Page 11 of Red Hot Roaster

Once it was quiet-ish, I launched into my updates, talking my usual mile a minute.

“So it looks like all is well in Doglandia. They ran, they swam, they dug—don’t worry, only a bit in my rose bed—they collapsed. Here’s a pic of them sleeping it off in the sun.” I handed my phone to Rafe so he could see my snap of Princess and Pirate lying by the kiddie pool.

“Hopefully, your girl will be dry by the time you’re ready to go home. If not, I’ll get you a towel to give her a rubdown.”

I paused, and Rafe handed my phone back and stared at me.

So I moved on with my updates. “Later today, my friend Lauren is flying in from California. I’m going to take off about two or so to pick her up at the airport. Mateo is coming in then for the rest of the day. In the meantime, if you need anything, just let me know. I can always free up one of the kids to fill coffee bags for the café or online orders. Oh, and please help yourself to any drinks, pastries or lunch—on the house, of course!”

Another pause, and this time, a barely visible chin lift from Rafe.

So I proceeded to my final update. And took a breath. “Pete may have shared with you that my mom passed away a few weeks ago.” No pause since I didn’t want to hear any condolences, and to his credit, Rafe didn’t open his mouth to offer any.

I plowed on. “We’re closing early tomorrow, around one, to get ready for Mom’s party later that afternoon. It’s just a party, not a memorial service or anything…formal or serious like that. We’re getting people together to enjoy her favorite things—lots of food, wine, coffee, drinks, dog stories, laughter, and singing, definitely singing.”

I did pause there, thinking of Mom and her love of all things Elvis.

“Anyway. Rafe, I told you all that to tell you this. If you’re planning on roasting tomorrow, could you possibly wrap it up by noonish? We need to set things up, bring in stuff, make food, decorate. You know, get ready for the party. We’ve got about seventy-five folks coming.”

I stopped to catch my breath and waited for Rafe to comment. It’d be fine if he only said “okay,” since he was a man of few words.

“Okay,” he said, as expected.

Then he added, “I could be your dogsbody.”

Chapter 8

Rose

Iraised my eyebrows and queried, “Did you just call yourself a ‘dogsbody’?”

The corners of his lips quirked up, and he informed me, “Yeah.”

“Okaaay…you do know that ‘dogsbody’ means you would be kinda like…my servant, taking my orders, doing all the drudgework for the party? I was counting on my son for all that when he gets home from school tomorrow morning.”

He surprised me with the longest string of sentences I’d heard from him yet.

“I’m fine with you bossing me around. I don’t want to intrude on this family thing, but maybe you could use some extra help with all those Post-it Notes I’m sure you have?” He smirked and went on. “I could carry the heavy stuff in, move tables around, run any last-minute errands. Then I could stick around to replenish food, make coffee drinks, clean up, do whatever you need. That way, you and your son can focus on the party and all your friends. I’ll be behind the scenes.”

I stuttered, “Oh, th-th-that’s nice of you, bu-bu-but.…”

“Please, Rose. Let me help.”

How could I turn down that kind offer? I could hear Mom in the back of my mind:

Needing help is not a weakness, sweetie. Giving people a chance to help you is a sure sign of strength. Just say ‘thank you.’

So I did. “Thank you, Rafe. You are now my official dogsbody.”

“Whatcha doing, girl?” I called to Lauren, who was standing on our side deck with Jean-Luc’s Bernese mountain dog.

“I’m gettin’ me some lovin’ from this handsome boy,” she called back.

As often happens with Berners, Cab was a leaner—in his case, one-hundred-thirty-or-so pounds worth. The grand-sized dog was leaning into the petite-sized Lauren, whose normally sleek, curled-under do was all mussed up. Somehow, she stayed on her high heels by curling over him and looping her right arm around his neck.

They gazed adoringly into each other’s eyes, having a moment.

I’d left Lauren outside when I went into the café to talk with Jean-Luc about the wines for Mom’s party. He’d brought down a few sample bottles of reds and whites from Dogwood Wine Merchants for my choice.

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