Page 3 of Red Hot Roaster

As we were heading out, I turned back to Dr. Mica, a tiny Asian-American woman who didn’t look like she could wrangle a mouse, much less a mastiff.

“My dog Princess is due for her shots soon. I’m new to the area. Would you be willing to see her?”

Rose snapped her head toward me. The biggest smile lit up her face. This time, her eyes were wide and glowing, not narrowed and glaring.

“Rafe, you have a dog? You brought your dog with you?”

I nodded. “She’s a rescue, probably four or five years old now. She chose her own name.”Maybe that was oversharing.

Dr. Mica said, “Of course, I’d be happy to see Princess. I’m assuming you have information on her vaccinations and other care?”

I paused for a beat, not ready to share my history at such short notice. “Yeah, at least for the time she’s been with me, the past three years or so.”

The vet didn’t let up. “Oh, good. Do you know her background before you got her? Sometimes a tough early life can affect health or behaviors later on.”

Made sense, so I volunteered a bit more. “She’s from Afghanistan, one of a group of camp dogs brought here by a rescue group.”

I didn’t addone of the dogs inmycamp, rescued by me.Nor did I saydog rescuing is about all I’m fit for these days.

Chapter 3

Rose

Icouldn’t help myself.

As we were walking the few blocks back to the Chocolate Lab, I had a ton of questions for Rafe. All about Princess, of course.

Sure, I should’ve been asking more about his coffee-roasting background, beyond what Pete had shared. Yeah, I could’ve been finding out how he planned to get my roastery up and running again. Or I could’ve been quizzing him on his experience with computerizing inventory.

No, I was peppering him with questions about his rescue pup. Because, well, dogs.

And maybe because I was curious?

How did this muscular beast of a guy end up being a girl-dad? Was Princess as dainty and as demanding as her name implied? Did she bark when she got excited, like he did?

I ran-walked alongside Rafe—I had long legs, but I could barely keep up—and threw my nosy questions at his profile.

“So, where’s Princess right now?”

“She’s hanging out with Pete at his place.”

“Will she be with Pete when you’re working at the roastery?”

Rafe side-eyed me. “No….she’ll be with me. Not in the roastery, of course. I’ll park my pickup nearby, and she’ll stay on her blanket throne in the back of the cab.”

“Blanket throne? Oh, right, right, she’s a princess. I’m picturing cashmere blankets and silk sheets embroidered in gold with tiny tiaras.”

He smirked. “Not quite that over-the-top, but still pretty comfortable. That way, on my breaks, I can take her around the block, feed her, and give her water.”

I frowned. Typically, Rafe would be working four-to-six-hour shifts, four to five days a week. Would Princess be okay stuck in his pickup for that long with just short breaks?

They’d obviously done this before, so I kept that particular question to myself. But I snuck in a few more before we got back to the café.

“How is Princess with other dogs?”

“Good, as long as there’s plenty of time for get-acquainted sniffs. She rat-packed around with a bunch of other camp dogs for her first year or two.”

“How about people?”

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