Page 25 of How to Trust a Hellhound
“Wilder?” a female voice asked. She didn’t wait for me to answer, though. “Wilder—I turned into a fucking fiery dog. What the fuck, Wilder.”
Well, then—never a dull moment.
Chapter 11
Josh
Barb was glad to have me in the office, and she wasthrilledwhen I told her I’d broken up with Rick. No one had really liked him, and that should have been another sign. Of course, Rick didn’t like any of my friends, either. It was always more important to him to hang out with his friends.
After that, I tried to put Rick out of my mind. The morning flew by catching up with work and discussing any new accounts and what needed to be done for the upcoming month. Our office wasn’t huge, but I wasn’t the only financial advisor, and Barb had an estate planner, a lawyer, a couple brokers, a CPA, and some personal assistants on payroll. I was the most senior financial advisor, though, and Barb depended on me for a lot of the accounts. In some ways she made me feel like a partner as opposed to just someone who worked for her.
It felt good to be back in work mode and focused on the numbers, making a to-do list of what needed to happen and who needed attention. Before I knew it, it was afternoon. I checked with everyone else to see if they wanted some lunch before I headed out to grab something.
“We have a new client calling to talk to you sometime this afternoon,”Barb informed me. “They didn’t give a definite time, since their shop is busy in the afternoons, and I told them that was fine.”
“Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll be on the lookout for the call. Anything else before I head to lunch? You want anything?” I asked her.
“No, I brought a sandwich.” Barb made a face at that, and I laughed. She preferred to bring leftovers when her wife cooked. I didn’t blame her—Sally was a damn good cook.
I headed out, thinking about Barb and Sally. Sally always packed Barb something for lunch, even if there weren’t leftovers. Relationship goals, I thought. Rick hadnevermade me lunch. It wouldn’t have occurred to him.
I was going to do better for myself next time.
I knew it was soon to be thinking about next time, and I probably needed to take some time to myself. At the same time, though, I felt a bit like I’d been alone for the past six months. Rick and I had grown more and more distant; we’d been more like roommates than partners.
I had distanced myself from my friends, too. Part of it had been because Rick didn’t like them and I didn’t want to fight, and part of it had been because I didn’t want to admit what was happening in my relationship. I hadn’t wanted to look too closely at my life. It was easier to just carry on, even if I was miserable.
As I walked the sidewalks of the downtown area, I decided to head to Cass’s shop. I did have friends, and I was done isolating myself. Yes, some of them were nosy and exuberant and could be overwhelming, but they also loved me just as I was, and I loved them.
The little bell chimed above the door as I walked in, and I saw Q behind the counter scowling at a customer. I almost laughed out loud. Some things never changed, and I was glad of it.
“Are yousureyou want pumpkin spice? It isn’t even fall, for fuck’s sake,” Q was asking the woman.
She was smiling at him, and I thought I recognized her as a regular. “Yup. I justlovepumpkin spice. It’ssodelicious.”
I thought everyone in the shop was staring at Q and the woman, and half the shop was smiling. I wondered if Q realized that the woman was baiting him.
“No, pumpkin spice is not delicious. It’s a fucking abomination. Okay, fine, I’ll give you thatsomepumpkin spice isn’t bad, but that’s because most ‘pumpkin spice’ doesn’t even have fucking pumpkin in it.” Q was ranting now and even using air quotes, and everyone in the shop was staring at him with amusement.
“You want a coffee with cinnamon and cloves and nutmeg and allspice, then go for it. That’s a good fall blend, even though it isn’tfucking fall. But Cass doesn’t do shit half-assed here, so our pumpkin spice actually has fucking pumpkin in it. And who wants pumpkin in their coffee? Pumpkin tastes like old socks and regret,” Q ranted.
“Regret?” the woman asked, trying not to laugh.
“Yeah, like the morning after Halloween when a bunch of kids smashed your beautifully carved pumpkin because they’re fucking assholes, and there’s stinky orange pumpkin guts just scattered everywhere like a slaughterhouse. Who puts pumpkin in coffee, anyway? Why not have squash coffee? Or sweet potato coffee? It’s fucking absurd. Get a nice spring flavor. We’ve got coconut and mixed berries. We even have fucking lavendar, although why anyone would wantthatin coffee, I have no fucking idea. It smells like grandmothers.”
“There’s nothing wrong with grandmothers!” an elderly woman called out from one of the nearby tables.
At that moment Cass came out of the kitchen, glared at Q, and pushed him out of the way, smiling at the customer. Q just kept grumbling as he walked into the kitchen. Cass took the orders and another barista made coffees, moving the line along.
When I got up to Cass, I was smiling. “You know your customers were baiting Q, right?”
He glared over my shoulder at the woman who was sitting at a table. “Oh, I know. They seem to find his grumpy-as-hellattitude endearing. Which is fine until he insults someone who isn’t a regular.”
“I can’t imagine someone getting bent out of shape over his opinions about coffee flavors,” I said.
Cass rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”
I laughed at that, and Cass looked more closely at me.
