Page 4 of Fake Dating the Silver Fox

“Horchow thinks you need to live a little.” She grins. “And get a little, too.”

“Give me back my phone.”

Lark taps the screen. “Just a second. I’m downloading the app.” She glances up and winks. “It’s for the good of the dogs.”

She knows how to hit where it hurts. “Fine. Maybe a date won’t kill me.”

She snorts. “Hopefully not.”

Maybe a date to the event will do me good. Lark is right; it’s been a while since I had any fun. “But I’m picking my profile picture.”

Lark’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, honey. I already did.”

She proudly shows me my profile, complete with a photo of me snuggling a golden retriever. It’s a bit blurry and more than a few years old, but it will do fine. I’m not trying to meet the love of my life. I only want a date to a fundraiser.

“Not bad,” I admit. “But I’m writing the profile.”

Lark dismisses me with a wave. “Already done.”

“LARK. NO.”

“LARK. YES.”

Her thumbs fly across the screen, and a grin transforms her face. “I’m good. I’mso damn good.”

“Let me see!”

She shakes her head. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re just mad because you know I’m right.” She hops up on the counter and swings her feet while she finishes writing my profile. “You should know by now, I’m never wrong.”

A customer comes into the shop with a teacup Yorkie on a leash.

“Why can’t men be as great as dogs?” I ask. “Look at that cutie.”

The teacup Yorkie trots along on his leash, then pauses to lift his leg on a sign advertising scratching posts for cats.

Lark laughs. “They’re all animals.”

The owner apologizes, but I wave her off and reach for the spray bottle of cleaner and the paper towels. “It’s the third time today.”

She looks on sheepishly while I spray down the sign and wipe it off.

“Can you recommend a coat for Tyson?” she asks. “I haven’t been able to find anything his size.”

“Of course.”

I lead the way to an aisle in the middle of the store where all our specialty coats hang. Some of them handmade by locals, others are curated from around the country. I grab a tiny leopard print jacket, complete with a hood.

“This would be adorable.”

“You got a match!” Lark yells from the front of the store.

I ignore her and focus on the customer, helping her try the jacket on pint-sized Tyson.

“You got another match!”

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