Page 68 of Mismatched

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Her outfit was so cute.”

“Her dad bought that,” Marisol says, dismissively. “Honestly, who dresses a toddler in white?”

I look up, surprised by the humor in her tone. “Um... my mother did. And she got near hysterical if my sister or I dropped a single crumb.”

“Oh goodness. If I freaked out over every mess, I’d lose my mind.” She pulls a pink-striped shirt over Paloma’s head and sinks to the couch, rummaging in her bag until she pulls out a tablet in a plastic case. “Here, P. How about some Bluey? Honestly, I could use a donut.”

I blink. I’d expected her to swoop Paloma out the door, in a hurry to get far away from me and my wearable pastries. But since it doesn’t look like she’ll be unfriending me just yet, I hold open a box for her to select one herself.

She takes a bite of something chocolate frosted and sighs, sinking into the couch. “Oh, this is exactly what I needed.”

I pick out a glazed ring for myself, stealing glances at Marisol while she closes her eyes and chews. She’s dressed professionally, in slacks and cute chunky heels with her hair styled in trendy waves. Even with a toddler in tow, Marisol always seems so professional. So together.

But the exasperation currently on her face is something I can relate to.

“Supply chain got you down?” I ask, nodding at her phone.

Her lip curls. “Well, I shared your suggestion with my production team, and we did decide to go with a line of extra-tough dog toys. They’re going to be part of their own specialized box. I’m really excited about it.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, sensing there’s more.

“Yeah. If my supplier ever gets his act together, it should be great.” She sighs. “What’s new with you? Any more thoughts about expansion?”

I snort. I might dread Caprice figuring out what I’m hiding, but for the briefest moment, I consider telling Marisol the truth. That I’m pregnant and overwhelmed. Afraid my business partner will exploit my maternity leave and inability to balance things to make changes I don’t want. Part of me wonders if she’s already guessed. I might not have a baby bump yet, but what if she can tell? Is there some second sense other mothers have? Maybe she could offer advice.

But she just waits for me to answer, so I force a breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, reminding myself there’s no rush. Plenty could happen in the next few weeks, and there’s no sense in sharing until after Thanksgiving when my mom’s told the whole world anyway.

“Yes, I’m considering it. I’m still not big on a franchise, but Henry and I agreed to talk. There are some things I’d like to do, and...” I pause a moment, my mind spinning with too many logistics. “Well, it’s worth having a discussion.”

At that moment, the front door chimes, and I’m about to jump up to see if there’s a customer when Henry blusters through the door.

“Hi, sorry—” He stops short when he sees Marisol and Paloma, then looks at me. “Ah... car trouble.”

His hair is disheveled and his shirt un-tucked. Not only that, I know for a fact he just leased a brand-new Porsche. I glance at my watch, only just realizing he’s nearly an hour late. “You look like you could use a donut too,” I say, offering him the box.

Henry declines. So far, the man does not seem to have a sweet tooth in his body. That, or he hasn’t created a spreadsheet for enjoying sugar.

“We’ve got to head out anyway,” Marisol says, standing and gathering her things. “Don’t want to miss story time at the library.”

I wrinkle my nose, walking her out the door while Henry fixes himself some tea. “Sorry again about her outfit,” I mutter.

“Are you kidding? Thanks for giving me five minutes to talk on the phone uninterrupted. Juggling the business mom thing is no joke.” She smiles. “But Paloma never cooperates for anyone but me. You’re great with kids.”

This catches me off guard. “I... I’m not. But I figured treats worked for Pavlov.”

When I head back into the office, I close the door, ready to leave everything but the Pooches outside, at last. Henry has parked himself on the couch, texting intensely on his phone, and I watch with interest. He is apparently furious with whoever it is.

“Right,” he says, tucking it away when he sees me. “Now, what was it you wanted to discuss. And why couldn’t we do it properly in the conference room?”

I glance at him again. Like my husband, Henry keeps himself in superior shape, but he’s a pretty tall man. He looks somewhat ridiculous folded up like origami trying to fit on my tiny IKEA couch. Back when I was only running a single Pooch Park and Ooh La Pooch by myself, this tiny office was my headquarters. Home base for everything. Some nights I even slept on that couch. I can see why Henry prefers his conference room at the new location, but I needed to be in my safe space for the conversation we’re about to have.

“Well, I’ve been doing some thinking...” I take a deep breath. “What would you say to a Pooch Park III?”

Henry shifts his jaw, studying me. But as each second ticks by, I’m more sure this is the right move.

“I’ve been thinking over your suggestions,” I go on. “And while adding bathing to the daycares is fine, I think we could do something really intentional with a new location. Make grooming part of the design from the get-go.”

Henry shakes his head and chuckles. “You want another business? After... four months?”

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