Page 84 of Red Hot Roaster

Her signature raspy laugh came through the line. “Good thing this is only for the weekend. Now all we have to do is get the dogs and cats to behave—and maybe some of their people.”

Katt was no doubt thinking of last year when we first offered “Pet Photos with Santa Paws” for the Dogwood Shop Local Days. She’d been on her own, with no help wrangling people and pets in and out of our meeting room—aka the Santa Paws photo booth. Archie, a handsome boxer, had escaped from his dad and chased his poodle girlfriend Colette through the café.

We got smart this year, and Katt had enlisted Ana as her Elf Helper with the promise of a handcrafted sparkly green costume. Joe, a retired firefighter with a full head and fluffy beard of snowy white, again volunteered his time for Santa Paws. Katt donated her skills, too, keeping the fees for printing the photos affordable for all.

Before leaving the meeting room, I rested my eyes for a moment. They still ached—less from crying, more from sleepless nights. I couldn’t just lie there for hours on end, so I’d wander downstairs. Pirate would grumble but jump down and follow me. We’d snuggle on the couch, and I’d binge on Elvis movies, PB chocolate chip…and memories.

Rafe wasn’t helping. Or maybe he thought he was by not ghosting me—by not deserting me entirely. I broke down and opened my phone to stare at his texts.

After the first couple of wordy ones, they’d boiled down to more Rafe-like messages:

Thursday * 8:52 p.m.

RHR

Goodnight, Rose. Sleep tight.

Friday * 6:24 a.m.

RHR

Good morning, Rose. Eat breakfast? Set alarm?

I hadn’t responded yet. But he could see that I’d read each one.

I jerked away from the screen when Mateo swung open the door.

“Hey, Rosita! We need your opinion on display space for the gift tins.”

I followed Mateo into the hall, instructing myself:do not look, do not look, do not look into the roastery.I didn’t want to acknowledge the Rafe-sized hole there.

Well, there, and at home, in my bed, on walks with Pirate…in my heart.

Shaking my head, I emerged into the noisy café. My vision instantly blurred, and I blinked hard to clear the wet.Are you going to cry all day here too?

My head finally caught up to my heart.Ahhh, not Rafe-related this time—at least, not entirely.

When Mateo, Jen, Liliana and the kids realized my holiday spirit had packed up and left town—literally—they’d stepped into the breach.

Rows of shiny garland tinsel lined the café walls from baseboard to ceiling. Dog and cat ornaments of every size and sparkle hung from the garlands, looking for new homes on trees around the neighborhood.

Our Howl-o-ween dog skeletons had reappeared all through the café, now decked out with Santa hats and mini-wreaths around their necks.

Our new Chocolate Lab gift tins ran rampant down one counter. Mateo’s pup from conception to roll-out, the giant tins were waiting to be stuffed with all manner of branded gear, coffee mugs, bags of beans, dog treats, coffee-making equipment and chocolate goodies.

The final shout-out to holiday spirit? On windows, doors, walls and counters (the bathroom, too, I suspected), Mateo had posted colorful signs announcing our annual event:

“It’s the shih tzu, Mateo!” That got a laugh and an eye roll. I gave a giggle in return, my first in a while.

My phone rang with “A Little Less Conversation.” I glanced at the number and picked up. “Hello, Miss Ada. Yes, this is a good time. Yes, I’ve got you confirmed for…”

Friday * 8:43 p.m.

RHR:

Goodnight, Rose. Sleep tight.

Friday * 9:02 p.m.

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