The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  He ran his index finger along the curve of her back. “You have. I’m officially a member of the Cult of Dog. Pass the Kool-Aid.”

  She tucked her head under his chin. “So what are we going to do now?”

  “I vote for more of what we just did. As long as we’re both down at your level, we might as well wallow.”

  “You silver-tongued devil.” She gave him a playful pinch, then got serious. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can do anything you want to me.”

  She shifted her weight on the sofa, setting off a fresh set of squeaks. “What does this mean?” She nibbled her lower lip. “For us. Does it mean anything?”

  He took so long to reply that she finally lifted her head to see what he was doing. As soon as she made eye contact, he said, “It means so much that it’s all I can do not to start asking dangerous questions.”

  She unleashed another fifth-date kiss. “What kind of questions?”

  He cupped her cheek in his palm and shot her a warning look. “You know exactly what question.”

  “So ask,” she dared.

  When he hesitated, she took matters into her own hands. “Okay, well, if you won’t ask, I will. Evan, will you—”

  He pressed his hand over her mouth. “Hey! Stop. I’m the guy. I get to ask.”

  “Don’t be sexist. We’ll do it together,” Lara suggested. “Okay?”

  “Okay. On the count of three.”

  “One, two, three,” they chanted, their voices jumbling together. “Will you marry me?”

  “Jinx,” she said. “You owe me a Coke.”

  “How about I give you a ring instead?” He got up, went back to the bedroom, and returned with the diamond ring, which was still encased in the plastic sandwich bag.

  “I love it.” She couldn’t have been more thrilled if it had been presented in a little blue box with a bow. “But can we dip it in boiling water before I put it on?”

  After they both threw on their clothes, Lara padded into the kitchen to fill a pot at the faucet and turn the stove burner on while Evan brought in Honey.

  The jowly brown hound bounced between Lara and Evan, sniffing and wagging and drooling for joy.

  Then she looked right at Lara and did a clumsy sideways stagger, almost like a four-footed canine jazz square.

  “Did you see that? She’s dancing.”

  “I told you, she’s got moves.” Evan used a pair of metal tongs to retrieve the ring from the plastic bag. “You should see her on the soccer field.”

  Honey opened her mouth in a dopey doggie grin and did it again. She tripped over her huge paws and careened face-first into her water dish, then lurched back onto her belly, whereupon she crossed her front paws daintily and waited for applause.

  Lara looked into Honey’s droopy eyes and fell deeply in love. It wasn’t rational and it wasn’t what she expected, but it was undeniable.

  At long last, she’d met her new soul mate. And as luck would have it, her new soul mate just happened to be a package deal with the love of her life.

  Chapter 32

  “So you’re getting married.” Justine nodded in resignation when Lara broke the news over dinner at the house in Mayfair Estates. “I always knew you would.”

  Lara was through apologizing for her choices. “That’s right. I’m getting married, I’m blissfully happy, and guess what? I don’t care if you approve.”

  “Good. You’re a grown woman. You don’t need anyone’s permission.” Her mother paused just long enough to torture Lara. “I do approve, though.”

  “You do?”

  “Why does that shock you?”

  “What about all those warnings about the pitfalls of letting your guard down and trusting a man?”

  “I am the one who will never fully trust a man again. I am the one who can’t let her guard down. You are not me. You have your own path.” Justine reached for her BlackBerry and snapped into business mode. “My calendar is filling up for the next twelve months, so we’d better nail down a date immediately. Are you thinking about a spring wedding, or summer?”

  Lara waved one hand dismissively. “We’re just going down to city hall. Nothing fancy. But don’t worry, we’ll find a time when you can come.”

  Justine went very still. “Excuse me?”

  Lara knew she was in trouble, but she couldn’t figure out why. “What? You don’t want me to find a time when you can come?”

  “You are not going to city hall, so rid yourself of that ridiculous notion right now.” Justine brandished her butter knife like a shiv. “I will disown you if you go to city hall.”

  “I thought you just said I had to make my own path.”

  “You can find your path after I throw the wedding of the year.” Justine gulped her white wine. “City hall? Bite your tongue, you ungrateful child. Let me spell this out for you so there’s no misunderstanding: We are throwing a wedding. A big, extravagant, black-tie affair with crystal and caviar and a twelve-piece band. You are going to wear a couture gown and you’re going to like it.”

  Lara groaned. “Mo-om, no.”

  “Yes.” Her mother’s tone left no room for debate.

  Lara tried to debate anyway. “Formal affairs make me sweat. And I’m pretty sure white lace gives me hives.”

  “You’re the bride. All you have to do is glide around looking pretty.”

  “Evan’s not into all this stuff, either.”

  “Evan?” Justine craned forward as if she couldn’t possibly have heard this correctly. “He’s just the groom. He doesn’t get a vote.”

  “And all that expense for one day? It’s such a waste.”

  “It’s not your money, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.”

  “There’s no point in arguing with you, is there?”

  Justine scooped Mullet up from the floor and started feeding her scraps of salmon from her plate. “None whatsoever.”

  “Well, if I’m going to have a fancy, formal wedding full of people I barely know—”

  “You are.”

  “—then all the guests will get to bring a date, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you have to bring one, too.”

  Justine didn’t miss a beat. “I have a plus-one.” She scratched the top of Mullet’s head.

  “No, you have to bring a human date. Did you go out with Ivory’s owner yet? What was his name?”

  “Jay. And you know very well that I don’t date.”

  “So you shot him down in cold blood?”

  Justine hemmed and hawed and rolled her eyes before admitting, “We met for dinner at the country club on Saturday, but I made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t a date.”

  “Whatever. How’d it go?”

  Justine lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t have the urge to disembowel myself with a steak knife.”

  “All right! We’ll call that progress.”

  “Don’t make more of this than it is. Jay and I enjoyed a lovely tasting menu along with reasonably entertaining conversation. The end. I know you refuse to believe it, but that’s all I’m interested in at this point in my life.”

  “I do refuse to believe it.”

  “That’s because you’re an incurable matchmaker. But the truth is, not everyone has to be paired off to be happy. I like my life the way it is. After so many years by myself, I’d be completely unsuitable for cohabitation with a man. The snoring, the blobs of shaving cream in the sink, the obsession with golfing and sports cars . . .” Justine grimaced. “No, thank you.”

  Lara laughed. “So you and Miss Mew-lay are going to live happily ever after?”

  Justine nuzzled the contrary little mutt, who went limp and played dead. “She may hog the covers, but she never contradicts me or whines about my work schedule.”

  Then Lara heard it: the distinctive bing from the laptop open on the counter.

  “Hey, what was that?” she asked.

  Justine toyed with her gold watch. �
�I believe that was my computer letting me know that it’s my turn in Scrabble.”

  Lara’s jaw dropped. “You’re playing Scrabble with someone else?”

  Justine’s cheeks flushed. “Yes.”

  “But I’m your online Scrabble buddy!”

  “Calm down. You’re still my Scrabble partner. But you’re busy, and you’re only going to get busier as we start planning your big day and moving forward with the nonprofit. I’m allowed to have more than one game in progress.”

  “Who’s your opponent?” Lara demanded.

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  But living with Justine had taught Lara a few things about playing hardball during negotiations. “Spill your guts or I elope to Vegas.”

  Justine gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me. I’ve got a three-day weekend coming up and a hankering to say my vows to Elvis.”

  After a two-second standoff, Justine caved. “Jay,” she choked out in a dramatic whisper.

  “First the tasting menu, now Scrabble.” Lara rubbed her palms together. “The plot thickens.”

  “We play Othello, too.” She sounded so mortified that Lara had to tease her just a little.

  “Maybe you should be the one picking out a wedding dress.”

  “When hell freezes over. Now, let’s get down to business.” Justine, still cradling Mullet, stood up and crossed to her laptop, where she started pulling up wedding Web sites. “Tomorrow morning I’ll call the bridal salon at Neiman Marcus and make an appointment. Do you prefer a mermaid silhouette or A-line? Silk satin or silk charmeuse?”

  Lara tuned out the second she heard the words bridal salon. She gave her mother a blank look. “Whatever you think. You have great taste.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re going to be agreeable about this.” Justine clapped her hands together. “I’ll start interviewing event planners, and we’ll need to come up with a head count estimate as soon as possible so we can book a location. I’m thinking the Four Seasons or the Biltmore.”

  “Should I invite Dad?” Lara asked. “He’s still not speaking to me or acknowledging my existence in any way.”

  “Yes,” Justine said firmly. “He’s your father; you have to invite him. It’s up to him whether he attends or not.”

  “He won’t come,” Lara predicted. “He’s teaching me a lesson.”

  “And I’d say you’re better off for having learned it, wouldn’t you?”

  Lara picked at her cuticle, then dropped her hand when she noticed Justine’s frown. “I guess we’ll just skip the traditional father-daughter dance.”

  Justine came back across the room and covered Lara’s broken, unvarnished nails with her own flawless manicure. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ll dance with you.”

  “A mother-daughter dance?” Lara looked up, surprised. “I don’t think that’s Emily Post–approved. What will people think?”

  “I don’t give a damn what people think.”

  “But appearances matter, you know. I have it on high authority.”

  “My daughter matters more. I’m the hostess, and I’ll dance if I want to.”

  “What will our song be?” Lara tried to come up with an appropriate theme song for her mother. “‘Independent Women’ by Destiny’s Child? ‘I’m Every Woman’ by Chaka Khan?”

  “It’s a wedding, Lara. The song should be meaningful. It needs to say something about who you are and what having you in my life has meant to me.”

  “If you say ‘Butterfly Kisses,’ I swear to you I’m going to the justice of the peace at nine a.m. tomorrow morning.”

  “I was thinking something a little more upbeat. Something to get everyone out on the dance floor.” Justine paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “‘Who Let the Dogs Out?’”

  Chapter 33

  “Happy zeroeth anniversary.” Lara kissed her groom. “Happy zeroeth anniversary to you, too, although I’m not sure such a thing really exists.”

  “It’s less cheesy than saying the first day of the rest of our lives.”

  “It is, and I appreciate that.” Evan closed and locked the door of the riverside cabin they’d booked for their honeymoon in Sedona. Although the little bungalow’s exterior looked rustic, the interior was all French cotton sheets and bedside Belgian truffles.

  “My feet are killing me.” Lara grimaced as she struggled with the tiny bejeweled gold buckle on her ivory stiletto sandals. “I will never understand why brides are expected to spend the whole day running around in shoes that effectively hobble you.”

  Evan leaned down and kissed the nape of her neck. “Hobbled or not, you looked amazing today.”

  “Thanks. My mom picked out the gown.” Lara yelped as she felt a cold, wet nose replace Evan’s warm lips. “Gah! Honey, off.”

  She heard the click of nails against hardwood as Honey scuttled off and leapt up onto the bed.

  In addition to selecting Lara’s gown, Justine had also selected Kerry’s maid of honor dress, the venue, the flower arrangements, the invitations, the menu, and most of the guest list. The result had been a gala worthy of a five-page spread in Martha Stewart Weddings.

  Lara looked up at Evan and smiled. “I think today was the happiest day of my mom’s life.”

  “But she doesn’t believe in marriage.”

  “Exactly. This was her chance to throw the wedding of her dreams without having to bother with any of that pesky commitment.” She held out her arms and examined her freshly paraffined skin. For the last five days, she’d reported to the Coterie salon in Scottsdale every morning like it was her job, checking in at nine a.m. and clocking out promptly at five. She’d been buffed, waxed, plucked, polished, exfoliated, and slathered with acetone until the staff deemed her suitably transformed. “I think I finally lived up to her expectations.”

  “Your mom’s proud of you. You know she is.”

  “She has to be—I’m her employer now. But I’m proud of her, too.” Justine hadn’t tried to hide behind a scarf or a veiled hat at the reception. She’d selected a fashion-forward pale green suit, put on a light layer of makeup, and made the rounds, personally greeting every guest along with her date. “Did you like Mullet’s new ’do?”

  The Shih Tzu had also been subjected to the full spa treatment, and was almost unrecognizable after having her hair trimmed, shaped, and subtly highlighted to complement Justine’s gold jewelry. Lara had administered the finishing touches this morning, adding volume around the muzzle and ears with a few well-placed spritzes of Big Sexy Hair.

  Evan loosened his tie and went to work on his shirt cuffs. “I have to tell you, I didn’t even notice Mullet.”

  “Too busy staring at your hot new wife?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “But surely you noticed that Honey looked even prettier than usual.” While her mother had obsessed over every detail of the event planning, Lara had focused her energy on training the bloodhound to walk down the aisle on a white rose-entwined leash in preparation for her role as ring bearer.

  Honey had hit her marks perfectly, holding a ten-minute sit-stay while Lara and Evan exchanged their vows, and coating the rings with only the bare minimum of drool when Evan untied them from her collar. But when the groom kissed his bride, Honey had raised her muzzle and let loose with a roof-raising howl that would have done Frederic and Elfrida proud. And Kerry’s baby girl had joined in as well.

  In the spirit of joy and new beginnings, Justine had let Honey live, but she’d been banished to the back room during the reception. (Mullet, of course, had a seat of honor at the head table.) Everything else had been picture-perfect—with one notable exception. The father of the bride hadn’t shown up. Gil and Trina had sent their regrets, along with one of the bone china place settings that Lara (or, more accurately, Justine) had registered for.

  Evan kicked off his shoes and flopped back on the enormous four-poster. Lara joined him, curling up against his chest.

  Not to be left behind, Honey wrigg
led her way into the embrace and collapsed across her humans’ feet and shins.

  “How can such a skinny dog weigh so much?” Evan marveled. “I swear, her bones are made of iron.”

  “It’s a bloodhound thing,” Lara explained. “They have freakishly dense skeletons.”

  “I can’t move my legs.”

  “Luckily, the phone is in reach. We can dial room service.”

  “Works for me.” He reached across the bed and grabbed an extra pillow for Lara. “In fact, I may never leave this cabin again. Everything I need in life is right here.”

  “Me, too. I would like to change out of this dress eventually, though. It’s kind of binding.”

  “Don’t worry. That dress is coming off soon enough.” But his words ended in a yawn.

  “Big talk from a man who’s losing consciousness.” Lara listened to his heart beat and let her eyes close. “I’m so glad the wedding’s over and we can get back to our real lives.”

  “I’m so glad we’re finally taking a vacation.”

  “I’m so glad we found a four-star resort that takes pets.”

  They started to kiss, then broke apart, laughing, as the lace hem of Lara’s gown got trapped under Honey’s paw and ripped.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  “Woof.”

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  Acknowledgments

  A big, slobber-drenched thank-you to . . .

  Shawna Swanson, who let me tag along to dog shows and shared stories about competing, rescuing, and dating in the dog world. If you live in the Phoenix area and need a trainer, seriously, contact her right this minute: www.MaverickDogTraining.com.

  Kresley Cole, amazing author, dear friend, and girl genius, who continues to make my life “easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

  My mom, who routinely kicks my ass at online Scrabble and will swear with her dying breath that “brung” is a word.

  Jeannette Viteri and, of course, Etienne, Aiden, and Bella, without whom this book would probably still not be finished. I’ll be over with a batch of M&M cookies directly.