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Several of her regulars even had a permanent grooming station set up in their homes, such as the client she was currently serving. Barbara Frank was a retired lawyer and the wife of a former New York senator, and she owned four poodles. Each of the dogs was a different color and sported a different cut.
“Now we’re going to clean up those feet.” She gently lifted the dog’s paw and clipped the fur down around the pads. Then she reached for a pair of scissors to neaten and smooth the edges where the fur stopped at the ankle joint.
For this dog’s lamb cut, the face, tail and feet were shaved down, with the rest of the coat left full everywhere else. It was important to keep the lines smooth so there were no harsh stops and starts.
August continued with the scissors, sculpting the dog’s fur and shaping the little puff on the end of the tail and the topknot—which was the fur on top of the head. A client had once jokingly referred to this part of the grooming as “hedge trimming” and she could totally see the comparison. After she finished blending everything with thinning shears, she released the dog’s ears from the little clips holding the long hair safely back and gave them a good comb and trimmed the ends.
“You’re all done, my darling. What a good boy you’ve been today.” August went into the cupboard where Barbara kept the dog treats and fished one out for him. The dog gobbled it up happily, and then she unclipped him from the harness that prevented him from jumping off the table and placed him onto the floor.
As August was cleaning up the grooming area, her phone rang and she reached into the deep pocket of her uniform apron to fish it out. Keaton’s name flashed across the screen. Her heart leaped into her throat. Oh no! What if something had happened to Leah? What other reason would he have to call her?
“Hello?” she answered breathlessly.
“It’s Keaton,” he said unnecessarily, like she wouldn’t have looked at her screen before answering.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He sounded confused.
“Oh good. I just...” She shook her head. No wonder she needed a matchmaker; she was such an awkward turtle sometimes. “What’s up?”
“Are you free tonight?”
She blinked. Now it was her turn to feel confused. “Why?”
“You eat dinner, don’t you?” The question was delivered with his dry sense of humor, but there was nothing funny about it. “I thought we could eat together.”
Dinner with Keaton? What on earth did he want? Maybe to apologize for overstepping when they ran into one another at that fancy restaurant? That seemed unlikely. Apologies weren’t exactly Keaton’s strong suit.
“It’s not a trick question,” Keaton said.
“Uh, well... I’ve got another grooming appointment booked at four. But I should be free after that,” she said. Whatever Keaton’s motives, she was too curious not to say yes. But if he tried to put her off Asher, then she would shut it down like she did the last time. “Where should I meet you?”
“I’ll bring food to your place,” he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t cook it myself.”
August narrowed her eyes. “It’s kind of weird that you’re just inviting yourself over.”
“You know me,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t play by the rules.”
A truer statement had never been spoken.
She supposed some people might be annoyed, or stressed at the thought of having to clean up their house. But August kept her place neat and tidy at all times, so a drop-in guest was never an issue. She also knew that Keaton had a thing about never inviting anyone tohisapartment. His home was his sanctuary—or his prison, depending on how you looked at it. It was the place he’d shared with his wife, and she suspected he kept it like a tomb.
But in any case, she was too damn curious to refuse him.
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll be home by six thirty, give me half an hour to clean up.”
“Done.”
As she ended the call, she tried not to think about how her younger self would have been giddy at the thought of a dinner alone with Keaton.
Younger self your ass, you feel giddy right now.
But she would need to shut that down immediately. In fact, she was going to wear her most boring, unsexy outfit. No makeup, no perfume, sweatpants and a baggy T-shirtand, for good measure, underwear that she would never want another living human to see. Because there was no way she’d be able to feel even a glimmer of sexiness while wearing Bridget Jones–esque granny panties.
Whatever Keaton’s game was, she would be prepared.
6
