It Started with a Dog, page 15
Another text popped up from Harper. Hey over there at the Lucky Star! I don’t know if you are aware, but someone trashed your Christmas tree pile. I have a guy here who is carting some things off for me and he can drop them off at the city recycling program if you like. Lemme know.
“What?” Jonah tried to stride out of his office (he was hampered by forgetting he’d locked himself in, and he slammed into the door when it didn’t open with a yank), and went into the dining room. Robert and Lloyd had gone, so he leaned across their usual table, craning his neck to see down the street. “Jesus,” he mumbled. Someone really had scattered the trees.
“What are you looking at?”
Uncle Marty had wandered into the dining room and leaned over the table, too, spotting the Christmas trees. “Well, now, that’s unfortunate.” He squinted at the mess. “We better get that cleaned up before the city code inspector drives by and dings us. I’d say it’s going to cost us. Remind me again, what did these trees run us? Two fifty?”
Jonah snorted. He wished. “Three twenty-five.” He was never going to live down those trees.
“Ooh boy. Well, we better go and round them up,” Marty said.
On the sidewalk they could see that the culprit had spread the trees much farther than they’d been able to see out the window, covering about three blocks. “Great,” Jonah spat. “Just great.”
“Hey!”
Jonah and Marty turned at the same time to see Harper jogging across the street from Deja Brew. She hopped up onto the curb and waved as if maybe they hadn’t seen her. As if nothing had happened yesterday. Jonah wished she didn’t look so delectable in her slim black pants, her boxy pink sweater, and her hair in a high ponytail.
“Who’s that?” Marty asked as she strode toward them.
“A friend,” Jonah said.
Harper was beaming at Jonah when she reached them. “I caught you!” She shifted her green-eyed gaze to Marty. “Harper Thompson.”
“Marty Rogers.”
She shook his hand. “A pleasure.”
His uncle didn’t let go of her hand right away, and Jonah thought he was going to have to reach over and push his eyes back into their sockets.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a tree problem,” she said.
“Yep. It’s number one on today’s list of problems.”
“It’s not my nephew’s fault,” Marty said. “He was trying to be creative and get people to stop in. He had the idea to sell them to apartment dwellers.” He gestured loosely in the direction of some of the newer apartment complexes that had popped up along the avenue.
“That’s okay, Uncle Marty—”
“We all thought for sure they’d stop in for a coffee and a tree on their way home from work, but the truth is, we didn’t get many takers.” Marty gave a shake of his head. “Can’t figure it out.”
“You’d think people would like the convenience,” Harper said.
“Wouldn’t you? I’ve got a theory—”
“I think she gets the picture, Uncle Marty,” Jonah said before his uncle outlined the book he apparently intended to write about the debacle. He had a theory?
“I sure do,” Harper said. “It was an interesting idea.”
She was being kind, but he felt a little like a moron. She probably had a list as long as his arm of great promotional ideas, and nowhere on that list was sell Christmas trees.
She looked up the street. “Wow, whoever did this must have been determined to cause some mayhem. Just untying the bundle of them must have been a job, right?”
“They weren’t tied,” Uncle Marty announced. He looked at Jonah. “I guess we didn’t have enough rope?”
Okay, so Jonah hadn’t tied them together. It had not occurred to him that someone would want to come along and scatter them up and down the street, and he did not care to stand on the sidewalk and rehash all his bad decisions that involved Christmas trees, so he said, “You said you have someone who can haul them to Zilker Park to the tree recycling?”
“Yep. He’s one of our guys, and he’s picking up a few things today. We were looking at your trees and he mentioned that he had plenty of room. Shall I send him over?”
Jonah just imagined the conversation across the street. Were they sitting in the egg basket seats, swinging back and forth while they discussed what a pity his trees were? Did they laugh while they drank their fancy coffee? “Thank you, Harper. That would be great.”
“There’s a stroke of luck,” Marty said. “We didn’t know what we were going to do with all these damn trees. Been fretting over it for days.”
Jonah tried to shoot the universal shut up look to his uncle, but like all the septuagenarians he knew, Marty didn’t notice.
“I’ll tell him right now.” Harper slipped her hand into her pocket, but then quickly snapped her fingers. “I forgot my phone across the street. I’ll send him in, what, a half hour? Does that give you enough time to pick them up?”
“I don’t know,” Marty said, peering around Jonah. “Might want to give us forty-five. They look to be spread way on down the street.”
Could the crack in the sidewalk just open up now and allow Jonah to drop into the earth’s fiery center?
“I’ll let him know. Oh, hey—I wanted to let you guys know about an event.” She reached in her pocket and withdrew a rolled-up sheet of green paper. She handed it to Uncle Marty.
Jonah didn’t ask what sort of event. He was feeling completely conspicuous right now. In way over his head. She was a professional in this game and he was merely playing like he was. “Thank you,” he said again. “I really am grateful for the offer.” He would have had to rent a truck to haul these things off, just adding to the cost of his failed experiment.
“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers,” Harper said.
“You just call me Marty,” he said with a wave of his big hand. “Nice to meet you, too, little lady. Come on over anytime. We’re one big happy family over here at the Lucky Star.”
Jonah didn’t want to look too closely, but he thought his uncle, who was suddenly talking like John Wayne, was blushing a little.
“I’ll do that.” She turned to check the traffic, then darted across the street again.
“Well,” Marty said. “She’s a looker.” His gaze was still on Harper as she disappeared inside Deja Brew. He slowly turned toward Jonah. “Just when was it you got the chance to meet the girl from a business that’s not even open?”
“Ran into her,” Jonah said vaguely. He would eventually need to explain him and Harper of Deja Brew, but at the moment, they had some trees to pick up. “Let’s do this.”
It was with Lloyd’s help, who had come back for a free piece of pie—his second, because they had not established rules about people who stopped by several times in a day—that they managed to get the trees stacked just when a Penske truck pulled up at the curb. A thin, dark-haired young man hopped out and strode around to the back to lift the cargo door. “You Jonah?”
“Yep.”
“Marco. Harper sent me.”
“Really appreciate this, man.”
Marco shrugged like it was no sweat off his back to haul a dozen unsold Christmas trees. And then he had to add insult to injury by picking up four trees at a go while Jonah could only manage two. Marco worked quickly around him. Jonah was seriously considering telling him that he was an aerospace engineer, that everyone had their strengths. But the trees were loaded, and Marco pulled the cargo door down. “Anything else you need me to haul away?”
Just his damn pride, but he’d need a bigger truck for that. “No. Thanks again.”
“No problem,” Marco said. He gave Jonah a peace-out sign, hopped in the truck, and drove away.
Jonah went back into the store. It was just after noon, and there was a sum total of four customers. The crossword game he’d been so proud of was empty—no one had attempted to fill a single letter in. With a grim shake of his head, he started back to the office, but he noticed his family gathered at one end of the counter. They were all bent over something. In spite of his foul mood, his curiosity got the best of him, and Jonah walked up to the group. “What’s going on?”
Jonah’s mom held up the sheet of green paper Harper had handed Uncle Marty. “They’re having a grand opening.”
“Who?”
“Deja Brew.”
“We were just talking to that gal,” Marty said.
“What gal?” Belinda asked.
“The Deja Brew gal.”
“Let me see?” Jonah asked, reaching for the paper. His mother handed it to him, and he read the announcement:
Please Join Us!
Grand Opening of South Congress Deja Brew!
Sample local vendors with options presented for vegan, keto, and Paleo.
Featured vendors include delectables from Tiff’s Treats and Tiny Pies!
Complimentary frappes!
With Special Musical Appearance by Suzanna in our dog-friendly garden!
Amy suddenly shoved him. “Suzanna!” she shout-whispered. “I love her.”
“Is that good?” Belinda asked.
“It’s great. For them,” Amy said.
The six of them turned as one toward the shop windows, staring out at the emblazoned deja brew sign across the street.
“Amy?” One of the patrons seated at a plain wooden two-top table raised his hand.
“Be right there!” Amy called back.
“What are we going to do?” Jonah’s mother whispered.
“We’re going to go, that’s what,” his father said.
They all looked with surprise at Roy. Jonah’s dad was a steady presence, but rarely spoke up unless the situation involved finances. Jonah’s personal theory was that he’d learned over the years that his wife was going to say everything that needed saying. And since he’d been sick, he said even less. That he had an opinion about the grand opening was unexpected.
“We are?” Jonah’s mom asked, sounding suspicious.
“Yes. All of us.”
“You’re going to have to explain yourself, Roy. Why do we want to go to the grand opening of our competition?”
“Excuse me, Amy?” the customer tried again.
“Hold on,” Amy said to him, holding up a finger. “I don’t want to miss this.”
“Really?” Jonah asked her with a withering look.
Amy waved him off. “That’s Arnie Messer. He’ll wait.” She turned back to Jonah’s dad. “Yeah, why are we going?”
“The Lucky Star has survived in this town for seventy years. If that is the thing that’s going to do us in, let’s see what it is. Always know your executioner.”
Belinda wrinkled her nose. “That’s some disturbing advice.”
Jonah’s father pointed at the paper Jonah still held. “It says dog friendly. Why don’t we bring Truck?”
Amy gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Roy,” his mother said . . . but she was giggling. So were Belinda and Marty.
“Oh my God. Are we in kindergarten?” Jonah asked them all.
Apparently, they were, because all of them were giggling at the idea of Truck rambling around that fancy new coffeehouse. “Show of hands,” his dad said, and five hands instantly shot up.
“Amy, come on,” the customer said.
“I’m coming, Arnie, I’m coming,” Amy called back. But she didn’t move. They were all looking at Jonah. He looked back across the street. He didn’t want to ruin Harper’s night, but at the same time . . . she was going to ruin his, wasn’t she? He slowly raised his hand.
“That’s my boy,” his father said, grinning. “That’s the Rogers spirit in you, you know. We get it from our distant cousin, Roy Rogers.”
“We are not related,” Jonah’s mother said wearily, as if she’d said it a thousand times.
“You don’t know that,” his dad shot back.
Jonah looked across the street. He thought he saw Harper inside, staring back at him.
Fourteen
Jonah seemed a little . . . distant. He had since they had discovered they were running shops across the street from each other.
He wasn’t doing anything obvious, but Harper felt like he wasn’t completely present when they were together. Obviously, he’d been thrown for a loop, just as she had been.
Or maybe she was just seeing his work face. Everyone had a work face, as Harper had once explained to Olivia. “People adopt a persona and go to work, and they may not have that same persona in real life.”
“Ridiculous,” Olivia had declared. “My face is always my face.”
“Your face is always a work face. You have a beautiful face and you use it to get interviews.”
Olivia smiled with delight. “You’re right! I do.”
Anyway, Harper wanted to put her and Jonah back on track. She wanted that more than she wanted to breathe. What surprised her was just how badly she wanted it. It had been a while since she’d been in a relationship, obviously, but still, this was the point in their dating life she was certain he would find out she had a prettier friend, or she was too driven, or she color-coded too many things, and she would have to detach before he dumped her. Olivia had once opined that her parents had convinced her no one wanted her around. Harper had said that wasn’t true, but she privately wondered if maybe there was some truth to it. She was always the first to pack up and go.
She desperately did not want to do that here. This thing with Jonah felt very different, and very real, and she’d never felt so urgent about someone in her life.
But what to do about it? She stewed about it a lot, and today, she stewed about it all the way to her office in the Domain.
When she walked into the offices, she immediately noticed that Kendal had rearranged the reception area. The two waiting chairs—leather and chrome and not very inviting—had been placed at angles to each other so that anyone sitting in them could carry on a chat. The chairs were separated by a round end table that sported a large vase of fresh-cut flowers. On the ottoman between the chairs was a decorative tray that was filled with magazines. Kendal had also installed a blue rug over the industrial blue carpet in the seating area. It looked like someone’s idea of a reading nook.
She glanced at Kendal sidelong. He was doing his best not to look at her. “This looks pretty cozy. Is it for your coffee klatch?”
“If I had a coffee klatch, I’d be happy to meet there. But I don’t. Sounds like that’s more your speed.”
“If your goal is to create an inviting seating area, you need different chairs. You know what? We should put some egg baskets in here. It’s kind of our thing.”
Kendal raised his head. “Interesting you should mention that. I’ve already ordered them. These chairs are placeholders,” he said crisply. “Soren wants to talk to you.”
Harper suddenly realized why the idea of Kendal bothered her so much: he was her in male form. He was taking on things no one had asked him to do, striving for recognition. Damn. It was like competing with herself.
Harper walked on to Soren’s office, the scent of incense growing stronger and stronger the closer she came to his door. It was a pity StreetSweets was too small to have a bona fide HR department, because she would have made an anonymous complaint. She knocked on the door.
“Namaste. Enter,” Soren called from inside.
Harper opened the door and was hit with the scent of patchouli so strong that she coughed. Her eyes began to water. Soren was on the floor, stretched out on one side, propped up by a pillow. He was leafing through glossy photos.
He glanced up at her and pushed his scraggly hair from his face. “Come, Harper, and observe the lavish affluence of our opportunity.”
“Come again?”
He gestured lazily for her to take a seat on the cushion beside him. With a grimace, she lowered herself to the ground. More than once, she’d suggested to Soren that having people sit on cushions in professional settings was maybe not the most professional thing to do, and he told her that she exhibited an overly controlled line of thought about pillows.
“I have before me the aesthetic presentation of our destiny.” He spread the eleven-by-fifteen photos across the carpet so that she could see them. They appeared to be the interior of a restaurant. The chairs were wing-backed and upholstered in leather. The tables, none of them bigger than seating for two, were made of highly polished wood. The fixtures, all brass, reminded her of a fancy steak house.
“What place is this?”
“This place is not a place, but a prototype.”
“A prototype of . . . ?”
“The coffee bistro I have designed.”
The coffee bistro? When Harper thought of bistros, she thought of something a little more relaxed in feel. “This looks like a steak house. You’ve designed a steak house bistro.”
Soren laughed. He pushed himself up and sat cross-legged before her and spread his hands wide in a see-what-I’ve-done manner.
“I’m serious. I thought the plan was to open upscale coffee bistros.”
“This is a bistro. But it’s a new way of looking at a bistro. Why should we expect tablecloths and sharp knives and rich interiors from a steak house, but not a bistro? We have to be on the cutting edge, Harper. The arbitrary forces that affect our lives could be consumed by serendipity if we don’t.”
“Soren, that makes no sense.” She did not have the patience to pick her way through his strange vocabulary to understand what was happening now.
But Soren smiled as if she were a precocious child who was asking who ate the moon. “Allow me to present you with something that makes sense. The young shall lead us, and you may be the person to lead us to the promised land.”
She almost gasped. This was it! She was getting the promotion. Of course she was getting it. Look at what she’d set up at the South Congress store! Look at the grand opening she had planned! Who wouldn’t give her the job? “Really?” she asked, delighted. “What will my title be?”
