Page 51 of Sing it, Sam

Makeovers.

We could have a mini nail salon, perhaps even look at doing some makeup tips. I could ask a local Arbonne or Avon rep if they’d be interested in spending a couple of hours here showcasing their products. You never know—they might end up getting a few sales out of it.

I go back to my computer and refresh my Facebook feed. Before too long, I come across a video titled ‘This woman riding a horse for a final time will make you weep’. With a title like that, of course I have to watch it.

An eighty-seven-year-old lady, who was an accomplished rider when she was younger, gets to have a final ride, albeit assisted. As warned, I’m wiping away tears, but I can’t help but grin. The smile she wears at the end of the video is priceless.So beautiful. It’s so nice that someone organised that for her. What a kind and caring thing to do for someone in their final days.

I fan my face and take a deep breath, composing myself. The sliding doors open.What timing.

“Hello, Miss Jane,” a handsome voice croons.

Glancing up from my computer screen, my eyes widen as Mr Fantastic Forearms himself beams at me. He’s wearing much the same as what he did last time he visited the home—a blue and white checked shirt, folded to the elbows, and dark blue jeans.

I stand up and smile. “Ah, Clark Kent. I didn’t recognise you without the glasses. How’s things?”

“Good, good. Except the toes. Still recovering from the dancing.”

“Oh,” I say with an understanding nod. “Kara?”

“Yeah. Nice girl, but as a courtesy to her dance partner, she might wanna consider flats next time.”

“If I see her between now and the pumpkin festival, I’ll be sure to suggest it … subtly, of course. After all, it’s in a barn, so heels won’t be practical anyway.” It’s more a dress-and-boots deal, which I love.

He smiles fleetingly and nods.

My phone buzzes on the counter beside me with a text from Mum, lighting up the screen and showcasing a picture of Butch.

“Cute dog,” Ben says, eyeing the screen and leaning on the counter.

“Oh, that’s my boy, Butch.” I pick up the visitor book from beside my computer and slide it across the gap in the counter, placing a pen at the spine.

“Nice. How’s my little brother today?” he asks as he fills in the next vacant row in the book.

Stellar at kissing. Last time I saw him, his lips were against mine.Oh, that mouth.

Heat rushes to my face. “Great,” I blurt out. “I mean, good, I think.”

Way to be subtle, Jane.

“That’s good,” he says and hands me back the pen.

I take the book and set it aside. “Hey, I know this might sound really random, but just wondering if you might know what happened to Sam’s dog?”

He narrows his eyes. “Ed Sheeran?”

Huh?He must have misheard me. “No, Sam’s dog?”

“Yeah, that’s who I’m talking about. A very loveable Golden Retriever. His full name is Edward Christopher Sheeran, but from what Sam told me, that was too much of a mouthful to call out in the park.”

Laughter erupts from my mouth when I picture it. “Yeah, I can totally understand that. You know, I’ve never heard of someone naming their pet after a celebrity.”

“He’s Sam’s idol, and the dog’s a very nice shade of ginger.”

Awwww. He sounds adorable. “Sam said he had to give him up? Do you have any idea where he might be?”

Ben rubs at his smooth jaw. “We found a home for him through the RSCPA’s Adopt a Pet website.”

That might mean I can track down the owner. “Do you know where he went?”

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