Page 115 of Worst in Show

“Amazing!” Pop exclaims when the lift starts moving slowly up the track.

I walk next to him, carrying his bag and cane. “It does the trick.”

Cap bounces up and down on his bowed legs the closer we get.

“Almost there, buddy.” Harvey chuckles.

The dogs give him a warm, slobby welcome as expected, and even Boris is up and wagging his tail. Cho respectfully stays on the floor instead of jumping into his lap once he’s seated, either because she knows he’s more fragile than usual or because the bandage I’ve wrapped around her paw makes graceful leaps impossible, but Harvey scoops her up all the same and starts scratching her neck as if no time has passed.

I grab a yogurt from the fridge and sit down. I should have enough time to finish it before I have to open the store again. “I’ll fill you in on everything later,” I say. “You should get some rest this afternoon. Will you need help unpacking?”

Harvey shakes his head. “If you put the bag on my bed, I should manage.”

“No heroics, though. Promise?”

Harvey chuckles. “Promise. I could live without another stint in a facility.”

“I thought you liked Dalebrook.”

He grunts in a noncommittal way. “It wasn’t all bad, I suppose. Which reminds me—tonight is the night that Sylvia is bringing over dinner.” His face lights up when he says her name. Someone is smitten.

“Any day I don’t have to cook is a good day.”

“Will Leo join us?”

The knife slides in farther, and I focus intently on my yogurt cup, so Harvey won’t see the pain plastered across my face. “He’s in New York,” I say, hoping it will suffice as explanation for now. “But are you sure you wouldn’t rather it be just the two of you?”

“No way. I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

At least one person wants me around. “Then dinner for three it is.”

You’re snoring.”

“Huh?” I jolt awake the following morning to find Micki seated at the foot of the couch I’m calling home for a few more nights until Jaz moves out.

“Like a logger with a deviated septum.” Her recently coral-streaked tresses are on end, bringing to mind the villain of some animated fairy tale or other.

“What time is it?”

“Time for you to wake up so I can get a couple more hours of snooze. Were you always this annoying of a roommate?”

I throw my pillow at her and pull the covers up again.

“Oh no you don’t.” She yanks the blanket off me and backs away. “You’re getting up, and on your way home tonight, you’ll pick up a pack of earplugs for me and some nose spray for you. That way I won’t have to kill you.” She tosses the blanket in a chair off to the side and stalks back to her room.

“But I’m tired,” I call after her. “And I do have a deviated septum,” I mutter to myself. “Some of us are born that way.”

I reach for my phone to get my bearings straight. It’s Friday, December 10. “What the hell?” I whisper when I notice the time. Five thirty in the morning. I give Micki’s closed door a glare and swing my legs off the side of the couch. How odd not to have the dogs under my feet first thing. Here there’s no movement, no noise at all.

The winter fair opens tomorrow, which means showtime, which means do or die for Happy Paws. Now that Harvey is back to run the store, I should spend some time today making sure Cholula and Cap are ready. I’ve made a cape for my little star, similar to Tilly’s, and I know she’ll be perfect. The question is—will it be enough?

There are no messages from Leo, and he hasn’t updated his social media or posted on the server. My fingers hover over the keys. I want to know how the interview went yesterday. Want to know how he’s doing. As much as I still want to slap some sense into him, I’m not a robot. I can’t simply turn off what we had together. If only this was his apartment, his couch, his…

No. Stop. It.

Leo has made his choice.

I push off my seat and pull a clean shirt out of my suitcase. If I’m not allowed to sleep, I might as well get a head start on my day. Look forward. If Leo is gone, that means one less distraction.

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