Page 21 of Hound Dog
Eleven thirty. I was supposed to already be on my way to the animal shelter where I had to pick up the Maltipoo for Greg and also reserve him the Newfoundland.AndI was supposed to meet with a potential new client for their consultation there at the shelter.
I took Patty’s credit card and swiped it before sliding the receipt across the counter toward her with a pen.
“Goodness,” she chuckled, taking the pen gently from me. “Someone lit a fire under you today, Finny!”
I smiled at Patty who was older than my mom and lived a few streets down from us. She always had the best candy at Halloween when we were kids.
I did my best to keep my expression happy and calm to mask the ball of anxiety I felt inside. “Oh, you know us Evans boys,” I said to her with a wink that I hoped to God was charming. ‘We’re always cooking up something.”
Her nose scrunched with her pruney smile, and she leaned across the counter to pat my cheek before shuffling her way out of the bakery.
With no one else behind Patty, I seized the break in customers to rush for the door to the kitchen and poke my head inside where Liam was pulling cinnamon rolls out of the oven. “Yo,” I said, “I’ve got to take off soon. I need you to man the front.”
Liam inspected the rolls carefully, leaning over them with squinty eyes that rivaled Patty’s. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a second.”
I rolled my eyes, swallowing my frustration. I’d been helping my brothers out at Beefcakes a couple days a week for a few months since they started getting really busy. It had originally been my mom’s bakery for decades, but when she was diagnosed with cancer, Neil and Liam took over for her.
They all knew I had some other secret gig I was doing in between—but that’s all they knew. That it was an elusive gig. Working at Beefcakes was just a favor, not a career for me. Still, family came first, and I’d rather pour piping hot pie filling into my eye than let my mother’s legacy crumble around us.
The Maple Grove Cupcakery had been here since before I was born, and it was going to last well after I was gone if I had anything to do with it. Even if it now went by a different name.
“Dude, I mean it. I was supposed to leave five minutes ago!”
“I heard you,” Liam growled, still bent over the cinnamon rolls, piping the icing onto them. “I’ll be out in a second. I promise.”
From behind me, I heard the impatient ding of the bell at the counter. Why the hell did we even put that bell there? We hardly ever left the front unattended.
“I’m coming!” I called over my shoulder before spinning around to resume my place behind the register. There, I came nose to nose with Haylee—our next customer—drumming her fingers impatiently against the marble countertop.
If I hadn’t been so damn stressed, and if she hadn’t nearly flattened me earlier that morning, I probably would’ve soaked in the view.
“You?” she snapped, accusatorily.
My brow cocked. “Me,” I said, forcing the glower off my face. Instead, I twisted my mouth into a semblance of a grin, doing my best to give her the signature Evans smile. “What can I get you?”
“Youstillwork here?” Her scowl deepened.
“It’s not like I’ve been here ever since college,” I answered. “My brothers took over the business when my mom… retired.” No need to delve into my mom’s cancer journey, especially when I knew her mom's cancer journey didn’t exactly end well. A soft spot tugged at my heart for her. “Hence the new name.”
“I thought you said you worked at a hotdog stand.”
I coughed into my fist, glancing quickly around to see if anyone heard her. “Are you going to order something or keep holding up the line?”
Somehow in the twenty seconds I was back in the kitchen, another line had formed.
“Fine,” she huffed, the rims of her eyes tightening. “Do you have any of those cute, dog-decorated cupcakes left that I saw on the website?”
I gritted my teeth, ignoring the edge of unease that curled in my chest at her tone.
“We have the cat-decorated ones,” I said, pointing to the only two cat cupcakes left. “And some unicorns—”
“I need them to be realistic animals. The dogs would really be better.” She worried her bottom lip as though these cupcakes were make-or-break. Tapping her fingers to the glass case, she examined our baked goods, deep in thought.
She’d traded her yoga pants and tight workout gear for a white sundress, and her long, dark hair was no longer piled on top of her head but flowed down her shoulders in a cascade of damp curls.
“Real animals? They’recupcakes,” I snapped. Why was I letting her bother me so damn much?
Maybe because your charm doesn’t work on her anymore like it does most women, a small voice whispered in the back of my mind.
