Evidently, she did.
She’s rolling her lips together and grimacing, all frantic energy with her big sunglasses still on—even though the sun’s dipping behind the hills. I hope Shortcake is okay. I hopeshe’sokay. I yank the door open.
“What’s going on?”
She flaps her hands, and I’m almost distracted by her new manicure—delicate flower illustrations cover her shiny white nails.
“Shortcake…my boyfriend…me,” she stammers, barely able to get the words out.
“Did he knock him into a lake?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
Veronica snaps her head toward Sawyer, standing behind me inthe doorway, apparently just now noticing him. They met the other night, when Shortcake was a background actor.
“Hey there,” Sawyer says with a nod, then glances at me, silently offering to retreat to the living room.
“Come in,” I say to my distraught client, then usher her inside. Sawyer shuts the door, glancing at the sleek hot-pink car in the driveway. Shortcake, all one hundred and forty pounds of him, sits in the backseat, staring out the car window like he’s planning his next move.
“‘Dog style’ is on. That’s what the carmaker calls it,” Veronica explains. “It’s set to sixty-nine degrees.”
“The carmaker has a good sense of humor,” Sawyer adds.
“And perhaps a mixed sense of metaphors,” I add.
“That’s true too,” Veronica says, then pauses in the foyer, waving her hand in front of her face and taking a calming breath.
“Okay, talk to me,” I say.
“I started seeing someone recently—it happened fast, he swept me off my feet. But now, every time Javier comes over…” She winces. “Shortcake tries to hump my leg. Not even his leg—mine.”
I nod, taking it in. “And it only happens when Javier’s there?”
“Yes. And now my new love life is practically a disaster! It’s like Shortcake is jealous, maybe? Or he’s trying to show Javier he’s the OG boyfriend? Like…he’s out-manning him?”
“All good observations,” I say, mentally flipping through solutions. “But to me, it sounds more like insecurity.”
Her brow knits, and Sawyer watches me with avid interest, maybe even pride.
“It sounds like your dog thinks Javier is trying to replace him. So he’s…nervous. And a little possessive.”
Veronica’s eyes widen. “Oh. He’s…clingy, you mean?”
“Exactly,” I say. “But we can work with this. I can’t promise a total fix in an hour, but I can show you how to start reshaping his reaction.”
“I hope so,” she says. “Javier is such a sweetheart. I hope Shortcake can get past this.”
I glance at the wall clock, a retro illustration of two girlfriends clinking wineglasses and the wordsIt’s Wine O’Clock Somewhereon it. A plan forms. “Can we go to your house right now?”
“Of course.”
But I need Sawyer too. I spin toward him. “What time is your dinner?”
“I’ve got an hour and fifteen,” he says, and he’s in all-business mode now, especially when he says, “How can I help?”
My heart does a little waltz at his willingness. “Perfect.”
Veronica beams. “Are you sure?”
It’s kind of adorable thatshe’saskingmeif I’m sure—when she showed up at my house at seven-fifteen at night.
