Page 2 of In for a Treat

She tapped a finger on her chin. “How can I explain this to you. See, these glasses prolong the health of your eyes, and as a result, you don’t need real glasses.”

“So you wear glasses in order to avoid… wearing glasses?”

She clapped her hands together. “Exactly!”

Butterscotch barked at the sound of clapping hands. Melissa’s gaze traveled downward, and she gave the dog a weak smile. “I’d better let you get to it before things get out of control with all this barking.”

“Great. See you,” I said and walked away.

I didn’t want to spend a second longer chatting with the girl, but unfortunately, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Olive, wait.”

She caught up with me and put her hand on my arm. “Just one more thing. I wanted to let you know I’m starting my own business.”

I tried to conjure up another smile. “Good for you.”

She produced a flyer from her cream-colored designer handbag. “It’s a service kind of like yours, only more exclusive and unique.”

I frowned and grabbed the flyer from her hands. Blood left my face as I studied the text. She was going to offer dog walking services as well? But that wasmyspecialty, and it had been for years. Old Pine Cove was a small town, which meant there was no need for multiple dog walkers.

“You can’t do this,” I said, shoving the flyer into a nearby trash can.

Melissa shrugged in reply. “Why not? We target a different market. You walk mixed breeds and mutts; I’ll only be dealing with purebred dogs. Besides, it’s too late for me to back out now. My shipment of tailor-made dog collars is already on its way. Those rhinestones sure cost me enough, so I plan on using them often.”

I let out a puff of air. “Rhinestones? Look, you can’t just swoop in like this. I’ve been working on this business for years.”

She shook her head and removed some imaginary lint from her cold-pressed blouse. “You know, Olive, if you’re convinced your service is amazing, then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s a free country. I do what I want.”

With those words, she turned on her heel and walked away.

My nostrils flared, and I felt like punching something. Purebred dogs? Butterscotch was as pure as they get, and I walked her, didn’t I? Honestly, what kind of person made that kind of distinction? There was nothing wrong with dogs who weren’t purebred. That was like saying ice cream made from soy milk isn’t real ice cream.

“Come on, girl,” I told Butterscotch. “We’re running late.”

The two of us proceeded toward her owner’s house, the sound of her paws on the pavement setting a steady rhythm. I silently wished Melissa would step in a turd with her clickity-clack heels, preferably a mutt’s turd.

Ever since we were in high school together, she had made my blood boil. Well, mine and most of the other girls in our class. It didn’t help that her parents were loaded, which meant Melissa hardly had to lift a finger to make a living. She lived rent-free in a house owned by her parents and worked a part-time job at her father’s accounting firm. According to Melissa herself, she was the best thing since sliced bread.

I ran up the steps to Mrs. Hudson’s house and rang the doorbell. Butterscotch’s tail wagged in delight. I often wondered what it would be like to be a dog. They always seemed so content and happy, their only worry is the timing of the next treat appearing in their lives.

The door slowly opened, and Mrs. Hudson appeared. “Olive, come on in,” she said while motioning toward her living room.

I smiled at her and shook my head. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m running late for work.”

“Oh, what’s one cookie and one cup of tea going to do? It’ll take five minutes, tops.”

Mrs. Hudson was sweet and harmless, but once she lured you inside, it was hard to get out again, kind of like Hotel California.

I handed her Butterscotch’s leash. “I have to be at work in ten minutes, but I’ll be sure to pop in sometime this week. Maybe Thursday? I don’t have to work then.”

Mrs. Hudson unclipped the leash, and Butterscotch dashed inside. She went straight for one of those squeaky toys shaped like a squirrel.

“Thursday is great. I’ll make those cookies you like,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Then she reached for her purse and pressed a five-dollar bill into my hand. “Don’t spend it all at once.”

“I won’t, thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” I said.

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