Page 91 of Worst in Show

AlCaponesGhost25: Is that truly all you’d call it?

SingerQueen: Really truly? No.

The farther we get into November and the holiday season, the more daily foot traffic and more online orders I see. I’m up at the crack of dawn every day and sew any moment I get between customers. Still, I’m busy well into the night, and from the look of things, so is Leo across the street. He texts me Wednesday morning asking if it’s always like this this time of year, and I confirm. It’s been only four days, but I already can’t wait to see him at training again.

Micki shows up at lunch with soup, sandwiches, and cupcakes from my favorite bakery.

“Happy, happy birthday,” she hollers, even though I still have customers in the store. She’s the only person I know who keeps a list of birthdays and anniversaries for her friends. It’s the sweetest thing.

I finish ringing up the customer before I flip the OUT TO LUNCH sign on the door and let Micki give me a hug.

“Big twenty-eight!” Micki pretends to stick a microphone in my face. “How does it feel? Do your hips hurt? Any new wrinkles?”

“Shut up.” I take the bag of food from her and proceed up the stairs. “Just because you’re a year younger.”

Micki grabs two plates from the cupboard while I pull out sparkling, nonalcoholic cider from the fridge where it’s been chilling. It’s a tradition her ex started that stuck around even when he didn’t—special drinks for special days. This one is apple pomegranate.

“Fancy.” She nods as I pour two wineglasses full.

I sit down and light the candle I keep on the table. “Thanks for bringing food.”

“It’s the least I can do. I don’t have a present. Things are a bit tight right now. Turns out Jaz isn’t much more reliable than you when it comes to rent.”

I finish chewing my first mouthful of herby focaccia. “Oh no. Sorry.”

She waves off my concern. “I’m fine. I’m holding her goldfish hostage until she coughs it up. I know she’s good for it. Also, I’m taking on a few more hours at the salon.”

“Won’t that affect your study time?”

“No, I think I’m ready. I swear I dream about joint anatomy and body systems at night.”

“Well, let me know if you need any more quizzing.”

My phone vibrates with another text from Leo:

Diane is wondering if we want to eat there tonight before training. Something about the flank steak being too big for two.

Not having to make dinner—count me in. Sounds good, I text back.

He sends a thumbs-up.

“Leo?” Micki asks, mouth full of bread.

She knows we’ve gotten past the awkwardness of Halloween night and that nothing of significance has happened, and she’s been admirably restrained about not giving me a hard time about it, but I can’t help the smile currently plastered across my face. “Mm-hmm.”

She has a sip of her drink, watching me continuously. “It must be exhausting,” she says after setting her glass down. “You’ve got it as bad as anyone I’ve ever seen, and… nothing? I mean, I know he’s Mister Bad Guy and all, but still. A girl’s gotta butter that biscuit.”

A deep gulp of cider sends bubbles fizzing up my nose. “That’s… colorful,” I wheeze in the middle of a coughing fit that brings all three dogs to my side.

Cholula jumps into my lap, but not to make sure I’m okay—in two seconds, she’s hauled half my sandwich into her retreat beneath the bed.

“You stinker,” I scold when I’m able to talk again. I attack the rest of my sandwich before someone else steals that, too. When I look up, Micki is watching me, eyes narrowed. “What?” I ask.

“No other reaction?” She points at me with the tip of her spoon. Two splats of soup land on the table. “You’re thinking about it.”

I glance out the window toward Canine King where two customers are exiting. Leo doesn’t close for lunch like I do. Maybe I shouldn’t either if that’s what success requires. “Only around the clock.” I sigh. “But like… what if I don’t win the show? Or what if he decides he misses his old life and someone even worse takes over? What if we lose the store? How could I not blame him?”

“Someone worse than Leo?” Micki asks with exaggerated horror. “Not possible.”

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