Chapter 33Rose
Chapter 33
Rose
I was leaning over the end of the table to grab another stack of race bibs when Princess stuck her muzzle in my face and gave me a big smouch.
I dragged the back of my hand across my lips and kissed her head in return.
“You made it, baby girl!” She and I communed for a moment while I gave her some belly rubs.
Rafe stood grinning down at me. He was dressed for the chilly-yet-not-rainy weather in a tight T-shirt revealed by an open-necked Henley covered by an unbuttoned flannel shirt. I knew what was hidden under all those layers. I didn’t trust myself to know what was buried in his heart…I’d gotten that wrong before.
I grinned back though, because I was too chicken-shih tzu to ask him or to reveal what was hidden in my heart. We were running out of time, and not just for the event.
The Turkey Dog Jog was due to start in a half hour, and I was staffing the registration table along with Lauren. We were checking in people who’d already submitted their forms and fees as well as collecting said forms and fees from last-minute newbies like Rafe.
“So Finn got to you, eh?” He’d been reluctant to join in the fun since he was busy roasting up a storm before he left next week. But I’d sicced my son on him—that boy is hard to resist.
I slapped a registration form on the table with one of Mica’s vet clinic pens. “That’ll be thirty bucks, please.”
Rafe pulled out his wallet and handed me three tens. Once he finished the form, I passed him a race bib and recorded the number and other info on my sheet.
“That goes on your chest,” I informed him, circling my finger over my front to demonstrate. “Not on your back or on Princess.”
He flicked a glance down at my long-sleeved Turkey Dog Jog T-shirt and back up again. His eyes heated, and so did my face.
Easy to read your mind. And that’s a big “nope.” No time to get all hot and bothered. I’ve got a dog jog to run.
“Want to know how this works, seeing how this is your first time?”
His lips quirked to one side, and he nodded as I stood.
I pointed to the starting line where a banner stretched overhead on two poles: 19th Annual Johanssen’s Turkey Dog Jog in huge bold letters.
“At ten o’clock sharp, Erik will stand to the side and wave a Chocolate Lab dog bandanna above his head to signal the start. One year, he stood on a ladder in the middle—nearly got knocked over. Another year, we tried a whistle for the start—dog howling and baby crying ensued.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” Rafe and Princess exchanged a look.
“Everyone takes off to walk or jog on the path outlined by orange cones. Luckily, Dogwood Park is pretty level. Some folks push their dogs or kids in strollers. We’ve even had participants in wheelchairs and mobility scooters. In fact, there’s Calvin now.”
I waved at one of our neighbors who was sitting nearby on his custom scooter and talking to Jen. His ancient peke snuggled on his lap, already fast asleep.
“How long is the course?”
“It’s based on a 2K running path around the park—not too long. That’s less than one-and-a-quarter miles.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. Oh yeah, right. Army. He knew kilometers.
“Katt’s set up a photo booth in that tent over there. Choices of two or three standing frames with Turkey Dog Jog painted in fancy letters across the bottom. She’ll put the photos online this coming week, and people can buy print or digital versions. Super generous—donating all her time, materials and sales.”
Miss Ada wandered by, and Rafe barked out a laugh. “Are those hot dog buns on top of her girls?”
“You bet. Costumes are definitely a ‘thing’ today. That’s part of the reason for pictures, you know—recording the moment for posterity.”
“Don’t some of the dogs break ranks on the course?” He side-eyed a pair of passing Jack Russells as he asked. “Start barking or get combative?”
“Oh, sure, sometimes. But we count on their people to know their dogs and judge if this is the right place for them. Although, I shouldn’t talk.” I scrunched up my face before going on.
“One of our earlier Labs—Bonny Lass—got a case of the zoomies. She tugged her leash out of Mom’s hand and ran around like a loonball in the middle of the course. Mom tried to be embarrassed, but she was laughing so hard, I don’t think she succeeded.”
I pointed to another tent where a big sign proclaimed THE DOGTOR IS IN .
“If any dog does need first aid—like for a cut or a sliver in the paw—Dr. Mica is set up over there. If it’s more serious, she’ll get them into her clinic, refer them back to their own vet or even call the animal hospital.”
Rafe swung back to me and pushed out, “Well, BZ, Rose, BZ.”
“Yuh-huh….” I squinted up at him. “We’ve all been busy with this event.”
“Nope,” he corrected. “BZ is short for Bravo-Zulu. Army-speak for ‘well done.’ So…BZ.”
“Ah. Okay. Thanks.” I rubbed the toe of my sneaker in the grass. “Me and an army of other helpers.”
“Yeah, but you were the general,” he stated.
I stepped closer and looked up to meet his warm, cobalt-blue gaze.
“Hey, Rafe, how’s it going? All packed for Boise?” Lauren piped up from beside me. We both jerked back.
She’d finished checking in Jean-Luc and Cab and was now eavesdropping. I frowned at her, and she widened her eyes at me. What a troublemaker. She knows I’m trying to work up my courage for a talk once Thanksgiving was over.
Finn saved the moment by walking up to hand Rafe a tiara headband, trimmed to an inch of its life with pink feathers and sparkly rhinestones.
“For Princess?” Rafe asked, eyebrows pulled together.
“No, for you,” my smart-aleck son answered. He waited a beat and said, “Of course it’s for Her Highness. See—Pirate’s got his own headgear.”
Finn had engineered a pirate’s tricorn headband from one of his old Halloween costumes, complete with a skull and crossbones in the center and a tiny parrot plushie attached to the side. The creation hung lopsided off Pirate’s head as he nuzzled his girlfriend’s ears. Hmmm…how long is that hat gonna hang in there?
Finn must’ve had the same doubts. He clapped a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and said, “Let’s get over to the starting line, man. We’ll hit Katt’s tent afterward if things are still…intact.”
Princess graciously accepted her tiara from Rafe, and the four of them moved toward the starting area.
As soon as they were out of hearing, I turned to Lauren and started with “Why are you—” when Kenzo rushed up to the table with his sweet pittie mix, Nama, in his arms. Besides donating gift certificates for his chocolate shop to the treat bags sitting behind our table, he’d entered his girl in the dog jog.
“She threw up over there,”—he motioned with his head—“and tried to eat it!”
“Oh, poor baby!” we cried in unison.
“It’s probably just the excitement of so many dogs around, but I want to get her checked out. I need to clean up after her first though.”
He was torn. Touching to see the panic on the face of the big guy for the little pup in her bedraggled tulle tutu. We’d both been there with our own pups, so we got it.
“You’re in luck—we’ve got a veterinarian here today for that very purpose.” I nodded toward Mica’s tent. “Don’t worry—we’re experienced dog moms. We’ll clean things up in a jiff.”
Kenzo nodded his thanks and headed off. We grabbed plastic bags and paper towels from our supply box and found the pile of throw up. I was about to get back to Lauren’s blatant prodding when there was a burst of barking and cheering and, yes, some howling too.
The Turkey Dog Jog was underway.
It was hard to hold my tears back, and we were only halfway through the evening.
The Chocolate Lab always stayed open late Thanksgiving Saturday, what with all the families in town for the holiday and the holdovers from the Turkey Dog Jog. Adam was seated at his keyboard taking requests, with Elvis songs still a fave. Finn, Lauren and a couple of our kids were on hand to run orders out to the tables. Mateo and I kept busy pulling coffee drinks and prepping food.
Rafe was in the back, packing coffee beans he’d roasted this afternoon.
Crowds and noise aren’t my thing, he’d reminded me, returning to the roastery after a quick sandwich for dinner. Although he had weathered the packed dog jog just fine and even stayed behind to help dismantle the tables and tents for return to the rental place. Pete had wandered back there to help after he’d walked Liliana and Ana in.
Finally, I was taking a breather behind the counter. Big mistake…because I was losing it.
Up until then, I’d been in motion every moment of the holiday week. I’d planned it that way—no gaps permitted.
When I wasn’t catching up with Finn, I was drinking and scheming with Lauren. When I wasn’t buried in stuffing prep for Thanksgiving, I was assigning dinner duties left and right. When I wasn’t working at the café, I was huddling with our team for the grocery store pilot.
Overseeing the dog jog had filled any spare moments. And organizing our traditional post-turkey music night—that’d served as the last distraction. Or was it the last straw?
Even during my limited time with Rafe—because we couldn’t seem to stay away or sleep away from each other—I’d been bent on squeezing every feeling, physical or otherwise, out of each moment.
Yeah, I’d gotten through my first Thanksgiving without Mom—thanks in part because we’d celebrated her memory everywhere. Now I was a mess, facing tomorrow, the next day, the next week…alone.
Finn was going back to college, my bestie was departing to wind up her divorce, and now Rafe was leaving early on Tuesday. Why, oh, why—when I was hoping for a few more days to delay talking to him? An early snowstorm was hurtling down the Gorge midweek.
I swallowed hard and dropped my head back, blinking fast to absorb the tattletale tears. Cannot, should not, will not, do this here.
“Ah, Rose.” Lauren grasped my hands on the counter, her voice full of sympathy. That was enough for the tears to slide out when I brought my head back up.
I was losing it when I most needed to get it together to talk to Rafe on Monday. To screw up my courage, put on my big-girl cheekies and tell him how I felt.
Tell him what fears I’d kept to myself, what dreams I’d hid from him.
Ask him to come back. Come back to Portland, to Dogwood, to the Chocolate Lab.
Come back to me.
“You don’t need to be scared,” Lauren whispered, stretching closer to talk over the deafening sounds of “Burning Love” coming from the corner.
“You haven’t seen the way he looks at you on the QT.”
“And how’s that?” I whispered back, grabbing a paper napkin to blot my cheeks.
“His eyelids go to half-mast, he tilts his head back like he’s going to stare you down, but instead he stares at you,” she shared. “Like he can’t get enough, like he can’t turn away, like he’s watching to jump between you and a speeding car.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Okay, enough. You had me going there for a minute.”
“No, I’m serious. In other guys, I’d cry stalker . In Rafe, I shout smitten .”
“That’s you exercising your marketing-guru superpower,” I protested. “You read consumers’ minds for a living. After my false starts…”
“In the far past, girlfriend!” she interrupted me.
“Still. After my heartbreaking false starts,” I hissed, “I don’t trust my own judgment when it comes to guys and what they want.”
“Girl, since you’re not a mind-reader, there’s only one way to find out. Why don’t you ask the man himself?”
“Because I’m afraid of his response.”
Lauren drew back and cupped my cheek across the counter, wiping away a last tear with her thumb. We stood there until the song finished.