Page 41 of Fast and Dirty

“Good girl, Pollyanna.” A woman around my age walks over to whatever is in the stylist chair. I look bewildered between the girl—who is gorgeous—and what appears to be a Yorkie terrier sitting on a booster seat in the swivel chair. “And I found the pink gingham ribbon your daddy likes me to put in your hair.”

I don’t know what to look at first or for how long. My eyes zoom between the pretty girl around my age to the other dogs taking up residence in the other salon chairs.

My brain is only just catching up and processing Hawt Dawgs—not a strip club, a doggy spa—when the girl turns to me, bright smile still in position across her face. “Hello,” she greets, with questions in her eyes.

“Pleeease tell me that this is one of those places where people down on their luck come to snuggle puppies!” Toby pleads, and it makes the girl giggle.

“Not exactly,” her hazel eyes warm as she looks up at him before turning. “This is actually a dog grooming business, but…” She turns and scoops up the Yorkie out of the chair before handing her over to Toby’s waiting hands. “You can hold Polly while I tie the ribbon in her hair.”

This is so much new information in such little time. First of all, when Toby is heartbroken and bitter, apparently puppytherapy is just as welcome as swinging appendages. Second, this town has a doggy day spa where the dogs are pampered like humans at a salon. I need to lie down.

“Are you guys new in town?” The cheerleader looks between us with an expectant smile. God, I’d kill for her hair. So thick and luscious, and the color of caramel that hangs down her back in waves with the occasional thin braid woven in.

“I am,” I raise my hand and give her a friendly smile back. “I’m Kira. I’ve been here for two weeks, and this is my friend Toby, he’s just visiting me.”

“Don’t be so sure, honey,” Toby gives me a pointed look as she secures the ribbon around the dogs little Fraggle-Rock ponytail that sprouts from the top of its head, just as a lightbulb seems to go off and she looks up at me with a bright smile.

“You live with my gramma!” She exclaims warmly.

My brain threatens to short out for a second and then I remember. “Oh! You’re Agnes’s granddaughter.” She nods. “Hey, is it okay that I’m staying with her? I’d heard you were going to move in with her?”

She raises a shoulder. “I live just around the corner from my little shop here.” Her voice is just as warm as her smile, and I think she’s got both me and Toby questioning our sexualities. “And hey, I’m not sure how long you guys plan on sticking around, but if you know of anyone looking to make a little extra cash, I’m looking for help.”

“You don’t say…” Toby’s eyebrows shoot up and it’s locked in. Toby isn’t going anywhere. He can do his tech job from anywhere, he has no Jefferey to go back to, and he loves pretty dogs. In fact, when Hattie is done trimming the ribbon around the dog’s fur, he doesn’t hand her back, but rather nuzzles his face into her freshly cleaned fur.

“Who’s a pretty girl? You are, aren’t you Polly? Yes you are, and you smell so good,” before tucking the dog on hisshoulder. “Do you make your own products?” he asks Hattie, switching gears like only he can.

Speaking of gears, I wonder what West is up to…

Hattie is telling Toby that she does in fact make her own soaps and shampoos that are gentle for a dog’s skin as I wander around, taking in the pale green interior that is both calming and gives the place clean lines when the bells above the door jingle again, and I look to see a very attractive, well dressed man who seems to have the same dazzling eyes as Hattie stroll through.

“Is my princess rea - dy?” He stammers slightly when he takes in Toby’s lean frame cuddling the dainty dog on his shoulder.

“Hi…” Toby responds, stunned by what he sees, his eyes scanning up and down. “Is she… yours?” He asks, holding the little lump over to the guy.

“Yeah thanks,” he takes Polly from him but has no reaction to the little dog licking his chin. “I’m Hendrix,” he holds out his free hand.

“My brother,” Hattie clarifies as they shake hands.

I hear a sploosh from somewhere in the back, followed by wet little pitter patters as Hattie turns and her brow furrows in a despondent expression.

“String-bean, nooo,” she scurries off and some instinct to follow her kicks in. I shuffle across the black and white checkered linoleum to a small room with two wash-basins and a sudsy weiner dog chasing his tail in circles on the floor. Hattie scoops him up, letting him get soapsuds all over her apron and plunks him back in the tub. “What did I tell you? Your mommy likes you to soak for at least five minutes, so that your fur comes out wavy and shiny,” she talks lovingly to him as she washes his paws. “Can someone hand me a towel?”

I look around for where she might have one when Toby strolls in, tucking a business card into his shirt pocket.

“Hattie my darling, I have a lot of pressing matters back inChicago, but they’re just going to have to wait, as I see you’re in a bind.”

“What? Really?” Hattie takes the towel I just found draped over a chair and cuddles it against the dachshund.

“Translation—he digs your brother and wants to hang around here to see if it leads to anything, preferably boning, and taking up the assistant job here will give him a perfect guise,” I shrug as I lean back against the counter and Toby throws his hands down at his sides, fuming at me with gnashed teeth.

“I’ll take it,” Hattie sighs in relief.

“Thanks Buttass,” I cross my arms. “If you’ll recall, I’m the one in need of a job.”

Hattie’s head snaps in my direction, concern etching her beautiful features. God I wish, I could pull off an eyebrow ring. “Oh… I’m sorry, um…”

“Don’t worry about it,” I wave a hand. “I almost blew up Maggie’s this morning. It’s probably for the best.”

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