didn’t understand why I was leaving it all behind.”
He takes a beat, drinks some of his coffee, then sets it on the table. “It seemed that way to you, I’m hearing?”
“It was that way. I wanted to show you that I could do the same thing with this dog daycare business. And I just always thought you thought it was crazy to do that.”
He blows out a breath. “I made you think that, didn’t I?” he says with some regret.
“Well…sort of,” I say, but I’m not mad. I just want to…understand it now.
He takes a moment, clearly thinking things through as he looks around my home, maybe taking in the plants, the couch, the dog who owns the place. “I did ask you a lot of questions when you were ready to leave,” he says slowly, “but do you know why I did that?”
I thought I did. Maybe I don’t. “Why?”
“I wanted you to be dead sure of your decision. I wanted you to know in your gut it was the right choice for you. That’s why I still ask you the hard questions—so you’ll know what’s right for you.”
And hell, that does make sense. “Sure. I get that.”
“Is Dog Tails right for you?”
I think of the work I do, the way the employees love it, how I feel like I’m providing a valuable service for the community, how much the clients—human and canine—truly enjoy Dog Tails. “It is.”
“Good.” He knocks back some more coffee and then, having given his full-throated approval with that one simple word, he waits for me to go next, making it clear the conversational ball is still in my court.
“You talked a lot too about staying in the lines, sticking to the plan, maintaining boundaries,” I say, and then my gut twists, but I say the harder thing. “I guess I wanted you to approve of my decision to let the shared business go. And I wanted to make sure I was carrying on those values.”
His sigh is full of regret. “I did approve. I do approve. I’m sorry I never made that clear.”
Maybe he didn’t. But I didn’t ask either. I haven’t been clear with myself. With my employees. Or…with Chloe. “I didn’t either. But I do appreciate everything you taught me. Everything you instilled in me.”
“I know. And I’ll be clear now—I’m proud of you,” he says, and my chest warms. “I’m proud of you whether you do it perfectly or a little bit messy at times.”
I bark out a laugh. “Or a lot.”
“I’m proud of you even if you jump into a pool. Or knock someone in,” he whispers.
“Was that recorded too?” I ask, since I don’t think the phones were out till after the splash.
“Nah, but I took a guess. I was right.”
“I admit nothing,” I say, holding my hands up like I’m innocent.
“I bet you had a damn good reason to knock the guy in,” he says, then wiggles a brow. “Was it about a woman?”
“It was,” I say, and once I say that, the hole in my heart deepens. I fucking miss her.
“Had a feeling. But first, let me ask you something else—this work you do. Does it make you happy?”
“It does.”
“Then what does it matter if you jump in a pool to save a dog? And really, shouldn’t we all jump in a pool to save someone else?”
I laugh, the ridiculousness of the other day hitting me all over again. “Words to live by.”
After another drink of coffee, he asks, “What’s really bothering you? Is it the woman?”
I meet his thoughtful eyes. “Yes, but it’s also…
I didn’t plan to get involved. I didn’t come here to fall in love.
I wanted to set a good example at work, and instead I got into a red-hot romance with a woman I’m working with, and all I can think is what if it goes wrong? How will I face my employees then?”
“The same way you do every day. You’ll walk in, you’ll say, ‘How are you?’ You’ll ask what they need, and you’ll pay the bills.”
I chew on that. Maybe I’ve taken everything too literally. Too seriously. Maybe some boundaries are good, but some can make everything—life, love—harder. “Maybe,” I admit, a little begrudgingly.
“You love this woman?”
“So much. And I’m pretty sure I’ve messed it all up.”
“Well, you were always good at telling businesses how to fix their problems. Maybe figure out how to tackle your own,” he says, then pats my knee.
“I’m going to meet Latanya at the nail salon, and when she’s finished I’ll give her a tour of the town.
Check into our hotel and all that. See you at the show. ”
He leaves, and I sit with my own thoughts—but not for long. I do need to get to work.
And maybe there I can figure out the next steps.
* * *
Once I open the door and walk into Dog Tails, the answer is right before my eyes.
In the dogs.
In the pack mentality.
In the plans we have for tonight.
And in all my employees who turn to me and greet me like I’m—weirdly—their friend as well as their boss.
That’s new for me.
But maybe it’s not as uncomfortable as I’d once thought it would be.
Because if it takes a team to run this place, maybe a team is what I need to win back my woman.
She’s not here today, so even though this goes against my Virgo nature, it’s time for me to bend. To color outside the lines. To make a change.
I clear my throat and say, “I need your help. There’s a woman I need to fix things with. Who’s in?”
Every hand goes up.