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“One hundred percent agree!” Scout nodded emphatically. “And really, getting to work with all these adorable creatures is the best reward one could ask for.”
“Nowthatis an accurate statement.”
August had always been an animal person, ever since she was a little kid. She’d made friends with all her neighbors’ dogs and cats and nursed injured birds back to full health and volunteered at animal shelters. She’d even wanted to be a vet...much to the disgust of her surgeon father.
Becoming a vet is like becoming a dentist, he’d told her snootily.People will assume you weren’t smart enough to become a real doctor.
Cringing at the memory of her father’s insulting—not to mention untrue!—statement, she closed the lid on her grooming kit and snapped the latch closed. Her parents were still disappointed with her choice of career, even though August had a constant waiting list for clients and had even groomed pets for actual legit celebritiesandworked on movie sets.
Merriweather Grooming was the most sought-after pet grooming business in Manhattan and it was profitable enough that August had bought an apartment in Midtown all by herself.
Not to mention doing all thatwithoutcrippling student debt.
Maybe that made her success worse in her parents’ eyes, because they thought she’d been “lucky” instead of smart. But August didn’t believe college was required for success and, for her, the proof was in her regularly jam-packed Google calendar and her healthy bank account.
“I’m going to skip out now,” August said, sliding her bag over one shoulder as the photographer’s assistant announced that the shoot was over. “I need to wash the smell of farm animals off me.”
“Got a hot date?” Scout winked, having no idea just how painful that question was right now.
“The date was last night and it was less of the ‘hot’ variety and more of the ‘I’m starting to think something is wrong with me’ variety.”
“Oh no.” Scout shook her head. “There isnothingwrong with you. You’re a total catch.”
“Or maybe there’s nothing but scum on dating apps.” August sighed. She knew she shouldn’t feel weird about using them—practically everyone did. But her parents had once said that “those apps” were only for people without social skills and, being a little awkward herself, the comment had stung. “I’m starting to wonder if I need a professional intervention. The DIY method just isn’t working for me.”
“It’s always good to try something different,” Scout said, encouragingly. “If you think it will help get you what you want, then I say go for it.”
“You don’t think it’s archaic to use a matchmaker?”
“I married a guy I met in Vegas,” Scout pointed out, laughing. “We all find love in different ways.”
August nodded, feeling buoyed by her friend’s open-mindedness.
“And if it goes well, you could share some of your monster erotica with your date,” Scout said with a wink. “Then you can both get a bit hot under the collar.”
Fat chance. August hadn’t gotten hot under the collar in so long that if it wasn’t for the saucy books steaming up her e-reader, she might have actually forgotten how to have sex. Authors were helping her keep the dream alive, at least in her head.
But maybe that wasn’t the only option available.
There was one thing Keatonalwaysdreaded when he went to visit his little sister, Leah, and that was seeing her best friend, Molly.
Fact was, Molly was a pain in the ass.
She was one of those “beautiful and knew it” types, with ice-blue eyes and a load of thick, shiny hair and a tendency for drama that grated on Keaton’s nerves. Not to mention she had her resting bitch face down pat. She might stop people on the streets of Brooklyn with her Instagram-worthy good looks, but she whined about everything. Oh, and she left her stuff all over the houseandshe hogged the couch. Seriously, do you think Molly would budge if someone else wanted to sit down and watch some TV?
Nuh-uh. Molly thought she owned the place and everything in it.
Damn dramatic husky.
Keaton walked along the street toward his childhood home, where Leah and Molly lived now. Bushwick had changed a lot since he’d lived there. Back then, it had been rough. Gritty. A bit like Keaton himself—especially in his younger years.
Not that anyone would look at him now and think he embodied either of those things. He’d long ago shed his baggy jeans and skater shoes and nicotine-stained fingertips, swapping it all for custom Italian suits and Amedeo Testoni monk straps. And the cigarettes were a distant memory, because career success was his new drug of choice.
He pushed through the small gate at the front of the house and jogged to the front door. Inside, the house glowed golden, and Keaton knocked loudly. As he waited for his sister to answer—knowing that she would take a while to get to the front door—he shrugged off his suit jacket and admired the view through the front window. Back when they were teenagers, this town house had been home to three separate families.
Despite Keaton having plenty of money to spare and a desire to give his family everything, Leah had refused his offer of a Manhattan apartment. He’d tried several times to move her closer to him, even dragging her along to a private viewing of a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows that made the Hudson look like a piece of art.
But stubborn Leah had dug her heels in, refusing to move from the family home.
