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Chapter 1
“You need what?” I squeeze the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I shift the dog leashes into my left hand. Two of the littlest dogs trot in front of me, and I have to skip to the side to keep from tripping over them.
“Potatoes,” my sister says.
“Today? You need potatoes today?” I know I sound repetitive, but I can’t believe she’s springing this on me now.
“Yes.” Her voice is exasperated, though I’m the one having to recalculate my afternoon. She huffs out a noise, as if I should have known about this already. “It’s for that science presentation we’re doing with the kids at the elementary school tomorrow.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me about this last week?” As soon as the words are out, I remember she did tell me. Right before I ran off to clean three disastrous apartments.
Guilt claws at me. My mom never would have forgotten. She was so good at balancing everything in our lives, staying on top of everything. I, on the other hand, am constantly floundering.
One of the dogs barks, apparently in agreement with me, and a woman walking by on the sidewalk scowls. I give her a quick smile and a bright wave, determined to be friendly even if she isn’t.
“I should have reminded you,” Finley says. “It’s just with all the college applications, I’ve been overwhelmed. Distracted. You know?”
She has no idea what it feels like to really be overwhelmed. And that’s good. I make sure all she has to focus on is school. For another year, that’s my job. To take care of her and give her the teenage years I never got.
I sigh and tighten my grip on the dogs’ leashes. “I’ll go by the store.”
“Great! Thank you! Can you also get almond milk, Lucky Charms, barbecue chips, frozen pizza, and bagels?”
I swear teenagers are like black holes. She’s bound and determined to eat every paycheck I get. I don’t remember being so ravenous at seventeen, but then again, stress probably killed my appetite.
Maybe I can try to pick up another apartment or two to clean. I’m going to have to do something more if I’m going to help pay for Finley’s college tuition. I’ve got my fingers crossed for scholarships, and I’m going to make her responsible for some of it, but I want to help. Just because one of us had to give up on her dreams doesn’t mean both of us should.
With part of my brain spiraling into the logistics of paying for college, I say a quick goodbye to my sister and cut out of Bryant Park, intending to find a grocery store that will let me bring six dogs inside. Shit. That’s not going to be easy.
But this is New York. If there’s a dog-friendly grocery store anywhere, it’s here. People love their dogs here. It’s why they pay me. Being a dog-walking cleaning lady wasn’t what I thought I’d be doing at twenty-four, but life likes to play dirty. Scholarships fall through. Parents die. Siblings need someone to take care of them. Before you know it, years have passed and you’re cleaning up dog shit for a living.
Nana would be appalled. She worked her ass off to become a doctor so that her children and their children would have the luxuries she couldn’t afford when she was growing up. Too bad she was also horribly impulsive with money and spent most of it before she died.
At least she left us a rent-controlled apartment. Without that, there’s no way we’d be able to stay here. Even thinking of leaving the city where I grew up, the city that holds all of my memories of mom, makes me feel nauseous.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and try to hold it and wrangle the dogs as I type “dog-friendly grocery store.” Someone whistles for a taxi and two of the dogs lunge, barking, and yanking on their leashes. The other dogs leap forward, getting more and more worked up, until all of them are pulling me down the street.
“Heel,” I yell, trying to pull back. “Stop!”
I’m outnumbered, and the dogs completely ignore me. I dig in my heels, tug on the leashes, and try every command I can think to yell at them. They’re too far gone to listen. Pedestrians jump out of the way, and all I can think is, “Please don’t run out into the street. Please. Please.”
They work themselves up into a frenzy, running in different directions, barking like mad. It’s just like one of those ridiculous cartoons where the dog walker gets tangled in the leashes.
And inevitably falls on their backside.
A leash tugs behind me, and that’s it. I’m going down, falling, unable to catch myself because I’m holding the leashes and my phone with both hands, trying to keep the dogs from running off. This is gonna hurt like hell.
Just before I smash into the sidewalk, firm hands catch my elbows, stopping my descent. Thankfully, I keep hold of all the dogs, but they’ve turned feral. Jumping on me. Jumping on whoever is behind me. It’s a lot to take in. I close my eyes, wanting to curl into a ball and cover my ears.
I feel like a mess. Ready to cry. Failing at life. Barely managing to pay the bills. Let alone college for Finley—or me, if I can ever find the time to go back. And now, the dogs I’m supposed to be taking care of have turned on me.
“Down,” a commanding, masculine voice says. A few of the dogs drop, whimpering and wagging their tails. The most unruly keep up their revolt. A hand leaves my elbow, wraps over my hand on the leashes and gives them a sharp tug. The dogs on the other end yelp. I open my eyes just in time to see them drop their heads in submission to the man behind me.
With the dogs finally under control, I straighten myself up, brush the paw prints from my leggings, try to untangle myself from the leashes that are wrapped around me, and look over my shoulder. “Thank y—”
I’m caught off guard by the man who helped me. His hair is silver gray, but there isn’t a wrinkle on his perfectly tan face, making his age impossible to guess. There’s a scar marring his features that runs from the top of his cheekbone to his chin. It’s the kind of scar men have in pirate movies or fantasy books, not the kind of thing you typically see on a New York businessman.
Which is obviously what he is.
