Page 7 of My Star-Crossed Summer

“Thank you,” she says. “You really are the best. Is that bread you’re baking?”

I turn just as she yells, “Opal, no! Down!”

Paws on the counter, Opal noses around the pastry mat toward a pile of chopped rosemary and half a garlic bulb that she would desperately like to taste. She stretches her tongue as far asshe can to reach a stick of butter as Hannah claps her hands and rushes over to intervene.

“I’ll just grab a few things from the car,” she says, getting all four dog paws back on the floor before heading back out through the living room. Opal follows her, and when the front door slams shut, she comes racing back into the kitchen with my hiking boot in her mouth.

“Give me that,” I say. She huffs and runs back into the living room, tail wagging.

Chase is her favorite game.

When I turn down the stereo, I hear my cell ringing. Roxy’s name flashes on the screen, and I pick up just as I see the string of missed text messages, mostly from Hannah. My boss doesn’t make a habit of calling me on weekends—except when camp season starts. Then all bets are off. There’s always a last-minute crisis of some kind.

“Hey,” I answer. “How’s it going?”

“Good news,” she says. “I found a replacement for the astronomy camp.”

“Oh great,” I answer. Probably a college kid with this short notice, but that’s okay. Roxy’s a good judge of character, and most of our college staff have worked out just fine.

The front door slams. From the living room, Hannah yells, “Opal, drop it! Now!”

“Have they done a camp with us before?” I ask.

“No,” Roxy says. “But I know her, and I think you two will get along great. We go way back, actually. She’s awesome.”

Opal’s claws clack on the hardwood as she flies through the kitchen, carrying my ruby ficus plant by the trunk, dirt falling in clumps behind her. She’s yanked it right out of the pot and is delighted to show me.

“No!” I yell, lunging for the dog as the plant drops a leaf.

“What?” Roxy says.

“Sorry, not you,” I say. Then I cover the speaker and yell, “Hannah, come handle your beast!”

I try to corner her as I tell Roxy, “Doodle drama. You were saying?”

“Her name’s Victoria,” Roxy says, just as I close in on Opal. She snorts with glee and darts under the kitchen table, dirt clods falling all around her. “She and I have been friends for years, and she was thinking of applying to this other job in admin. But she missed the deadline, so I talked her into filling in for Maura to get her on board. She’d be excellent to have with us full time, but for right now, we have her at the Blue Ridge site.”

“Sounds good,” I say, lunging for the dog. She gives a playful bark and skitters past me, my poor ficus wobbling in her teeth. I raised that plant from a sprig, and now it’s about to be snapped in half by the world’s cutest tornado.

“She’s a great fit,” Roxy says. “You’ll like her.”

Another crash comes from around the corner. “Sure thing,” I tell her as I head into the living room, dreading what I’ll find. Opal’s just over a year old and tries to eat everything she can get her mouth on—the last time Hannah brought her over here, she ate two of my wool socks, three bananas, the first two chapters ofThe Shining,and half of my leather belt.

It made for an unpleasant evening.

“I’ll let you go,” Roxy says. “Just wanted to let you know you now have a full staff again.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate you doing that. Sophie and I would have managed, but having three makes everything so much easier.” I tiptoe toward Opal, who’s now lying on her back on my sofa, chewing on my boot while she gives me some overly dramatic side-eye. The ficus lies at her feet, a heap of soil on the sofa and another on the rug. The front door opens, and Hannah comes in with a rolling suitcase and a laptop bag, hereyes widening as I wave my arms at her and point to the disaster unfolding a few feet away.

“Of course,” Roxy says. “I wouldn’t leave you high and dry. Talk soon, okay?”

“You got it.”

When I hang up, Hannah cringes. “Sorry,” she says. “We did zoomies before we came in the house. I thought she’d just flop down and take a nap.”

From the sofa, there’s a loud urp. That doesn’t bode well.

I rake my fingers through my hair and head back into the kitchen to open that top-shelf bourbon. And then I realize what Roxy said:

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