Page 69 of Mismatched

“Go big or go home?” I say, avoiding his eyes, afraid he might laugh.

“Why?” he asks, sitting forward in what I have come to think of as his cutthroat CEO pose.

I purse my lips. “I thought all the reasons you needed came in tens and twenties.”

He frowns, then leans back and sips his tea, looking like an out of place gentleman, crammed on my small sofa. “We could just keep running the three shops we have. They make money; they’re plenty to keep you busy. Why make this the next move?”

I sit back in my desk chair, hand resting over my stomach—until I realize what I’m doing and pull it away. That isn’t the reason. But it is a reason to put a plan in place. If we make these decisions now, there will be less room for him to second guess me later. Once he doesn’t just see me as his business partner, but also a mother.

“Look, I know you want to franchise. You’ve wanted it since the first time you offered to buy the Pooches. And while we both know I have very different feelings, you probably understand better than me that a model like this would make that easier.”

His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything, so I continue.

“In the dog industry in particular, success only comes with the right ingredients. You suggested we close Ooh La Pooch—but I propose we open Pooch III and incorporate it there. We’ve already established there’s demand. It would solve the overhead, reduce costs... maybe even get to a place we can offer employee benefits.”

Henry straightens. “Ah . . . now I see.”

I allow myself a small smile.

“So, your plan to avoid eliminating jobs is to create a whole new business model.” He strokes his chin, then picks up the notebook he always carries and starts jotting things down. “Lydia, you’re either crazy, or a very savvy businesswoman.”

I chuckle. “Maybe a bit of both.” But as I watch him write, I realize how much I’ve missed this. With everything going on at home, and in my womb, I haven’t been focused enough on the Pooches. I feel more energized sitting here hashing out this new vision for The Pooch Park than I have in weeks. But then my conversation with Anton flits through my head. How he wants me to step back, take time off. I frown.

Henry puts his pen down and shifts to his laptop. Crunching numbers, if I had to guess. My least favorite part of business planning. Which I guess is why this works. I supply the vision—he brings a talent for numbers and projections.

“We don’t want to grow too fast,” he mutters. “We’ll need to do more market research. Scout locations. Maybe consider other areas of the city. And while I’ve still got some capital, I don’t think we can really make a move on this at least until Pooch II’s profits match Pooch I. But we are on track to get there, so maybe in the spring...” He pauses, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “You do know this will be a lot of work.”

“I know,” I say, and I can’t help grinning.

He shakes his head. “I guess Anton was right about not giving up on you.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

“He told me you might come around about the franchise.”

My mouth sours. That doesn’t seem fair. “We might be laying the groundwork, but I’m not committing to that yet.”

“Of course.” Henry gives me a patient smile, then turns his laptop around so I can see a bar graph on the screen. “But if we do, in another five to ten years, our profits could be here.”

My nostrils flare, studying the image. Truly, the Pooches have never been about the numbers for me. I have always been able to pay my bills. And as long as my clients and employees were happy, anything else they earned always felt like a bonus. But despite his ability to tolerate dog hair on Armani, Henry’s had dollar signs in his eyes since day one. And if he’s been strategizing a franchise with Anton, maybe I’m the only one really invested in the Pooches.

I take a deep breath, thinking about Marisol keeping her cool while going through a divorce, dealing with inept shipping companies, and finding her daughter swimming in pink frosting. Then I reach for the bakery box on my desk.

“Well. I think this calls for a donut.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Hey, I was starting to worry.” I peer out the door of our second bedroom when I hear Lydia come in with Heartthrob. “Everything okay with the Pooches?”

The dog rushes to greet me, spinning in circles a couple times, then leaning against me while I rub his favorite spot on his back. Lydia sets down her things and comes toward us down the hall, looking fatigued.

“Yeah, it’s all good. I was just doing some more long-term planning with Henry.”

“Really?” I quirk an eyebrow. “Did you... tell him?”

“Oh. No,” she says quickly, one hand coming to her stomach. I’ve noticed she’s started wearing more layers the past week or so, but the weather has also gotten cooler. “It wasn’t about—it was other stuff.”

I pause, waiting for her to elaborate. She’s worked late more days than not recently. When she doesn’t say more, I let go of Heartthrob and take her hand, pulling her with me into the room. “Come in here. Tell me what you think?”

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