“We can remove the labels and donate the costumes to a charity. There are several orgs that would take them, but I thought perhaps you might want them to be distributed directly to pet shelters so there’s no chance of resale and further brand confusion.”
“Out of curiosity, how many of those costumes did you make?” I ask.
“About twenty thousand units, I think.”
“As in TWENTY THOUSAND?” I choke. “You’re going to donate twenty thousand dog costumes to charity?”
“Well, no. There’s only about nine thousand left to donate.”
“What happened to the rest?”
“They sold.” Hudson smiles wryly. “They were actually doing pretty well for us. I’m sure you’ll be getting a settlement offer from the legal team.”
This is something I hadn’t considered. I can’t help but wonder how big that settlement might be. And how long it might take.
Meanwhile, I do some quick math in my head. Farm and Holm sold one hundred times more of “my” costumes in a few months than I’ve sold in my entire career.
“How will you even find someone to take a donation that big?”
“I’m sure we can locate international rescue orgs to work with. We’ll look into it more if that’s something you’d like to pursue. You don’t have to decide this minute.”
“Okay,” I say. The idea has me excited now … the sheer volume of it and the impact it could have! “You know, I could sew all day, every day, for years, and I still wouldn’t come close to being able to donate that many pet costumes.” I sigh.
“Along those lines,” Hudson says tentatively. “I know that our normal way of production doesn’t necessarily appeal to you, but what if there was a way to meet in the middle? What if we licensed your original designs and had them sewn in small batches in ethical, sustainable shops?”
“You think you can do that?”
“I’d like to try.” He shrugs.
“Maybe a portion of the proceeds could go to shelter pets too,” I suggest.
Hudson nods. “Or we could even adopt a ‘buy one, donate one’ sales model.”
“This is an intriguing idea,” I admit, trying not to get too excited about it. He might not be for real.
“You can still talk to a lawyer.” Hudson smiles wryly. “I would. Make sure you get what you deserve for the clothing that was sold. And then you could take that money and run … do something like this on your own.”
“I wouldn’t know how,” I confess. “I don’t have the head for that stuff. Perhaps I do need someone to catsplain a few things after all.”
“You know what’s funny?” Hudson reaches his hand out to mine and we spread our fingers, measuring ourselves against each other. “Right after you left the table earlier, I caught myself checking my phone.”
“Expecting a call?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I was checking to see if I had any new messages from Cookie.”
“I do that all the time too,” I admit.
“It’s a little crazy, isn’t it?” he says, stepping closer.
“It is.” I nod.
“You are making me crazy, Georgia. And the weirdest part is that I think I was already starting to fall for you when I thought you were a dog.”
“I don’t even normally like cats,” I admit, “but Oliver really grew on me.”
Hudson draws me close and bends to place his lips on mine. This kiss is long and slow. There is no pressure. Time stops as his lips explore mine. Somewhere off in the distance, I’m aware of the waves lapping along the shore of the pond. I feel as if I’ve lost all sense of gravity, and then I realize he’s lifting me … literally sweeping me off my feet.
My hands find the back of his head, tangling in his hair, pulling his mouth closer, kissing him back, harder. He groans, stops, and pulls away. I wonder if there’s a boathouse or something nearby.
