Save the Date (7 page)

“Yeah, precious. What’s she doing in my bed?”

In retrospect, this might not have been the ideal question to ask of a woman who was already deeply infatuated with a new puppy.

“She’s mine. I mean, ours,” Zoey said. Her pale blue eyes filled with tears. “I thought you loved dogs.”

Christ!

“I love dogs. I think they’re great. For people who have the time to spend with them. But I’m working fourteen-hour days and six-day weeks, and you’re at the club all day. Who’s gonna take care of her while we’re at work?”

“I’ll take care of her, of course, if you’re going to be like that about it. But, I mean, you own the business, right? Why couldn’t she go to work with you? She’s great company.” Zoey buried her face in the dog’s fluffy coat. “Aren’t you an angel? Aren’t you good company?”

The dog lavished Zoey’s face with a big sloppy kiss. Then it turned its big black button eyes toward Jack—and he could swear the damn thing grinned at him.

After that, the dog slept every night in the bed with them. Every night, she wedged her hot, hairy body in between him and Zoey. Every morning, he awoke to hot doggy breath in his face.

To be perfectly honest, they were at that point in the relationship where the only thing that was working was the sex. After Shaz? They didn’t even have that.

*   *   *

Shaz. He glanced at his watch. She’d been locked up in the cottage all night. He was dead tired, but he’d need to take her out for a run as soon as he got home. It would feel good to get out of this damned monkey suit, lace up his running shoes, and work up an honest sweat.

He unlocked the front door, walked in, and stepped directly in what looked like a fresh piddle puddle.

He was shocked. Zoey had actually managed to housebreak the dog before she pulled her disappearing act. Shaz hadn’t had an accident in months. And now this?

He fetched a wet rag from the kitchen and mopped up the mess. He’d sanded and stained the heart-pine floors back in the fall, but he’d never actually gotten around to sealing them. Which was a shame, because now he’d have to sand them down all over again.

“Shaz!” He glanced around the room. Kind of a depressing sight, reflected in the flickering blue light of the big screen. He’d turned on the television before leaving, something to give the dog company. He was pretty sure she liked ESPN and Animal Planet.

No sign of the dog. His stomach clenched. Had she somehow managed to get out? He’d locked all the doors earlier. He was really not in the mood tonight to go hunting for a runaway dog.

“Shaz?” He walked through the combination living-dining room, through the short hallway. He turned on the light in the bedroom. She was stretched out across the bed, with her head nesting on his pillow.

The dog lifted her muzzle and gave him a long, disdainful stare.

“Shaz!” His voice was sharp. “Come!”

Her tail thumped on the bedding, but she didn’t budge.

He walked over to the bed and grabbed her by her collar. “Come on girl. Off the bed. You know the rules. No dogs in my bed.”

It was a new rule, one he’d instituted as soon as Zoey walked out. Shaz had a big, oversized beanbag bed in the corner of the bedroom, and most nights, she was content to sleep there.

“Shaz?” His voice was stern. “Off!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Did you pee on the floor, Shaz?”

Thump. Thump. Thump. She seemed downright proud of it.

He sighed, changed into a clean T-shirt and shorts, and laced up his running shoes. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go work the kinks out.”

Shaz blinked. She yawned. But she didn’t budge.

*   *   *

Bert glanced over at Cara, who leaned against the window on the passenger side of the van.

“I’d say the wedding was an unqualified success, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Cara said, her eyes half closed. “Thanks for being my designated driver. I’ll take you back out to the Fannings’ in the morning for your car.”

“Lillian actually hugged me tonight. So did Torie.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I gave out a bunch of our business cards at the wedding. Three of Torie’s bridesmaids are engaged.”

That
got her attention. She sat up straight for a moment. “Really? Which ones?”

“Alison? The little blonde. And the taller blonde? The one they call Chatty? Oh, and Brenna, the supertanned brunette. She actually got engaged tonight, to one of Ryan’s fraternity brothers.”

“That’s great,” Cara said. “Anybody mention actual wedding dates?”

“Not to me,” Bert said. “But all three of them swore they want you to do their flowers.”

“I just hope they call,” Cara said. “We don’t have a lot lined up for the fall.”

“We will,” Bert said, ever loyal. “You always get panicky this time of year, and we always have more work than we can handle, come fall.”

“You never can tell, though,” Cara cautioned him. “Remember how dead it was last October?”

“And then we had weddings booked every weekend in November, through May,” Bert said. “Can’t you just relax a little? Everything is going to work out.”

“I can’t afford to relax,” Cara said. “I owe the Colonel twenty thousand dollars. And on top of that, I checked my email back at the wedding, while you were out breaking it down on the dance floor. Bernice Bradley emailed me to let me know she wants to renew our lease. I’ve been going month to month for a while now—and when we renew, our rent is going up to nearly double what we pay now.”

“What? That’s crap! The Bradleys haven’t touched the place in years. Your ceiling leaks upstairs, and the plumbing keeps backing up.…”

“I know,” Cara said, shaking her head. “But they’ve got me by the short hairs. They know it’s a great location. Where else am I going to find that much square footage downtown—and with its own parking space? And with the apartment upstairs, it’s perfect for me.”

“I think you should call their bluff,” Bert said, steering the van down Skidaway Road. “Call your real-estate agent, ask her to put out some feelers for another location. Let the Bradleys get wind of that. Look at all the improvements you’ve made to their property. You’re probably the best tenant they’ve ever had. I bet they’d hate to lose you.”

“But I’d hate it even more—if I have to move. It’s perfect visibility—so close to the biggest downtown churches.”

“What about that storefront on Bull? Where the antique shop used to be? Now, that’s a great location. Tons of traffic.”

“And no parking. I looked at that space the last time it became vacant. There’s a reason why no business stays there longer than a year. If my brides can’t find a place to park, they’ll drive right on up the road to another florist shop.”

“Never,” Bert said. “These girls want a Bloom wedding. You’ve got the look they love, Cara.”

“Today,” she muttered. “But all that can change in the blink of an eye. These brides are all incredibly fickle. Everybody wants the next cool, hip look. And if I don’t stay right on top of my game, I’ll be yesterday’s news.”

*   *   *

She’d dozed off. It was nearly midnight. Bert parked the van in the space in back of the shop, then reached over and gently shook her shoulder.

“Cara? We’re home.”

She yawned and looked out the window at the poorly lit lane. “God. For a minute there, I almost forgot about Poppy. That horrible man still has her.”

Bert cocked one eyebrow. “You seemed to be having a nice time dancing with that horrible man, earlier this evening. You two were getting pretty close, it looked like to me.”

“He’s a lunatic,” Cara said. “Did you see what he did? Left me standing in the middle of the dance floor! One minute we were dancing—and the next, he just stopped cold. Walked off and left, after mumbling something about Jimmy fucking Buffet.”

“I did see him leave. I figured you’d picked a fight with him,” Bert said.

“I never said a word. I thought he might relent and hand Poppy over to me if I played nice. Dumb idea.”

“What can you do now? I mean, if he won’t give her back?”

“I’ll take her back,” Cara said, yawning. “He stole her from me, so I’ll steal her back from him.”

“How exactly do you steal your own dog?” Bert asked.

“Not sure,” she admitted. “But I’m going over there to case the joint. Just as soon as I chug a Red Bull.”

“Right now? It’s midnight, Cara. What if he calls the cops?”

“He won’t. And they won’t come anyway. Remember, I tried to get them involved earlier, and they flat refused.”

“I think you’d better wait till morning. I know that block. It’s kind of sketchy at night. And what if his neighbors see you and think you’re trying to break in? You’d be the one getting hauled off to the pokey.”

“You could go with me. Ride shotgun?”

“Sorry. No can do. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Cara gave him an appraising look. “What kind of plans?”

“I’m meeting somebody for a drink.”

“Somebody. As in a guy?”

“Maybe.”

“Bert Rosen! Are you hooking up with somebody you just met tonight? At the wedding?”

He looked insulted. “It’s not a hookup. It’s just a drink. An innocent drink.”

“Who is he? Do I know him? Did I meet him?”

“You don’t actually know him, but you did meet. He’s actually one of Ryan’s fraternity brothers.”

“You’re kidding.” Cara giggled despite her weariness. “You’re telling me one of Ryan Finnerty’s frat-tastic macho buddies is actually gay?”

“Shh. He’s not officially out. At least not to Ryan.”

Cara opened her door and climbed down out of the van. “If you won’t go with me, I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning. But I’m telling you right now, if he doesn’t hand over Poppy—I might do something radical.”

“Go get some sleep,” Bert advised. “I’ll go over there with you myself in the morning before we go get my car and we’ll storm the castle together.”

*   *   *

It was the first night she’d spent alone in her apartment without Poppy, and now the apartment was eerily quiet without her.

Cara undressed quickly. She washed her face and pulled on a well-worn oversized T-shirt and climbed into bed. It had been a long, busy day, and she was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. The bed seemed too big without Poppy stretched out on the other side of it. So she got up and arranged herself on the sofa in her combination living-dining room.

The living room’s big bay window looked out on the street. She heard cars driving slowly down the brick street, heard doors opening and closing, her neighbors, two SCAD art students, laughing and talking as they came home from one of their customary late nights.

Finally, she drifted off to sleep, maybe around three? She wasn’t sure.

*   *   *

Sunday. It was the one day of the week Jack Finnerty allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in. He was asleep, in a near-coma stage, when his cell phone rang. Blindly, he reached toward the packing-crate nightstand. The phone fell to the floor, but it kept ringing.

Jack leaned over the edge of the bed and groped around on the floor. Finally, his fingers closed on the phone. He thumbed the On button. Three-thirty in the friggin’ morning. The number on the caller ID wasn’t familiar. A wrong number at three-thirty in the morning? He tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, turned over, and tried to go back to sleep.

But the phone was ringing again. He snatched it up, prepared to give this loser an earful. He wasn’t prepared for what he got instead.

It was Zoey.

“Dammit, Jack,” she cried. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s nearly four in the fuckin’ morning,” Jack said, his voice thick with sleep. “What do you want, Zoey?”

“I want to know why you didn’t let me know you managed to lose Scheherazade,” Zoey demanded.

Jack rose up on one elbow and looked over at the dog asleep on her bed, not far from his own. Well, really his bed was nothing more than a mattress and boxspring. But still.

“Shaz is right here,” he said, yawning. “Have you and Jiminy Cricket been getting into some of that California weed?”

“His name is Jamey, and for your information, just because he’s a musician, does not mean that he is a dope fiend, not that it’s any of your business,” she retorted. “And I’d just love to know how my dog can be in two places at one time.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said, flopping backward onto the bed.

“I got a call earlier tonight from Dr. Katz’s office, telling me that somebody found Shaz running loose on Victory Drive. Thank heavens, some good Samaritan picked her up and took her to the vet’s office. They recognized her immediately, of course, but then they checked the microchip just to be sure, and they called me.”

That got his attention. He sat straight up in the bed and turned on the lamp. Now the dog was awake, too. Her ears pricked up, and her nose was quivering, as though she knew she was being discussed.

“Zoey? Are you telling me that the dog sitting right here in this bedroom is not Shaz?” He buried his head in his hands. The dog edged closer and licked his ear.

Her voice was shrill. “I don’t have any idea who or what you’ve got in your bedroom, Jack Finnerty, but yes, I am telling you that Scheherazade is being boarded at Dr. Katz’s office tonight. The vet tech said it’s a miracle she didn’t get hit by a car, crossing all that traffic on Abercorn Street. No thanks to you.”

“You’re saying Shaz is at the vet’s office?”

“Jack! Have you heard a single word I’ve said? Yes! I am telling you Dr. Katz has Shaz. See? You never listen to me, Jack. This is just one more example.…”

He turned his head and was staring directly into the dog’s unblinking eyes.

“Poppy?”

The dog tilted its head and thumped its tail on the scarred wooden floor.

“Christ,” Jack moaned. “You really are Poppy.”

“Have you got a woman there, Jack?” Zoey asked.

As if.

“None of your damned business,” he growled.

“Scheherazade is a very valuable dog, Jack,” Zoey went on. “The breeder said once she’s old enough to breed, her puppies could fetch as much as two thousand dollars. So I don’t appreciate your letting her wander around town without so much as a collar.”