Page 11 of The Arrangement

By eight, Paws and Play is full to the brim, barks and playful yelps filling the air. The morning has been smooth, all things considered, until an overactive chihuahua named Mabel decides she’s the alpha, challenging a poodle/lab mix merely interested in a friendly sniff.

Carting the shivering, yet defiant, attacker to a quieter spot, I lecture her on the importance of manners, though I'm fully aware my words are lost in translation. As I’m talking to her, the back door opens, a sound that now triggers a mixture of excitement and dread. For a split second, my heart leaps at the possibility—could Maksim have decided to visit during work hours?

The thought sends a wave of conflicting emotions through me. It's ludicrous, given the circumstances, yet I can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment when it's not Maksim who walks in but Nicky, our new hire.

Nicky, oblivious to the mini drama unfolding in my head, trudges in with a huge bag of dog food slung over his shoulder, grumbling about the early hour and the weight of his load. My heart, still racing from the irrational hope of seeing Maksim, settles back into its usual rhythm, chiding myself for even entertaining the thought.

"Morning, Tory," Nicky mumbles, not a morning person, as he takes the dog food to the storage area.

"Morning, Nicky. Thanks for bringing that in," I respond, forcing a smile, my mind still reeling from the rollercoaster of emotions triggered by a simple sound. I watch as Nicky hauls the massive bag of dog food across the shop floor. "Make sure you get the dipper out before you dump it into the barrel," I call out to him, not wanting a repeat of last week's fiasco. I put a smile on my face as I make the request.

He turns, a matching grin spreading. "Won't make that mistake again. Learned my lesson the hard way," he chuckles.

Nicky’s got the sort of easy attitude and good nature that a job like this requires. He’ll be a great fit here, even if he isn’t a morning person and assuming I can keep this place open. With Ty unable to work until noon, Nicky's presence in the mornings has been a godsend.

As the morning rush begins to settle and we catch our breath, Ty makes his grand entrance right around lunchtime, his arms heavy with bags that carry the unmistakable aroma of Chicago beef sandwiches.

"Lunch is served," he declares with a theatrical flourish of his arms, placing the bags on the counter with a sense of ceremony only Ty could manage.

I’m starving, but the unmistakable sound of a dog whining draws my attention to the back of the shop.

"Go ahead, guys, eat up," I tell them, tearing my eyes away from the bag of food.

The issue is obvious as soon as I step into the back. Howard, our resident Great Dane and usually a model of canine decorum, has decided that right after his outdoor break was the perfect time to create an indoor doggie doo-doo disaster.

“Howie, I swear.” Howard’s all contrition, sitting on his paws and regarding me with those big brown eyes of his. “You’re lucky you’re a charmer.”

With a resigned sigh, I grab the cleaning supplies, leaving Ty and Nicky to their meals. The mess is sizable -and stinky- but it's all part of the job—a job I genuinely love, despite its less glamorous moments. As I work, the shop fills with the sounds of canine contentment: playful yips, happy barks, and the soft snores of napping pups. It's this stuff, this chaos, that reminds me why I'm here, why I've poured my heart and soul and savings into this place.

In spite of everything, a smile forms as I work. Life is hard as hell at the moment, but at least it’s on my terms. Well, aside from the little matter of the debt Ned left me that I’ll never be able to pay.

In the midst of scooping Howard's latest contribution to the shop vibe, a voice breaks through the monotony.

"You know, you look beautiful when you smile like that."

The deep timbre is unmistakable, instantly pulling me from my focus. I spin around, poop shovel in hand, to find Maksim leaning casually against the door frame to the back area, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

The shock of his presence sends a wave of heat across my cheeks, my earlier frustrations forgotten in the flush of embarrassment. I suddenly remember the fantasy, remember bending over in front of the counter, his eyes on me…

"Maksim," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. The absurdity of the situation isn't lost on me—here I am, standing in the middle of my doggy daycare, armed with a shovel full of dog doo, face-to-face with the one man who's been occupying too much of my thoughts lately, my cheeks flushed red from the fantasy still lingering in my thoughts.

“What are you doing here? This is an employees’-only area, anyway.” I realize how ridiculous the words are as soon as they come out of my mouth, telling a mobster he can’t just stroll into the back area of a doggy day care.

His gaze drifts to the shovel, then the bag. "Are you going to throw that at me?" The amusement in his voice is clear, but there's an underlying challenge there, too. “Maybe fling your little biological weapon with that shovel?”

I can't suppress the snort that escapes me. "You know, I'd like to," I admit, the words out before I can think better of them. It's the truth, though. Part of me relishes the thought of wiping that smug look off his face, even as another, far less rational part of me is acutely aware of the tension that always seems to crackle between us. Howard sits calmly, watching us with his big brown eyes.

The standoff, if it can be called that, is broken by my decision to deposit the bag into the nearest waste bin, the lid banging shut as I close it.

Once the immediate crisis is handled, I face Maksim again, trying to ignore the quickening of my pulse. "Why are you back?"

My tone is light, but there's an undercurrent of curiosity, and yes, a hint of wariness. After all, our last encounter was anything but ordinary, and his presence here, now, suggests this visit won't be, either.

Maksim pushes off from the door frame, taking a step closer, his expression unreadable. "I had business nearby," he begins, the explanation sounding more like a pretext. "Thought I'd check in on how you're managing the debt."

He steps over to Howard, scratching the top of the dog’s head. Howard’s all about it, leaning into Maksim’s touch.

The mention of the debt brings a sharp focus back to the conversation. My stance shifts, defensive yet defiant. "I'm managing," I assert, unwilling to show any sign of weakness. "But I doubt that's all you came here for."