by Traci Hall
The silver-haired principal was there to greet the parents in car line, and she waved to him as he pulled to the curb.
His daughter got out under the watchful eye of three teachers. “Bye Daddy!”
“Good luck on your test, Bella,” he said.
The drive from school to the pet store was nine minutes, or thirteen if he caught the drawbridge.
Today it was nine, giving him plenty of time to open the store and get online to order supplies before things got crazy.
He entered in through the back, and Myra was already there, cleaning the animal pens. “Morning,” he said. Franco had five employees, all dedicated to the well-being of the puppies. They’d been just as furious about the citation as he had been, and now kept a look out for Sarah, or her employee, Martin.
“I really thought I might beat you here,” he told her. She was about forty years old, with a pretty face and a friendly smile. Myra wore her thirty extra pounds with grace, and had a laugh that welcomed everybody who walked in the front door. Her hair ranged from blonde to red to brown, depending on the color that spoke to her that month.
“I wake up and can’t help thinking of these little darlings alone in here. I bring my coffee with me,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
“I appreciate it,” Franco said, deciding that a raise might be in order at her six month review. “Did you check out the chi-poo?”
Myra rolled her eyes. “What will they think of next? Adorable, but wow…”
“I’m going to do some more research before I say yes, but the breeder looks legitimate and of course, Dr. Wilton will have to examine the puppies.”
“You go that extra mile,” Myra said, squeezing between the aisles with a sponge and rubber gloves. Since that first week in business, they’d switched to all natural cleaning products that seemed to be made mostly of vinegar and lavender.
“We get a lot of foot traffic, which is nice. But a lot of it is tourists. I wasn’t sure that people traveling would buy puppies, yet it seems that they do.” Not his idea of souvenir. Easier to pack a t-shirt or a sand dollar.
“Oh! We sold the last Maltese last night.” Her voice thickened. “Such a cutie pie, but the couple fell in love, you could just see it.”
“Good.” Franco really liked making people happy. “I brought in some new treats. What do you think of these?” He brought out the plastic container of pumpkin rye bones. “You can eat them.”
“Seriously?” Myra asked, looking at him over the rim of her red rhinestone glasses.
“Yes.” He grinned.
She took a very, very small bite, then nodded with surprise. “I like that hit of molasses in there. Where did you get them?”
“I know someone who makes them from scratch. All natural. Five ingredients.”
“They’d sell here.” Myra shrugged. “People like designer stuff, they like all natural. Why not? Let me know when you need the shelf space.”She grabbed a roll of paper towels. “People are strange. Telling them they could eat their dog’s treats? We should probably hike up the price. I like it, Boss.”
Would Myra be so happy when she found out that Sarah from Animal Control was the baker? Franco decided not to borrow trouble.
*****
Sarah walked into Pet Rescue at ten minutes after eight in the morning. She wore long khakis and a white polo, her hair back in a bun, the quickest solution for the rat’s nest. She was rarely late, but last night’s extracurricular alligator capture left her exhausted. She refused to consider that it might have anything to do with her dreams of Franco.
Benny and Pippa raced inside, going straight for Nashville’s bed by the window. They felt that it was their job to make sure she was awake as soon as they arrived.
The cranky old cat hissed at them and, securely out of their doggy reach, swatted her tail and closed her eye.
“Morning to you, too, Nashville,” Sarah said with a laugh. Despite her lack of sleep and her tardiness, she was in a fine mood. She didn’t pick apart the reason why.
By the time Martin strolled in at ten, she’d already walked all the dogs and cleaned out the pens and had started a new batch of treats.
“Whatever you’re making,” Martin called as he came in from the warehouse, “I’ll have two. It smells like dessert.” He patted his nonexistent hips. “I can take it.”
Sarah grinned, wiped down the counter and set the timer for half an hour. “These are berry. So far so good.” She pointed to Benny and Pippa, who both slept on their backs, their little tummies full. “Even Nashville likes them.”
“You might have something, here,” Martin said, taking a nip of a paw-shaped treat.
“If you want to help me brainstorm, Franco said that he would sell these in his shop. He has customers willing to pay top dollar.”
“Franco? Not Mr. de Silva?” Martin slid around the table to peer into her eyes. “What happened since yesterday after I left?”
Sarah gave him the quick run-down. “So, I went there for dinner. And I even wore a dress.”
Martin pretended to have a heart attack and sank back into the chair at the table. “I’ve seen you with your hair down. I’m sure he was pleasantly surprised.”
To tell him about the kiss? To keep it to herself? Her smile widened. “He makes excellent steak, and it was his idea to add the honey to the pumpkin, and cut the rye with wheat flour so the treats wouldn’t be so heavy.”
“I take it he’s off the watch list now?”
Sarah opened the refrigerator and pulled out the carrot juice. “We need to stay aware, but I don’t think he’s that kind of guy.”
“So he’s gorgeous, he can cook, and he’s a gazillionaire. What kind of guy is he? Oh yes, I know. Single.” Martin nodded as she lifted the jug of juice in his direction. “Perfect for you, Sarah.”
She took down two glasses and poured carrot juice into them. She handed one to Martin, and kept the other in her hand. “He’s a dad. Don’t forget that part.” She’d been reminding herself of that all night. “You don’t have fly-by-night relationships with people who have kids.”
Martin drank slowly. “Mmm. I love this stuff. And why not? Everybody needs a little special attention. Even daddies.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to Bella.” Or me. “I don’t have time, anyway, not to mention that dinner last night was a simple thank you. Nothing more, nothing less.” She’d finally fallen asleep to that mantra running through her head. Just a kiss. Just a kiss. Just a kiss.
“You know best, Sarah.” He reached for a pen in his pocket. “So what can I help you brainstorm about?”
“Packaging.” She crossed her arms and gnawed her lower lip. “How can we make these look cute?”
“I like the paw prints and the bone shapes.”
“Outside packaging,” Sarah clarified. “Pink cellophane, maybe?”
“Oh. Hmm.” He frowned, tapping the table with the pen. “That sounds…cheap.”
Sarah winced. “Yeah. Even with curly ribbon tied around the top?”
“I don’t want to crush your dreams, Sarah, but if you want to sell at a high-end designer dog store, you need to think outside the plastic bag.”
“So what do you got, Martin?” She’d maxed out loans to get this property. Reached the limits on her two credit cards to keep food on the shelves. “I have to get this roof done and it looks like these treats might be another income stream.” Thank you, Franco.
“I am all about champagne dreams on a beer budget,” he said, batting his lashes. “And there is more to it than glitter and flash. I make my own costumes and I learned a long time ago that appearance is everything. From a distance. Satin is affordable, while silk is not. From far away, sateen is even better.”
“Sateen?”
“Falls apart in the wash, but for the few wears? Dynamite!”
Sarah picked up Pippa and laughed. “Maybe not that cheap.”
He took the pad kept by the phone for messages that she’d had on the kitchen table and bo
unced the end of his pen to his lower lip. “Let’s get down to business. How much for the ingredients? We need to price out how much each individual treat costs. Then you decide what the profit should be. There is room for a large mark-up.”
“I don’t want to rob people!” Sarah said, eyeing the figures. “But I do want to pay for that roof. Without doing a car wash. Which reminds me, I still haven’t heard back from Courtney.”
“About another extension?” Martin looked up and blinked, his brown eyes lightly lined in a darker brown.
“I’m hoping that once she hears my plan for making money, she might give me another few months.” Sarah looked at the figures on the pad. “We need that roof. The box of 24 treats should sell for ten dollars.”
“Now you’re thinking like a business woman,” Martin said with approval. “If we can sell what, a thousand, in the next month? Will that be enough?”
She pulled the pad toward her and did a few more calculations. “1300 boxes. If we can sell that many? I will have the money for the roof.” For the first time in months she felt a glimmer of hope.
“Does that include the containers?”
She shook her head and held on as the emotional roller coaster dipped again.
“1500. I know a place that sells clear glass jars in bulk. Nice ones that look like crystal. I’ll make a phone call. We can try,” Martin said, standing up.
1500? That sounded completely crazy. She was the Girl Scout that never sold enough boxes to win a prize. “Thank you, Martin.” The timer beeped and she hopped to her feet, quickly taking the tray from the oven and setting it on the stove.
“You did it, Chiquita,” he said as he eyed the treats proudly. “Those look good. Um. I don’t want to stress you out, about the money? But if you want to take your treats to the next level and sell them, we need to send them in for analysis. I’ve got the information up on our computer.” He pointed toward the desk.
Analysis? That didn’t sound affordable. Or quick. Sarah bowed her head.
The front door buzzer chimed, and they walked out of the kitchen. Her mom waved her hands and said, “Tell me about the kiss!”
Martin looked at her with disbelief. “Kiss?”
Sarah wished she could disappear through the air vents, but no.
“Jennifer,” Martin said, walking toward her mother with his hands outstretched. “What are you talking about? Sarah didn’t mention a kiss.”
“Well, that makes me feel better. My blood was hot, thinking you two were here talking about Sarah’s romantic evening without me.”
“I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to go there. We are not gossiping about my love life.” Sarah blushed. “Or my lack of a love life. Okay? If you want to stick around, Mom, we are discussing designer dog treats.”
Her mom wore bronze glasses today instead of her blue pair, with her hair down in a bob at her shoulders. She paired her brown dress with copper and bronze jewelry with awesome leather heels. Adjusting her wallet purse, her mom stomped toward the kitchen. “Fine. I’m in. Any coffee left?”
“Mom...”
Sarah followed her mom, who stopped at the tray of treats then turned toward Pippa and Benny. “Yum! I see those two are happy little dogs,” she said. “Their bellies look ready to explode.”
“Happy dogs,” Sarah said, shivers traipsing up her neck. “Does that ring any marketing bells?”
“I like it.” Martin pulled at his waist band, centering the buckle of his belt. “Simple. But it doesn’t convey the entire message.”
“Happy Dog Treats?” her mom suggested.
“Hmm,” Sarah said, her mind mulling over different names. “What about Happy Treat Bakery?”
Martin and her mother both clapped their approval. “You can have an entire Happy line of treats. Cats, rabbits, iguanas,” her mom said.
Laughing, Sarah wrote the words out on the pad of paper. “This might be the next evolution of Sarah Murphy, business owner.” What was one more hat?
“Will that affect the non-profit status of Pet Rescue?” her mom asked. “I know that your job for the city is by contract, so it should be something you can separate, too.”
Sarah paced around the small kitchen. “I’ll call my accountant, just to ask what the logistics are. Mom, I have a bunch of things you can help me with, starting with making the dog treats legal.” She jotted a note down on a post-it and stuck it against the refrigerator. “What’s important is that if we sell treats, I can get the roof fixed. Maybe give Martin a raise.”
“Did you say get the roof fixed, honey? Oh, thank heavens.” Her mom covered her heart with both hands.
“Don’t worry about the raise,” Martin said.
Sarah hugged her mom. “You worry. I told Franco last night that worrying is what a parent does. Not that I know, but I’ve survived you doing it to me.”
“Franco, huh?” Her mom linked arms with Martin as if they were a team, and Sarah had better hop to it. “Let’s talk about exactly what happened last night at this dinner that you say wasn’t a date.”
Chapter Ten
Saturday morning, Sarah was inundated with rescue calls. A kitten in a pond, a barking dog that lived at a home she’d cited before for leaving the dog alone. She fined them and wrote on the ticket that if it happened again, they would go to court.
She hated the idea of the dog being so miserable that it just barked all day, so she included literature with the ticket on how to keep the dog occupied and happy while the owner was away. She understood that people had to work, but owning a pet was a responsibility.
As she drove away from the house, her cell phone rang again. “Pet Rescue, how can we help you today?”
“Hi, Sarah, it’s Franco de Silva.”
Her heart stopped, then started again with a thud. She’d put him from her mind, having heard nothing from him since dinner. Their kiss. Instead, she’d poured her energy into perfecting the baked dog treats.
Even if she never heard from Franco again, she could sell the treats on her own website and at the Farmer’s Market. Her idea for a formal, high-end fundraiser was on hold until Courtney, who was the coordinator for the city as well as her friend, returned on Monday.
“Sarah? Are you there?”
Silence. Another great impression. “Hi!” Her voice hitched. “How are you?” Her palms grew damp and her pulse triple-timed it.
“Wonderful. Bella and I were hoping that you’d have time to meet us today, to go snorkeling.”
She pulled over under a shady laurel oak so she didn’t wreck her truck while acting like such a freaking girl. How could one person affect your breathing, for heaven’s sake?
“We’ve been really busy all morning. I don’t know that I can commit to anything. Some days are like that.” She stared out at the empty sidewalk.
“What does a busy morning consist of?” he asked.
“Cats in trees, dogs in the neighbor’s trash, returning escaped dogs, mostly.” How boring. “Last week I had an alligator call.” She thunked her head against the steering wheel.
“Exciting!”
“Well…” She rolled her eyes, glad nobody could see her silly reaction to his call.
“How are the treats coming?”
“The Berrylicious Biscuits are a real hit,” she laughed. “Pippa isn’t a big fruit fan, but even she likes them. I can send some over for Paisley, if you’d like.”
“That would be nice.”
Awkward, on her end, silence hung in the air. Why didn’t she ever know what to say?
“Well.” Franco cleared his throat. “If you get the chance, we will be by the pier around three this afternoon. Uh, do you know anything about birthday parties?”
“I’ve had a few.” Where was he going with this?
“Bella was invited to a party for one of the girls from her class. I was hoping you could help me and Bella pick out a gift. I have no idea what would be appropriate.”
“Uh.” She shook the phone and smacked he
r forehead. Friends. Friends. Friends. “Of course I can.”
“So, let’s touch base later today? Do you have snorkeling equipment? I really hope you can make it.”
“I’ll do my best.” Martin had already agreed to cover the phones for a few hours this afternoon, since he couldn’t do the Farmer’s Market tomorrow. “I have stuff in my truck. If you need anything, the Dive Shop carries kid’s sizes too. Thanks for calling, Franco.”
“Tchau, Sarah.”
Even the way he got off the phone was charming, while she was a dud. Did she really have to bring up the alligator? He was probably laughing at her swamp-girl awkwardness.
But he’d called. He didn’t have to call.
She started the truck and headed back to the office. Sarah made a deal with herself that if there were no calls for an hour, she would go snorkeling.
But if it stayed busy?
She couldn’t do that to Martin. It wasn’t fair.
By one o’clock, the phone calls had stopped, so Sarah went back to the warehouse where Martin was playing with the dogs in between grooming them for the Farmer’s Market tomorrow. That was where most of her pets found forever homes.
“Hi, Martin. I’ve decided to take off for a few hours. Are you still okay here?”
“Sure! What’s up?”
“I’m going to get in some beach time.”
“Good idea. Enjoy.” He shivered.
“I don’t know why you don’t like the water.”
“I love the water. I don’t like the sharks that would eat me in one bite the minute I fell off the paddle board.”
“I’ve offered to teach you! I’ll keep the sharks away.”
“No thank you, Sarah. Go—have fun. Are you meeting that wonderful kite sailor?”
“Huh-uh. Franco and Bella are snorkeling. I might join them for a while.”
“Be careful.”
“I told you, I’m not afraid of sharks.”
“I meant of your heart, Sarah.”
“My heart is not involved.”
“I take that back, anyway. I say, risk it all. Everybody deserves a few wild loves that go wrong.”