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“Look, the developer has made me a very good offer. I know you can’t match it, Livvy. It’s impossible.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, holding back any more tears.
“I’m sorry, but I have to give you a deadline.”
He goes on for another few minutes, but I don’t really absorb what he’s saying. The worddeadlineechoes around me, bouncing off walls and getting louder with every second.
I have a deadline. A deadline to leave. To get the hell out. To take a hike.
Pawsh Pets is done. I am done.
It’s over.
It doesn’t matter if I sell my cashmere puppy jackets for half-off. No amount of puppy jackets can help now.
Nothing can.
I return to the front of the shop where Weston is waiting for me. “That was my landlord,” I mumble. “He wants me out.”
His eyes widen. “What? Are you kidding?”
“The developer offered him a lot of money for the building. Money I don’t have.”
“Livvy, I’m trying to tell you that this doesn’t have to happen,” Weston says.
I look around the shop. Hopefully I can sell off some of my display pieces. It would be nice to walk away with a little money in my pocket.
The doorbell rings and Mrs. Perkins comes in, Sinbad pulling her by his leash.
“Hello,” I say, forcing a little perkiness.
“Hi there, honey.” She heads over to the shelf for her usual purchases.
Weston lowers his voice. “Livvy, let me help you. Let us help you.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding,” I whisper.
Mrs. Perkins drops her things on the counter. “I’m so glad you’re here, honey. If I had to go across town to that horrible Pet Outlet, it would take me all day. And besides, you have much better merchandise.”
I swallow away another lump in my throat. I just cannot cry in front of a customer.
“And you, young man,” she says, craning her neck to look up at Weston, “are you courting our girl Livvy here?”
Oh lord.
He suppresses a smile. “Um, well, ma’am, we are friends. You see, I’m one of the owners of the restaurant next door.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you the ones who got that awful review in the paperthe other day?”
My gaze snaps toward Weston, who nods lightly.
“Yes. That would be us. But we’re pretty sure it wasn’t a legitimate review. We think the developer trying to take over the block must have paid off the writer.”
Waving a hand in the air, Mrs. Perkins scoffs. “Of course, they did. Are you kidding? Now look, I have a niece, Amy, who is a blogger. You know what they are, bloggers, they write stuff for the internet?”
Weston smiles. “Yes, I’ve heard of bloggers before.”
He sneaks a glance at me and I can see he’s trying not to laugh.
