Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“The program?” Pursing her lips, Marta tilted her head as she considered the question. “I guess. It all helps, you know? Medication. Being here in Safe Harbor. Having a job and a place to stay. That helps. But it’s still hard to visualize the future.”
“I feel that.” I was more focused on Marta’s meh recommendation of the depression program, but my commiseration was hardly helpful. Taking a breath, I tried to channel Sam. “You might not be able to see it, but you’ve got a bright future. What did you want to be as a kid?”
“A girl.” Marta grinned at me, apparently delighting in her ability to shock me. One more thing I hadn’t known. “And a vet.”
“I can see that,” I said slowly, hoping I didn’t screw this up by saying the wrong thing. “You’ll be an amazing lady vet. You’re amazing with Buttercup.”
“Thanks.” Marta smiled softly like I’d said something important. “I’m better with dogs than humans. If we had more dog customers, I’d make fewer mistakes.”
Bingo. An idea slammed into me. “That’s it. You’re brilliant.”
“I am?” Marta’s eyes went wide.
“Get the specials board. Think you could draw a dog for me?”
“Only a hundred different kinds.” Apparently, we’d finally hit on something Marta had supreme confidence in.
And by the time Sam returned, the specials board was transformed, and my idea was gathering steam.
“What’s this?” Sam asked as he wandered in, looking far too edible in a white dress shirt and gray slacks.
“Marta gave me a great idea.” I smiled at him, no fakeness in my present cheer. “It’s another way we can compete with Green Label.”
Sam studied the large chalkboard we’d been working on. “Our new special is a pup cup?”
“Yep. Tiny paper cup, a little whipped cream topped with a dog biscuit, and we can get a cheap bag of those.”
“George likes to bake weird things,” Marta volunteered, gesturing at where George was working the front counter. “Maybe he could make dog treats. Hey, George? You think you could make dog biscuits?”
“Hell—heck yes.” George offered a toothy grin as he came out from behind the counter to join us. “There’s a cookbook I borrowed from the library on pet recipes. I can make different shapes of dog cookies. Might be cheaper than store-bought and more special.”
“That’s a definite selling point.” I nodded at him, but Sam frowned.
“We can’t have a ton of dogs inside here. Sneaking Buttercup in a time or two was one thing, but the Health Department would likely object if we welcomed any and all canines.”
“We need a drive-thru.” George scrunched his face. “Wait. They can sit outside.”
“On what chairs?” Marta offered a surprisingly stern rebuke of George’s suggestion, showing more backbone than she ever did around Sam or me.
“So? Add some.” George shrugged and gestured at the scrubby patch of broken concrete and gravel outside the shop’s side door. An aged wrought iron fence surrounded the patch, along with a few empty ancient planters. “We can make a pet-friendly patio.”
“Calling that a patio is a stretch.” Sam sounded more skeptical than usual. I’d assumed he’d be all on board, but he’d seemed a bit reserved since walking in from church.
“Yes, but it’s a way to set you apart from the Green Label store.” I pointed down the street. “There’s no patio there, and they’re known for having a time limit on people taking up tables.”
“True.” Sam’s expression shifted from tense to thoughtful, so I went in for the hard sell.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one with an imagination?”
“You’re right. It’s a good idea.” He finally offered a smile, and simply that small act made me relax. Apparently, I counted on Sam’s easy smiles and confidence more than I’d realized. “Let’s make it happen. I’ll call Knox and Cal.”
“Why?” I grimaced. I was happy that Monroe and Holden were all coupled up, but I had weird unease, especially where Cal was concerned.
“We’re going to need help. We can’t do it alone,” Sam said reasonably.
“I’m not afraid of hard work.” I sounded petulant and undoubtedly needed to dial it back, particularly in front of George and Marta, but I couldn’t seem to moderate my tone. “There’s no need to bother your friends.”
“Walk with me to our future patio.” Sam none-too-subtly steered me to the side door, waiting until we were alone to say, “This doesn’t have to be weird. Renovations are literally Knox’s business, and Cal does a ton of construction work for him between recovery dives.”
“Is that what they call it? Recovery?” I made a sour face. I hadn’t liked that word on the depression treatment program brochure, and I didn’t like it one bit here either. Recovery. Like a return to normalcy was possible, like we were talking about a mild cold that one dealt with and forgot. Not…this.
“Yes. Recovery. Cal’s devoted his life to bringing closure to families.”