It Started with a Dog, page 23
Twenty-Two
Harper’s brain felt like someone had poured molasses into it. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought or follow a conversation like she should.
For three days, she’d loitered near the front windows of Deja Brew, pretending to pet Bob, who always made it clear he did not want to be petted, just so that she could watch what was going on at the Lucky Star and look for any sign of Jonah.
It had been radio silence between them since the night they’d argued.
The Lucky Star seemed to be a busy little beehive of activity. The weird crossword puzzle had come down. Tables and chairs had been rearranged. Big boxes of something had been unloaded and wheeled around to the back entrance.
She spotted Jonah a couple of times, usually behind the counter, usually speaking with Amy or the cook. One day, a group of women she’d recognized as regulars walked out, each of them holding a stack of brightly colored paper. Flyers.
Harper knew a flyer when she saw one.
She couldn’t stop obsessing about Jonah and what was going on across the street. She had enough to keep her occupied—Deja Brew business was picking up, and of course she was thrilled about it. But so was business at the Lucky Star. Maybe it was the unusually warm temperatures they were experiencing. People were wandering up and down the avenue, and both stores were benefiting from the foot traffic.
There was only one way to find out what was going on. Every hour she debated if she should text or call. Break the ice. Send up a flare. But she didn’t, uncertain if she should make the first move.
One day, Amy came into their shop. She’d put her flaming red hair in two pigtails and was wearing rainbow frame glasses. She walked around when she first came in, handing colorful slips of paper to customers in the egg baskets. She stopped at the window seat and tried to engage Bob. He sniffed her hand, which was as much interest as he’d shown in anyone.
Amy made her way to the bar and placed the slips in front of Tyler, the barista. Harper walked over to have a look. The slips were coupons for new dessert tapas at the Lucky Star. “That’s ballsy,” she said.
“We don’t play,” Amy said cheerfully, and Harper couldn’t help but respect that.
Amy was carrying one of the complimentary insulated copper YETI cups Harper had given to the first fifty customers on the opening day at Deja Brew. “Hey, you,” she said to Tyler. “You know where you can get the best burger in town?”
“Uh . . . P. Terry’s?”
“No! The Lucky Star.” She pointed across the street. “Grass-fed beef,” she said, glancing at Harper. “We’ve changed our menu.”
“Yeah? I’ll stop in.”
“Hey,” Amy said. “Just curious . . . how many of those frappes can you make on a shift with that blender?”
“Don’t answer that, Tyler,” Harper warned.
“Why?” Tyler looked confused.
Amy wasn’t confused. She gave Harper a slow, knowing smile. “That’s okay. You can look it up online, you know.”
“So look it up.” It was a dumb thing not to reveal, but Harper’s competitive spirit had kicked in, and she could tell Amy liked it.
“Hey, how’s Jonah today?” She tried to sound super casual, but she had already ripped one of Amy’s slips to little pink shreds.
“He’s fine. Why?”
“No reason.” Harper smiled again.
“Y’all have a good day.” And Amy left, bopping across the store with her sock-hop-era skirt swinging around her knees.
When she’d gone out, Tyler looked Harper up and down as if she’d just said something offensive. “What was that about?”
“That . . . was an overreaction on my part,” Harper admitted.
“Like, for real.”
Okay. All right. So she’d been discombobulated since their fight. Why hadn’t Jonah texted her? Why hadn’t she texted him? What was this standoff, and how was it supposed to end? She was so . . . inept when it came to relationships. She was probably overthinking it. Maybe she should just text him and tell him what she was thinking. Maybe not. But they couldn’t go on like this.
She looked at Tyler. “Hey, let me ask you something. Do you ever fight with your boyfriend?”
Tyler, a six-foot-two tanned, blond hunk in a very tight T-shirt, snorted. “All the time.”
“How does it end?” she asked. “Like, after you fight . . . how do you end it?”
“How?” Tyler seemed befuddled by her question. “You just get over it.”
Ah. So you just get over it.
That was no help at all.
She wondered if she should just call Jonah and hash this out. She’d obsessed about their argument, and the things he’d said. And the things he hadn’t said. And how she had implied things that she shouldn’t have implied. She couldn’t deny that she’d thought the Lucky Star was inferior to Deja Brew. But it wasn’t inferior, she’d realized. It was a completely different type of establishment. The only thing they had in common was that they sold coffee.
That had prompted her to pore over some of the old market data they’d gathered when deciding to place Deja Brew on South Congress. It was as she remembered—there really was room on the avenue for more than one coffee shop. She knew that, theoretically, but her desire to win, to be the best, had gotten in her way.
It was habit.
It was how she justified her existence.
But this didn’t have to be a competition between her and Jonah. It could actually be a partnership. They could work together to bring business to the street. Harper had even called Carly and asked her if her theory was completely bonkers or maybe a real one.
“Of course it’s real,” Carly had said. “Anything is possible with the right publicity.”
Harper just had to convince Jonah of that. If he ever spoke to her again.
When Harper could stand it no longer, she headed for the offices in the Domain to take care of paperwork.
She leashed Bob and straightened his Hawaiian shirt. Harper was still experimenting with Bob’s look. As with everything, Bob couldn’t care less if he wore a shirt or not, as long as he got the promised treat for putting up with it.
Funny thing, though . . . in spite of how much Bob didn’t seem to care about anyone (which went against everything she ever thought she understood about dogs—cats treated you with indifference while dogs were slavishly devoted to you), Harper was surprised by how much she loved having him around. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d made herself believe. She’d been so convinced that her tiny apartment and lack of a yard were deal breakers, but in reality, Bob seemed content merely to exist in the same space as her. His requirements were few. He followed her around the apartment, as if he expected something fun to happen. When it didn’t, he was content to climb up on furniture and snooze. He wasn’t like Truck, and his greetings were never enthusiastic. But he always lifted his head for a scratch and licked her hand.
She wished everything were so easy.
She found herself talking to him quite a lot, giving voice to the stream of thoughts in her head. When she muttered about sales, Bob looked up with an expression of That again? When she announced, apropos of nothing, that she was sick of strawberry Pop-Tarts, he rolled onto his back, his stumpy legs in the air. When she said it was time to go to bed, he didn’t even look at her but trotted into the bedroom, always ready for sleep. She wasn’t certain Bob would throw her a life ring if she was drowning, but he was sitting by her bed every morning, breathing hard because he was hungry. He never complained about a car ride, and sat behind her, harnessed in, his entire body pointed at the window, watching the world whiz by.
And in the evenings, he liked to climb on the couch and snuggle in next to her, his head always pointed away, but his body warm and a little stinky and comforting. Sometimes, she thought this old dog needed the reassurance as much as she did.
In spite of being gruff and disinterested, Bob’s cute tilt of the head was filling his vote jar at Deja Brew. He was a truly great dog, and it made her sad that no one had seen that yet.
She and Bob arrived at the office bearing gifts—day-old Tiny Pies. Harper set them down on the receptionist’s desk. That’s when she noticed that Kendal was not at the reception desk. It was completely empty, cleared of coffee cups and pictures and even a computer. Her first thought was that he’d been fired. But that couldn’t be—Kendal was too smart to get himself fired. Maybe he’d leveraged this job into a better opportunity. At last, now she could get back to the business of being the shining star in this office and—
“Good afternoon.”
Aaand no such luck. Harper swallowed down a sigh and turned to see Kendal standing in the door of the office next to hers. It had previously been used as storage, but she could see a desk and lamp behind him. He was holding a sky blue folder in one hand, a Deja Brew coffee in the other.
“Hi, Kendal. New office?”
“Yes.” He put his things aside, then squatted down and held out his hand to Bob. To her amazement, Bob sauntered forward and allowed Kendal to pet him.
“Wow,” Harper said. “He doesn’t like people.”
“Neither do I. Can I speak to you a moment?” Kendal asked, rising to his feet.
She was instantly on guard. “Sure.”
He glanced at Soren’s office, then motioned for her to come to him.
She looked at Soren’s closed door, too, then walked over.
Kendal chuckled a little and looked down at Bob. “Why is he wearing that?”
Harper looked down at Bob, too. He was sniffing a potted plant just outside the office door. “Do you mean why is he wearing a Hawaiian shirt in the dead of winter? Or why is he wearing a Hawaiian shirt in general?”
“It’s weird when dogs wear clothes.”
“You work in this office, and that is what you think is weird? Anyway, Bob likes it.” Bob liked the potted plant, too, because he turned slightly and lifted his leg. “Bob, no!”
Bob put his leg down and trotted toward Kendal’s highly polished dress shoes.
“No thank you,” Kendal said primly.
“What do you want to talk about?” Harper asked. How about I’m sorry, you win, I was mistaken about everything, you are the bomb, Harper, who was I even kidding?
He glanced at Soren’s door again and said quietly, “Soren canceled your order of the copper YETIs with our logo.”
Harper gasped. “He did what?”
“You said you had fifty to start—”
“And I want to do another fifty. They are very popular giveaways!”
“I agree. But the engraved cups are expensive and he’s on a rampage. The grand opening was more expensive than he thought.” He winced. “He also cut your operating budget.”
“What?” Harper was stunned. “Wait—is this a joke? I was within budget for the opening. He never said he was concerned about it.”
“Yeah, well, he is now.” Kendal bent forward to look out his door, and said quietly, “Just giving you a heads-up. I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
“Why is he doing this?”
“My personal opinion?”
She nodded.
“He’s overextended himself with the architect and the land purchases and needs to make it up somewhere. I gather he’s not great at admitting mistakes, and buying two pieces of property was a mistake. The utilities alone in Cary are enough to open another store.”
Harper studied Kendal. “How do you know this?”
Kendal scratched his ear. “I’m the new administrative director. That includes budget. So he talked to me about it.”
“We have an administrative division now?”
Kendal shrugged. “Something like that.”
It was not surprising—Soren was great at making up titles for people. He’d made hers up, after all. “How much did he cut?”
Kendal winced. “Twenty grand.”
Harper’s stomach sank. Her thoughts began to swirl around the very many things that would have to be reevaluated in light of such a large cut. “What, is Mr. Luthra made of gold or something?”
Kendal smiled.
“Where is Soren?”
“In his office.”
“Come on, Bob.” She stepped out of Kendal’s new office. But before she left, she looked back at him. “Thanks, Kendal—I really appreciate it. And by the way . . . your bar lights were better.”
Kendal’s smile was a little lopsided. He gave her a two-finger salute and turned back into his office.
Harper and Bob walked across the reception area, and she knocked on Soren’s door.
“Enter.”
She opened the door and was hit with the sickly-sweet smell of incense. Soren was standing by the window. He was wearing a caftan-looking thing, and her first thought was that he looked like a Bedouin. “Hello, Harper. Come in. I want to talk to you about a few things.”
“Same,” she said, as she and Bob entered. “You canceled my promotional YETI cups without telling me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My YETI cups. They keep coffee hot and iced drinks cold? They have the Deja Brew logo on them, and they are my giveaway for new customers. To get people in the door.”
“Oh, right.” He looked at a piece of paper on the table beside him. “They seemed extravagant.”
They were hardly extravagant. “You should have told me. I brought the grand opening in within budget. I had the money.”
Soren squatted down and whistled at Bob. But Bob remained by her side, even taking a seat on her foot.
“Soren . . . you’re hamstringing me. I have to ask—are you doing it on purpose?”
“Purpose.” He appeared to mull the word over. “Purpose is the reason we exist. The thought behind creation.”
Great. Normally, she would endure his philosophical bullshit, but not today—she was on edge. Because she didn’t know what was happening with Jonah, or her job, or anything else. “Is that your answer?”
Soren sank down onto one of the pillows. Bob took that as an invitation and climbed onto one nearby, curling into a ball. “Enlighten me, Harper. What purpose would inspire you if you were in my shoes? What intention would set your course?”
“Could you, just this once, give me a straight answer?”
“An answer is neither straight nor crooked. It is an answer.”
“Oh my . . .” Her voice trailed away. She braced her hands against her knees and took a few deep breaths. “Is this some sort of test?”
He laughed. “Life is some sort of test.”
“Why did you cut my operating budget? You gave me three months to develop the clientele at the South Congress store and I need that money.”
“And now we come to the source of your disapprobation.”
“No, we come to the source of my frustration. You don’t play fair, Soren.” She gave a couple of yanks to the end of Bob’s leash to get him off the cushion. “So no YETI cups, no explanation of why you cut my operating budget.”
“Harper!” He laughed gently. “Don’t leave in a state of ambiguation. Let us disambiguate your—”
It was too late. Harper had already walked out with Bob in tow. She had never in her life wanted to kung fu kick someone like she did right then.
Kendal was still standing in the doorway of his new office again. “Well?”
“He was giving me the runaround and I’m in no mood today.”
He nodded. “Look . . . I’ll see if I can find some money in another pot for you.”
She felt a flicker of fondness for Kendal—she’d been arrogant about him, too. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I owe you an apology. I’ve been so suspicious—”
“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t exactly forthright with you.”
She smiled. “May the best man win?”
He smiled back. “Depends on what the prize is.”
* * *
The rush-hour traffic was just beginning to pick up when Harper returned to Deja Brew. She parked, and she and Bob were walking up to the entrance when she noticed Jonah and his uncle outside the Lucky Star. They were hanging a sign.
She paused, watching as they unfurled the sign and stretched it above and across the entrance door, then tacked it up.
She blinked when she read it: our pies aren’t tiny and the first slice is free.
“Huh,” she murmured. “Well played.” Her gaze fell to Jonah.
He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring back at her. Even across the street she could see the hollow around his eyes.
Neither of them moved. Marty picked up the ladder and went off, and still, Harper and Jonah stood staring at each other across the street.
She didn’t know which of them moved first, but they were suddenly jogging across the street to each other, Bob trotting along. Jonah caught her elbow and pulled her and Bob out of the street and onto the nearest sidewalk.
Neither of them spoke at first—they stared at each other as if they couldn’t believe they’d fought. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I am so sorry—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was my fault. I can be a dick sometimes.”
“You weren’t. It’s not your fault, it’s—”
“Listen.” He cupped her face and kissed her. “There is something I have to go do. Come over tonight? Let’s talk.”
She was nodding before he finished. She was nodding so hard that he smiled. “I have so much to tell you, so much to talk about, and I was so scared that—”
“Me too, Harper.” He stroked her hair. “Me too. Eight?”
She nodded again. Eight, ten, one in the morning—she didn’t care, she was so relieved that he wanted to see her.
He kissed her lips, bent down to say hello to Bob, who growled at him, and then went back into the Lucky Star.
