“You mean the pushiest dogs in the world?” Rachel rolled her eyes. “They wouldn’t stop licking me and sniffing me in socially unacceptable places, so I put them in the office.”
“Mom! How could you?”
“Have you seen the office?” Rachel scoffed. “It’s hardly prison.”
Jocelyn hurried to liberate the pushiest dogs in the world. When she returned, Rachel looked at her expectantly. “Bree says you need something cute to wear on your big date.”
“Mark my words, I’m going to sign both of you up for Match.com as soon as the puppies are weaned. We’ll see how you like it.”
“Stop complaining and be grateful you have such caring friends and family.” Rachel settled back into her chair, gazing out at the ocean. “You girls go ahead. I’ll stay here.”
“But you hate it here,” Jocelyn pointed out. “You hate dogs. And gigantic mansions. And ocean views.”
“Someone has to keep the puppies alive while you play dress-up. Make it snappy.”
Jocelyn folded her arms. “What’s going on here?”
“Don’t ask questions.” Bree grabbed the car keys. “Let’s get while the getting’s good. Rach, do you want anything from the bakery?”
“Almond croissant,” Rachel replied.
“We’re on it. See you in a bit!”
“You’re totally going to snuggle the puppies while we’re gone, aren’t you?”
“Only George Clooney.” Rachel laughed at her daughter’s expression. “That’s the silver one.”
“You named him George Clooney?” Jocelyn started laughing, too.
Rachel shrugged. “It was that or Anderson Cooper.”
“Mr. Allardyce is rolling in his grave.”
“All the better. Toodle-oo!”
* * *
• • •
“That looks good,” Bree opined when Jocelyn emerged from the dressing room at the Retail Therapy boutique. “Really good.”
Jocelyn adjusted the shoulder straps of the teal sundress. “I’m not sure what shoes I’d wear it with, though.”
“Try it with those.” Bree pointed out a pair of gray strappy sandals adorned with small silver chips of anthracite. “And that bag.”
“I’m not buying a new dress, new shoes, and a new bag for one date!” Jocelyn was scandalized.
“Go ahead,” Bree urged. “The dogs want you to have it. Carmen told me so.”
“I’m the dogs’ guardian, not their money-embezzling, hard-partying, no-morals-having stage mother.”
“But you could be.”
“The stipend is meant for food and grooming and necessary medical care.”
“Yeah, and after you’ve taken care of that, how much is left over every month?” Bree quizzed.
“Um . . .”
“I thought so. Buy the shoes. Buy the bag. Buy it all.”
“This isn’t about the money, it’s about the principle,” Jocelyn said. “I’m not going to buy a dress that’s not even on sale. Especially for a guy named Otter.”
“Every time somebody says it’s not about the money . . . it’s about the money. Stop being ridiculous and buy the dress.” Bree called to the store owner, “She’ll take it!”
“I’ll ring it up!” the owner called back.
“It’s bad luck to buy a new dress for a date, anyway. The more elaborate the preparations, the worse the date goes,” Jocelyn predicted.
“Don’t be like that. You’ll have fun if you go in with the right attitude. I’m telling you, he’s a nice guy.”
“Mm-hmm. And how did you meet this guy, again?”
“He fixed my brakes. His family owns the auto repair place out by the highway.” Bree held up both hands. “I swear to you, he’s nice. Cute, too, in a baseball-cap-wearing, good-ol’-boy kind of way. I’d snap him up for myself, but like I said, I’m completely off dating right now.”
Jocelyn lifted one eyebrow. “So you’re telling me that you’d turn Dan down if he asked you out?”
“He’s not single. And don’t pretend to have any idea what it’s like to be in my situation.” Bree busied herself with trying on a cunningly cut leopard print jacket. “I’m like Cassandra from that Greek tragedy. I know exactly what’s up, and nobody believes me.”
“I believe you,” Jocelyn said. “Well, I want to believe you.”
“You’ll see,” Bree assured her.
Jocelyn’s phone chimed as a text came in. She smiled when she glanced at the screen. “Oh look. It’s Otter. He’s confirming our date for tomorrow at three.”
“How considerate.” Bree took off the jacket and perused the rack of sunglasses. “Where are you two going?”
“Picnic on the beach.” Jocelyn scanned her messages as a new text arrived. “He says it’s fine if I want to bring a dog or two.”
“Buy that dress and pick the best-behaved dog,” Bree instructed.
Jocelyn grinned. “Tell you what—I’ll buy you that jacket as a finder’s fee.”
“For finding what?”
“A genuinely nice guy.” Jocelyn returned the teal dress and shoes to the rack but took the leopard print jacket to the cash register. “I’m actually starting to look forward to this.”
chapter 18
“ Thank you for inviting Carmen to join us.” Jocelyn tucked her skirt under her knees as the breeze picked up along the shoreline. The afternoon had gone from cloudy and still to sunny and windy, and the edges of the white-and-red-checked picnic blanket fluttered against the sand.
“She’s a great dog.” Stocky and sturdy, with work-hewn hands and an abundance of thick russet hair, Otter McMurray looked every inch the small-town, self-made man. He scratched Carmen’s ears. “None of our dogs were ever this well-behaved.”
Jocelyn popped a grape into her mouth and crunched down on an errant grain of sand. “What kind of dogs did you have?”
“Growing up, we had a couple of mutts. My favorite, Gus, kind of looked like that one.” Otter pointed out a big, reddish brown dog romping with a Frisbee by the boardwalk. “They’d show up in the alley behind my house. Me and my brother would feed them, and a couple of them never left.”
Carmen whined softly. Jocelyn tried to figure out what the dog was agitated about but couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. The perfect weather had brought out crowds of vacationing families who were swimming and digging in the sand. The wooden signs from the town square boutiques contrasted against the clear blue sky, and Jocelyn could smell freshly made kettle corn and saltwater taffy.
Here she was, with a nice man and a nice dog and a nice bottle of pinot gris. Nothing life-changing had happened yet, but the date wasn’t over.
Although, if she were going to have any kind of future with this guy, she had to get one thing out of the way. “So.” She cleared her throat. “Otter.”
He leaned over to top off her paper cup. “Yeah?”
“That’s an unusual name.”
He laughed. “I know. I’m so used to it by now, I forget how it sounds to other people when they first hear it.”
“Is that the name on your birth certificate?”
“No, my parents aren’t that mean.” He looked a little abashed. “My birth certificate says Orton.”
“Orton.” She said it aloud, trying it out. “I like it.”
“My little brother couldn’t say it when he was learning to talk, so he called me Otter. Pretty soon, the whole family started calling me Otter and it stuck.”
“Does your brother work in the car business, too?” Jocelyn asked.
“Yeah, he handles the books, the scheduling, the office stuff. He’s really good at dealing with the customers. I’m back in the garage, blasting music and up to my elbows in grime and grease. That’s why . . .” He broke off in a quick, obviously fake coughing fit. “I don’t g
o out much.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being an introvert.” Jocelyn felt a bit protective toward him. “Especially when you like what you do.”
“I’ve always loved cars. New cars, old cars, European, American . . . I love driving them, fixing them, the sound the engine makes when you rev it.”
Jocelyn tried to imagine a parallel level of passion in her own life, but all she could come up with was the sound of dogs barking and the smell of bacon biscuit breath in her face.
“Even when you were little?”
“Big-time. My mom didn’t understand it, but she let me read all the car books I could find in the library. She bought me Viper and Ferrari models for my birthday.”
“She must be proud.”
“I think she’s just glad I’m fixing fast cars instead of driving them. For years, I swore I was going to grow up to be a Formula One driver.” He ducked his head before adding, “She hosts family breakfast at her house every Sunday. You should come sometime.”
Jocelyn had felt certain that her heart was completely icy and impenetrable after Chris left her, but maybe she’d been wrong. “I’d like that.”
“So what about you?” he asked. “Bree said you did something with managing summer rental properties.”
“Bree exaggerates.” Jocelyn brushed a fly off her knee. “My mom and I run a business that supplies towels and sheets to the renters. You know, so they don’t have to spend their last morning here doing laundry.”
Otter looked amazed. “People pay money to not do laundry?”
“Three hundred and fifty dollars per household per week,” she told him. “I know. I can’t imagine paying that much to get out of it, but people do. Most of them don’t even ask questions or try to bargain. They just give us their credit card number and tell us their checkout time.”
“Wow.” Otter adjusted the brim of his baseball cap. “That’s not how it is with my customers. Most of the regulars are great, but a lot of the new ones are worried I’m trying to rip them off or add on a bunch of services they don’t need.”
“Automotive trust issues.” She nodded. “I understand all too well.”
“It’s mostly older guys who collect classic cars or are trying to fix them up. They need parts special-ordered and help putting them in right.”
“Sounds much more exciting than doing laundry.” Jocelyn popped another cold grape into her mouth. “Although I’m in the middle of a career change, actually.” She patted Carmen’s head. “I’m a professional dog guardian these days.”
He glanced at Carmen, confused. “Like a bodyguard?”
“No, like a nanny-slash-personal-trainer-slash-nutritionist-slash-midwife.” She pushed the hair back out of her face as the wind picked up. “I’ll give you the bullet-point version. Have you heard of a seasonal resident named Peter Allardyce? Owns that giant gray house?” She pointed across the bay to the Allardyce residence.
Otter shook his head.
“Well, Mr. Allardyce was old, he was stingy, he was very attached to his dogs.” Jocelyn provided a summary of events, keeping it as short as possible. “. . . So I’m currently living in that mansion, raising a litter of puppies, trying to get ready for a dog beauty pageant, and searching high and low for a nice fellow for Carmen here to have puppies with.” She tugged Carmen’s leash as the dog started whining and creeping across the picnic blanket. “Little girl, what is up with you today?”
“But what about the laundry?” Otter asked. “Can your mom handle all of it by herself?”
“She just had back surgery, so she still takes care of the scheduling and customer contact, but she can’t do any physical labor. I bring as many towels and sheets as I can to the beach house and throw in load after load all evening. Luckily, Mr. Allardyce has a top-of-the-line washer and dryer.”
“I’ll bet.”
“It’s been an interesting summer.”
“What about your dad?” Otter asked. “Is he in the area, too?”
Jocelyn had fielded that question so many times she should have been used to it, but she must have tensed a bit, because his expression immediately changed. “Sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she assured him. “It’s just that—”
But before she could launch into her standard spiel about why her dad effectively didn’t exist, Carmen made a break for it, segueing straight from a prone position to a full sprint toward the boardwalk. And she was fast.
“Whoa!” Jocelyn flinched as the leash snapped against her hand. But Carmen was already gone, galloping through sand castles, spraying sand left and right, dodging toddlers with the deftness of an NFL running back. Otter gave chase, calling Carmen’s name as he ran. Jocelyn scrambled to her feet and tried to catch up, attempting to stay calm while offering bribes of treats at the top of her lungs. Hot sand burned against the soles of her feet as she ran.
Carmen skidded to a stop next to the reddish brown dog that Otter had pointed out earlier. She went into full canine meet-and-greet mode, sniffing and nosing the other dog all over.
“Sorry.” Jocelyn gasped for breath as she snatched up the end of the leash. “I don’t know what got into her.”
The woman walking the brown dog smiled out from beneath the brim of a wide canvas sun hat. “Oh, that’s Friday for you. He’s a charmer. Dogs, children, adults—everybody loves him.”
Otter seemed quite smitten, himself. “Friday? That’s your name, buddy? What a good boy. Good dog.”
Friday ignored Otter and sniffed Carmen right back. Carmen was vocalizing her delight with short, sharp yelps.
Jocelyn tilted her head and squinted at Friday. His big, boxy head was disproportionately large for the rest of his frame. “What kind of mix is he, do you think? German shepherd and . . . pit bull? Lab?”
“I have no idea, but I’ve heard it all,” his owner said. “I’ve thought about doing one of those home DNA kits for dogs, but I’m too cheap to spend that kind of money on dog spit.”
“You’re not cheap, you’re practical,” Otter replied, and Jocelyn marveled at how those five simple words intensified her attraction to him. Here was a man who understood the value of money, who had worked hard for every dollar he spent.
Maybe her mother and Bree were right. Maybe what she really needed was a local boy.
Carmen was trying to play chase with her new BFF, and the leashes were tangling around everyone’s legs. Jocelyn tipped sideways, bumping shoulders with Otter. He put his hand under her elbow to steady her, and it felt nice. No tingles or swooning or urges to rip his clothes off, but nice. Stable. An excellent start.
Jocelyn gave up on trying to calm Carmen. She handed her business card to Friday’s owner. “Here’s my e-mail. I’d love to get these two together for a playdate sometime.”
The older woman winked. “I’ll try to make room in his busy social calendar.”
“Any availability you’ve got, she’ll take it.” Jocelyn started to disentangle Carmen’s leash. “I’ve never seen her react to another dog this way.”
“That dog is a player,” Otter remarked as he and Jocelyn strolled toward the parking lot with picnic basket in hand and Carmen trotting along next to them. “Do you think he was born that way, or maybe he read a bunch of books on how to pick up purebreds at the beach?”
“I think it’s his confidence that does it.” Jocelyn tilted her face up to the warm afternoon sun. “He swaggers around like he just won best in show, and everyone treats him accordingly.”
“Where did you park?” Otter asked as they stepped off the sand and onto asphalt.
“Oh, I walked from the other side of the bay.” Jocelyn pointed out the Allardyce house again.
“I’ll give you a ride back.”
“Are you sure? It’s a quick walk. Only a mile and a half or so.”
“I’m sure.” He took her hand for a mom
ent and squeezed it before letting go. Behind them, Carmen sighed the sigh of a disgruntled teenager forced to separate from her boyfriend.
They made their way through the crowded parking lot until they located Otter’s painstakingly restored 1960s Chevy pickup truck. He placed the picnic basket in the truck bed and started around the front to open the passenger door.
Jocelyn had to concede, this had been a solid, successful date. No awkward pauses, no social gaffes, no reason at all not to see him again. There might even be a kiss when he dropped her off at her car. Would he initiate? Should she? Would it be weird to have Carmen in the truck with them when they had their first kiss? The kiss that would . . . change her life?
“Holy crap.” Otter stopped in his tracks on the far side of the truck. “Would you look at that.”
Jocelyn peered over the truck bed to see what he was marveling at. About four spaces down, amid the late-model Hondas and Fords, was a sleek, navy blue coupe sparkling in the sunlight. She knew nothing about cars, but this one looked foreign, vintage, and very expensive.
“It’s like one of James Bond’s cars,” she remarked.
“It is.” Otter pivoted and started walking toward the car. “It’s an Aston Martin DB5. James Bond drove this in Thunderball and Goldfinger, but his was silver. And it had an ejector seat. And a machine gun.”
“Fancy.” Jocelyn and Carmen joined Otter in admiring the sporty little car.
“This is one in a million.” He sounded almost tearful with awe. “Somebody put a ton of work into restoring this. I’d love to see what’s under the hood.”
Jocelyn glanced at the license plate. “Florida. Somebody drove a very long way in this.”
“Must have been the best road trip ever.” Otter leaned in, his face mere inches from the side panels. “Look at this paint job.”
Since he was so delighted, she tried to share his enthusiasm. “What’s great about it? How can you tell it’s a really good paint job?”
He glanced up at her, pleased with her interest—for about half a second. Then his gaze returned to the navy blue beauty. “See how spotless it is? How glossy? If you look at color consistency and the way the light reflects off it . . .”
In Dog We Trust Page 15