“Okay, you might be on to something with the cookies and orgasm,” Gabby said. “And hey, you could bundle fixing the arm and an orgasm by sleeping with your hottie PT.”
Emma felt her face heat and give herself away. “How would sleeping with him fix my arm?”
“Let’s just say after a night with him, you might not even notice your arm anymore.”
Emma snorted to cover the fact that the idea more than intrigued her, and she moved behind the desk to look over their schedule. Busy. The yards would be filled to capacity. No room for Hog, who qualified for the big dog yard, but he was also shy, so he was usually more comfortable just staying out front with Miss Kitty, who’d been gracious enough to allow him to be her minion.
The minion was currently snoozing at her feet.
A warm feeling filled Emma’s chest, in her happy place here every bit as much as Hog. “I love this place so much.”
Gabby’s easy smile faded some. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something . . .”
“Oh my God. You’re firing me.”
“No. No,” Gabby said more gently. “But I’m tired of giving everything I make to my damn kids—”
Miss Kitty looked up sharply and pointed to the swear jar they kept on the counter.
Gabby winced, pulled a dollar bill out of her pocket, and stuffed it into the jar. The woman cost herself at least fifty bucks a week, but the money all went to the local humane society, so it was for a good cause. “My kids manage to go on vacations and have new fancy phones, and what do I have? Too much work. I’m retiring and selling the business.”
Emma sank to the bench lining one wall. “When?”
“Soon as possible.”
Emma’s knees felt weak. “Who’s buying it?”
“I don’t know yet. I can only sell the business, not the lease to the building, which isn’t transferable. If the new buyer wants to stay in this location, they need to qualify with the property management company that owns it. I’m hoping whoever it is, they keep the three of you on.”
Marco had been walking through, carrying a French bulldog, who sat in his arms like a little princess. A princess who breathed like Darth Vader. He stopped and drew a deep breath. “I’m hoping that too, since I’m fond of eating.”
“I want to buy it,” Emma heard herself say. But the idea was already putting down roots. She could be with animals all day long, and animals never judged or let you down. She could be her own boss, and she was pretty damn great if she said so herself. Plus, she could stop hunting for a job that wasn’t going to happen.
Gabby was grinning broadly. “I love this idea. I’d be honored, Emma. You’d be perfect.”
Emma let out a low breath and struggled with tears. It’d been a while since she’d felt of value. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. But . . . can you afford it?”
If she could get a business loan. Running this place—with help—was something Emma could do in spite of her physical disabilities. And the more she thought about it, the more excited she got. “I’ll talk to my bank, see what I can qualify for.”
Gabby nodded and clapped her hands. “Then get to work on it. I need a buyer much sooner than later.”
“How soon?”
“I need to give forty-five days’ notice on my lease, which means if I’m going to get out of renewing, you’ve got about two weeks.”
Emma’s mind raced—two weeks!—but she nodded.
“And I love you, but it won’t be cheap,” Gabby warned. “I won’t charge you a penny more than Paw Pals is worth, but this is my retirement fund. If you’re really serious, I’ll send you an email with everything you need to know.”
Emma’s heart was thundering in her ears. Nerves. But . . . also something else, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. “I’ve never been more serious.”
“Two weeks, girl. Make it happen.”
Gulp. But hey, if she could nearly die in a single instant, then she sure as hell could figure out a new life for herself in two weeks, right?
EMMA SPENT A few late nights creating a business plan and figuring out how to transfer over Gabby’s current licensing and permits if she bought Paw Pals, not to mention actually qualifying for a business loan.
Two big ifs.
It was a pipe dream, but other than sex with Dream Simon, Emma had never wanted anything so much as Paw Pals. She wanted it so much she was almost afraid to believe it could happen.
Almost. She walked into the PT clinic for her next appointment and waited until Simon had her on the leg machine to say anything.
“I’ve got a new plan,” she said, trying to ignore the pain of pushing her body.
He lifted his head and leveled her with those eyes of his, warm and curious. But still she hesitated because saying it out loud for the first time was going to make it real. “I’m going to buy Paw Pals.”
“Yeah?” Simon smiled, his eyes lighting up. “That sounds perfect for you.”
“It will be. If I can secure a business loan and lease for the building.”
“You’ll find a way. That’s who you are.”
Emma appreciated the words. But she was afraid he had more faith in her than she had in herself.
“My cousin manages a bunch of retail space, one of them being the building Paw Pals is in.”
She sat up so fast she got dizzy. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
She blinked, thoughts whirling. “That . . . sounds like a very odd coincidence.”
“It’s not. The property management company she works for owns a lot of buildings in Wildstone. It’s my dad’s company. Armstrong Properties.” Simon said this like he was saying it’s light outside, or two plus two equals four.
“You’re Armstrong Properties?”
“My dad is.” He paused. “But I’m running the company for him right now, until he’s fully recovered.”
She stared at him. “That’s why you had to go to only two half days at PT.”
“Yes.”
Emma could see everything Simon wasn’t saying in his eyes. How he’d rather be back at PT full-time, how he wished his dad could be back at work, that he felt stretched thin. But he didn’t say any of that. Wouldn’t.
“You know how you like dogs?” He shrugged. “I like helping people.”
“So you’re nice and a sadist?”
Simon smiled. “One of these days you’re going to figure out I’m not either of those things.”
Something to think about.
Chapter 7
Step 7: Be nice.
Alison sat on the first row of the bleachers lining the softball field in Wildstone’s state park. The park was near the beach and a huge draw to locals because one could day camp, barbecue, lounge on the grass, walk to the beach, or play softball. She squirmed a bit, waiting for the game to start. She hated the first row. It left her open and exposed to everyone who walked by and wanted to talk.
And everyone in Wildstone always wanted to talk.
If she had her way, she’d be on the top row in a far corner. Or maybe in her car. Or better yet, at home in her town house that was the size of a postage stamp, but was at least all hers. Well, okay, it was the bank’s, but in twenty-seven years it’d be all hers.