Page 49 of Worst in Show

SingerQueen: Non-existent. Too buttoned-up.

AlCaponesGhost25: Phew. I won’t get jealous then.

SingerQueen:…

AlCaponesGhost25: What?

SingerQueen: Are you flirting with me?

AlCaponesGhost25: Would never. *winky face emoji*

Thank goodness the store’s closed on Mondays. Even though the dogs let me sleep until eight, I’m a zombie as I feed them and take them out. A sore zombie. I must have strained a few muscles in my muddy fall yesterday. I stretch in front of the window as I wait for my coffee to brew. The light is on in Leo’s apartment. He’s probably been up since six checking off his to-do list.

My snarky thought isn’t followed by its usual pang of emotional acidity, possibly because today I have a to-do list of my own. As much as I hate to admit it, Leo’s training plan is a good idea. I also want to organize the store better and finally start that Instagram account. What was it he said? I need to ensure my customers don’t find Canine King superior.

I have about eight weeks left until the show. Say we train two times per week, that’s sixteen sessions. I glance down at Cholula. That’s plenty, right? If I focus on different obstacles each week, we should be ready. Of course, there’s one other problem to solve—the talent part. Pretty sure “stealing food” doesn’t count, and that’s the only area where Cho is prodigious. I’ll have to give this some thought.

I use a pencil to divide a sheet of paper into eight boxes and jot down what my training focus will be for each. Who knew there was such relief in taking all those loose thoughts from your head and organizing them on paper?

As soon as I’m done with breakfast, I hit the floor. I have three hours to make a dent in my list before I head out to Pop at Dalebrook, and I intend to put them to good use.

I’m even more sore when I walk into the nursing home after lunch. There’s a kink in my back, and my hands are callused from hauling thirty-pound bags of kibble across the store all morning. Inspired by Leo, I decided to move the food to the back wall. It’s our number one revenue maker, and after reading up on sales and marketing basics, I now know that, to optimize sales, we need to make customers pass all the other merchandise to get to the food. It’s obvious once it stares you in the face.

To my surprise, Pop’s bed is empty when I get there. His roommate looks like he’s sleeping, but the TV is on. He’s not in the bathroom either, and when I peer into the hallway, only a few nurses move in and out of the rooms.

I’m about to go look for him when a laugh trills up the corridor from the common area. A second later, Harvey and Sylvia come into view. He’s leaning heavily on his walker, and she has her arm on his back, but they’re giggling like two schoolchildren about something. Harvey is moving slowly, but other than that, he looks good.

“Hey, Pop,” I say as they get closer.

He pauses and looks up. “Cora! Look at me.” He grins.

Sylvia and I nod to each other in greeting.

“I saw your empty bed and thought you’d escaped,” I say.

“Yep, Sylvia broke me out.” He winks.

“The nurses say he needs to get up and move, and since Charles still sleeps a lot, I have nothing but time on my hands,” Sylvia says. She has friendly pale eyes and a steel-gray pixie cut reminiscent of Jamie Lee Curtis. I have no doubt she was a knock-out in her younger days. Heck, just like JLC, she’s a knockout even now.

“That’s great,” I say. “As long as you’re not pushing yourself too hard, Pop.”

He waves my concern away as he sits back down on his bed. “I’m doing great. But tell me about you. How’s the store? How’s Leo?”

“Leo?” Why is he asking about him as if he’s someone to me?

“Nice young man,” he tells Sylvia. “You met him last time Cora was here.”

“I remember. Is he your boyfriend?” Sylvia asks me.

“No!” It comes out a tad too emphatic. “He’s just a friend. Barely a friend.” My face warms.

“He opened a store across the street from ours,” Harvey explains.

“A competing store,” I add, willing the color out of my cheeks.

Sylvia’s attention ping-pongs between us. “Ah.”

“But no worries,” I tell Harvey. “I have a plan.”

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