Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Cara
I’m still stewing over the nerve of that man to ask me out for dinner when I pull into the driveway after a long day. Besides my regular appointments, I also had the pleasure of trying to de-stink a something-doodle that had rolled in an unknown but persistently unpleasant substance.
How charming does Hayden think he is that he can just walk into my shop after seventeen years and expect me to share a meal with him? Obviously he’s successful at whatever financial investment-type thing he does, but money and the promise of a fancy dinner can’t buy my forgiveness.
His money could end my misery, though, I think as I enter the side door of the garage.
It’s stuffed with a ton of junk, but there’s a laundry basket in one corner, with a shelf of clothes next to it.
I strip down to my underwear and drop my clothes in the hamper, and then I pull on a clean T-shirt and shorts.
It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s what I have to do to accommodate Gin’s alleged pet allergy.
As soon as I walk through the back door into the kitchen, I can tell Gin’s in a mood. She’s tense and usually she hums or sings quietly while she cooks dinner. Today’s she silent, and she’s chopping a carrot with so much vigor, she’s going to lose a finger if she misses.
That’s fine with me—her attitude, not my mom losing a finger—because my mood isn’t great, either. We can just stay out of each other’s way and keep conversation to a minimum.
I take a quick shower and then set the table while my mother finishes up the sauteed chicken breasts to go with the salad.
We still haven’t spoken and I’m not sure why.
She’s not usually shy about voicing annoyances.
The tension’s getting awkward, but I don’t have the energy to break the conversational ice.
I take my first bite of chicken, and of course she chooses that moment to cave. “Why was that Reilly boy in your shop today?”
And mystery solved. “His dog had a nail that needed to be taken care of, but it wasn’t bad enough for him to go all the way back to Boston to see her regular groomer.”
“How hard can trimming a dog’s nails be?”
Says the woman who’s never tried it. “I’m not really in a position to turn away business, no matter who it is. And I charged him double, if that makes you feel any better about it.”
Gin makes a sound implying it actually does make her feel slightly better.
For some reason that annoys me even more than her anger.
I work my butt off, never saying no to a pet in need, even if it’s after hours or a weekend.
The night Hudson—a mischievous Westie—got chewing gum ground down to his undercoat, I’d already taken my bra off.
But I put it back on and missed my favorite show at airtime, risking spoilers, because pet owners show their appreciation for me with their wallets.
Also, I love animals and I wasn’t going to let Hudson gnaw at his sticky coat all night.
My mother doesn’t get to interfere with that just because her name is on the deed to this house. Pampered Pets Grooming is mine alone, though it’s the primary source of support for both of us, and I’ll make my own decisions and they’ll be in the best interest of my business.
Maybe it’s petty, but her aggravation with the situation makes me want to push her buttons a little bit. “He invited me to go out to dinner with him.”
Her eyes narrow. “He did what? Why would he do that?”
I’m about to tell her he wants to get me on his side, hoping I’ll convince her to sell the house to him, but I change my mind.
If Gin thinks he’s using her daughter to manipulate her, she’ll dig her heels in even harder.
And, yes, that’s what he’s doing, but I don’t need to say it out loud and confirm her suspicions.
“To catch up,” I guess. “We were friends in high school, right up until he stood me up for homecoming.”
Her mouth pinches, reminding me of all the tears and yelling and slamming doors that lasted for days after I finally worked up the courage to tell them I was going to the homecoming dance with a Reilly boy.
“Well, you’re not going,” she says flatly.
Did she seriously just say that to me with a straight face?
I’ll admit I tend to go along with Gin in order to keep the peace a lot more often than I should, but I’m a thirty-five year old woman and I’ll have dinner with anybody I damn well want to.
“Actually, I think I am going to go,” I say and for a few seconds, it feels like some kind of vacuum has sucked all the sound out of the room. Even the refrigerator’s fan motor seems to have quieted down.
Then there’s a familiar rumbling sound.
“Did you hear that?” Gin holds up her hands as the house trembles just enough to make the nested mixing bowls on top of the fridge rattle together. “That’s the sound of generations of Gambles rolling over in their graves.”
“Funny how they timed their rolling with the fuel oil truck going by.”
My mother doesn’t think I’m funny. Actually, she throws her fork down and walks out of the room without another word. A few seconds later, I hear her bedroom door slam.
At this point, I’m ready to have dinner with Hayden out of pure spite.
I have to do a search of restaurants in Concord on my phone. We rarely eat out these days, but even when we did—maybe once a month before my dad died—it was at the corner cafe or the diner here in Sumac Falls.
After almost ten minutes of looking at menus online, I find an entree I want at a place I definitely can’t afford.
If nothing else, I’m going to get a heap of chicken parm out of this.
It would be way too messy to order if it was a first date, but that’s definitely not what my dinner with Hayden will be.
Before I can lose my nerve or talk myself out of it, I text him a link to the restaurant with a note that I’m available any night after six. That gives me time to shower and change. I might even rummage through the drawer in the bathroom and see if I have any unexpired makeup.
It’s not even a full minute before I get a response.
HAYDEN
I’ll make a reservation for Saturday at seven. I’m looking forward to it.
I toss my phone on the table and bury my face in my hands. I probably should have run this idea by Mel first, but she’s on a camping trip. This is the worst possible time for my best friend to have no cell signal.
Thanks to house-induced financial desperation and Gin-induced spite, I’m actually going out to dinner with Hayden Reilly.