Page 91 of Mismatched

“I might be less bored in a coma. But I’m mostly in one piece.” I open the door for him to come in, eyeing the box in his hands. “Henry, did you bring meeting donuts? Is this official business?”

“Actually, I was given pretty explicit instructions not to come over here and talk business.” He clears his throat, looking over my shoulder presumably for Anton, who’s not here. “So no, these are definitely not meeting donuts.” He hands me the box with a wink.

I grin at him, open it immediately, and bite into a chocolate and sprinkle dream. “I always knew partnering with you was a great idea. You want one?”

Henry shakes his head and chuckles, taking a tentative seat in the armchair across from me while Heartthrob sniffs his tailored suit pants.

“So, how’s Carmelita? And Scarlet? Tomás? Actually—everyone?” I ask, settling back into my nest on the couch. “If you can’t tell, this is killing me.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than I expect. “Actually, I’d really like to know how you are first.”

I meet his eyes, and flinch. That’s only fair. We told him about the accident and said I wouldn’t be able to work this week. But maybe it’s obvious there’s more to the story. I shouldn’t make him guess. “Well, aside from having barely survived both a holiday with my mother and an accident that totaled my car...” I bite my cheek. “I’m nearly four months pregnant. Anton and I are expecting in May.”

Henry’s brows shoot up. Maybe that wasn’t one of the guesses he’d made. “Oh, wow.” He wipes a hand over his face, then straightens. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly, skirting his gaze.

“I knew something else must be going on. Really, I’m relieved it’s...” He hesitates a moment. “Are you planning to—I mean, will you be able?—”

“I will keep running the Pooches,” I cut in, instantly rankling at the suggestion that this will impact our business relationship. “My doctor put me on bed rest for this week, but just as a precaution after the accident. Once I replace my car, I should be back in full swing.”

He sits on this a minute, looking relieved. But then his brows draw back together. “Well, obviously we need to at least push back the expansion.”

“What? Why?” I ask, a little too sharply.

“Lydia, our tentative plan was to move on Pooch III in the spring. Now, I know you’re excited to consolidate and move forward with our franchise model.” He looks at me pointedly. “But surely you’re going to take a little time off to?—”

“Henry. You don’t need to worry about me stepping away or slowing down,” I say through my teeth. “I’ve already launched a grooming salon and two daycares at this point. I think I know what I’m doing on the business end. And even if I do need to be out for a little while, don’t give yourself the impression this changes our plan and you can just run things the way you want.”

He frowns. I’ve never spoken to him this way. But I don’t like him suggesting how I ought to balance the Pooches with my life.

He sits back, clenching his jaw the way he does when he’s irritated, and folds his hands in his lap. “All right. You asked how everyone at the Pooches are doing? I’ll tell you. My phone has been blowing up with questions I can’t answer. Tomás wants to know about dog food orders. Francie has employee scheduling requests. And Scarlet...” He looks away, clearing his throat. “Every one of them is already asking when you’ll be back, and you haven’t even been out two days.”

I straighten, noticing for the first time since he got here that everything about him is slightly askew. There’s dog hair on his sleeve. His socks don’t match. And when he unfolds his hands, they seem a little unsteady. I glance up at his face, and it finally clicks. Henry’s nervous?

“Look, I’ve no doubt you’ll find a way to juggle everything once you’ve...” He gestures at my midsection. “But I need a plan for any time you’ll need to be away.” He looks at me dead on. “To be clear, Lydia... I’m not trying to run anything without you. I can’t do this at all by myself.”

I straighten. Blink. Part of the reason Henry and I work well together is because we balance each other out. He is amazing with spreadsheets and numbers, timesheets, and payroll, and taxes. But when it comes to employees and dogs, and day-to-day operations... he’s right. That’s really my wheelhouse.

I clear my throat, biting back a furtive smile. “Okay, you’re right. We need a new plan if I’m going to take some leave.”

His shoulders fall, his whole body visibly calming.

“I do intend to be gone as little as possible. But I hear what you’re saying. We can push the Pooch III plan out a little, just so I’m not trying to launch that and give birth in the same month.”

He pulls out his ever-present notebook and starts jotting things down, and for a second I try to envision what things will look like in another five or six months. In my head, it’s easy to romanticize coming home from the hospital with a sleeping little bundle. Taking it back and forth to the Pooches with me, managing supply orders and meetings while negotiating feedings and changing diapers. But then I think of little Paloma in my office, covering herself in pink frosting while her mom was on the phone, and I blanch. I remember Marisol saying how much she prepared, knowing she was expecting her daughter. I make a mental note to invite her over.

“I—I don’t want to lose our momentum for the expansion though,” I say, trying to refocus. “Let’s do monthly check-ins and continue laying the groundwork on paper, at the very least. So when we’re ready to pull the trigger, everything’s good to go.”

Henry nods, then sets his notebook aside. “All right, that sounds good long-term. But in the meantime...” He reaches into his pocket with a somewhat calculated smile. “Anton said he’s been scrambling between work and insurance figuring out your car situation. So I thought I could at least help with one thing.” He produces a sleek new smartphone from his suit pocket and holds it out to me. “Obviously, you’ll have to sync it with your own settings, but it’s been activated with your number, so you’re all ready to take calls and texts.”

The phone lights up and vibrates as he hands it to me, and a message pops up on the screen.

Unknown Sender

“To the world, you are a mother, but to your family, you are the world.”

I snort. I don’t need to sync my contacts to know that’s my brother-in-law. I scroll through what turns out to be a backlog of messages from the last several days, trying to discern the business ones from the personal.

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