Page 11 of Unmatched

“Oh . . . that guy.” She shrugs. “It was fine.”

I wait another minute. This is starting to feel weird. Normally, it’s hard to get a word in with Caprice. “Was it seriously that bad?” I narrow my eyes. “Or was it seriously that good?”

She waves me off with one hand. “We just met for drinks. He was nice. Lives up in RiNo, I think. Or maybe by the ballpark.”

“My barista here was nice,” I say, sipping my coffee. “That doesn’t mean I’d want to wake up next to him.”

She clears her throat suddenly, glancing under the table. “No Heartthrob today?”

“No.” I tap the side of my mug. “He was snoring in the office when I left. Figured you wouldn’t miss him.” Caprice doesn’t like dogs, or any animals that I’m aware of, but she and Heartthrob tolerate each other for my sake. It’s odd of her to bring him up, though. And she’s still so quiet.

I study her more closely. She’s in running gear—no surprise. Like my husband, she often spends her lunches in the gym, biking, or jogging. She’s invited me along many times, but I’ve never found the time. Her light brown skin is flawless, as usual. Dark hair straightened and pulled back, the way she often wears it. Her ever-present notepad sits next to her phone on the table. She’s ordered a smoothie and some high-protein egg and fruit plate. Also normal.

“Well, is there going to be a second date?”

She stares at me for a second. “Um, probably not. How are you and Anton, though? I feel like I haven’t seen you together in ages.”

My head nearly swivels with the direction of our conversation. Why is everyone asking about us? Can they tell something’s wrong? As a journalist, Caprice does tend to pick up on subtle details. But her attention often goes in five directions. And if her date was bad, maybe she’s just tossing out random topics to avoid discussing it. I’m about to formulate an acceptable non-answer to her question when my phone vibrates on the table. “Hang on, I just have to answer Scarlet about a hiring interview this afternoon.” I shoot off a quick text, then manage a shrug. “Anton and I are fine. You know, he goes to the office, does his crazy workouts at the gym. You probably see him more than I do sometimes.”

She studies her silverware. “You know, I haven’t seen him much at the gym.”

“When the weather gets warmer like this, he prefers to get outside,” I mutter. “But honestly, I can’t keep track of everywhere he goes. It’s been another level of crazy trying to get The Pooch Park’s second location figured out.”

“That has been taking a while. Is everything still moving forward?”

“Yes, finally.” I grin, eager to talk about this at least. “They’re working on the wiring this week. Then they can move on to drywall, and I should get an update Saturday on when we might be able to open.”

She bites her lip. “But you guys still make time for each other, right? Date nights and all that?”

“What? Yeah, of course.” I sip my coffee, annoyed she keeps returning to this. She knows I’ve been putting everything into expanding my business. Then again, she’s not into dogs, so I guess it’s not as exciting for her. “I mean, I know I’m busy, if that’s what you’re saying. But Anton gets it. He’s cool with it.”

“Is he?”

“Huh?” I raise my head.

My phone rings, and I swear under my breath when I glance at the screen. “Sorry. I have to take this. One sec.”

I’ve been waiting two days for my shampoo distributor to get back to me. The salon is super low on oatmeal bath, which is essential for certain dog breeds with sensitive skin, but there’s a problem with the manufacturer, and it’s been out of stock for weeks. Caprice picks at her food, avoiding my gaze while my distributor informs me that he won’t be able to get my particular brand of shampoo for the foreseeable future.

“I know it’s not your fault, Steve, but therapeutic baths are our most requested specialty service. I need something. Just email me some alternatives, okay?”

I hang up and set the phone back down.

“Sorry. Never own a business,” I say with a tight smile. “Now, what is all this about? Did Anton say something to you?”

“I was just...” Caprice wipes her forehead. Her skin looks gray.

“Are you okay?”

“Lydia, we need to talk.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” I say, going for a chuckle and not quite succeeding as uneasiness grows in my gut.

She sets her coffee aside. “I’ve been working on a new blog series.”

“You said that before. What’s it about?”

She swallows hard and looks up at me. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

---