Page 10 of Hate You Later
“You’re going to rock this, Hudson,” Bryce says encouragingly as I pull away. And then, as an afterthought, he says, “Don’t go taking all the credit though.”
“As if you’d let me,” I shout over my shoulder.
There’s no sign of the sparkling battle pixie or her friend in the parking lot. There’s just the moonlight, reflected in the glowing, amber eyes of a large, furry cat waiting patiently on my dashboard.
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“Incoming! With muffins!”
The bell on the door chimes, and Kenna breezes into Celestial Pets, followed closely by my little brother, Xander.
Kenna is balancing a coffee caddy with three white paper cups in one hand, a brown bag full of pastries in the other. Xander is freshly showered, shaved, and impeccably groomed as usual. Not a single fuchsia (this month’s color) hair out of place. No doubt he’s been up for hours. He’s probably gone for a run and made breakfast for himself and his partner Mac already too. All before 10 a.m. Lucky Mac. It’s been lonely for me since my little brother moved out of the house we inherited from our adoptive mom. The house I’ve borrowed tens of thousands of dollars against. I can’t even think about it now.
“Oh my God, you smell good.” I inhale the scent wafting around Kenna. “Coffee and blueberry muffins should be your signature scent.”
“You really could use someone to feed and water you. Too bad I’m not your type,” Kenna says. “I brought you a triple shot.”
She gestures at the cup, holding three shots of espresso. Kenna is famous in Ephron for knowing exactly what beverage you need on any given day. Her uncanny ability to prescribe the perfect drink has led to a loyal following at the diner. Her barista apron reads “Coffee Witch.”
“You should also eat though. I’m assuming you haven’t had anything to eat yet this morning,” she says.
“No, and I’m famished,” I admit. “I was up finishing the mural till 4 a.m. last night.”
It’s finally done. Just in time to make it into the photos for the article inPet Friendsmagazine.
“What do you think?” I gesture to the freshly painted south wall of the shop. It’s the first significant change I’ve made to the store since my mom passed.
Xander stops in his tracks to admire the transformation.
The mural extends from floor to ceiling. There’s a starry sky full of pet-themed constellations, each with their own “zodiac” caption. The Milky Way, on closer inspection, is actually a school of tiny fish. “Tag Us!” is spelled out across a sparkling shooting star. Our social media handles are detailed in the tail.
At the center of it all, looking down from above, there’s a winking, friendly-faced, smiling moon with the face of Joan Starr, our foster/adoptive mom and the founder of Celestial Pets.
“You know,” Xander whistles, gazing at the moon, “Mom would have loved this.” He does nothing to hide the tears in his eyes, which of course have the effect of making my eyes leak too. I look away and busy myself, rearranging the muffins on the paper take-out bag.
“Seriously, G, bring it in.” Xander holds out his arms. I hesitate, still feeling the burn of a lump forming in my throat. It’s too early in the morning to get all emotional.
“Dude, you know you’re getting hugged, right? Resistance is futile.” Xander tilts his head and flashes his most magnetic smile.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes and capitulate. Coming out from behind the counter, I let my not-so-little bro wrap his arms around me. He squeezes me tight in a bear hug. I find myself hugging him back, enjoying the burst of brotherly affection despite my natural inclination to deny myself. It feels so good to get a hug from him.
Xander has always been a force. Everyone loves him. Dogs, cats, small children, grumpy old ladies, hunky philanthropic vets …
“Tell me your secret, Xander,” Kenna says. “You’re the only one she actually lets hug her.” She hands him his usual—an Oat Milk Matcha Latte.
“I just like to keep YOU on your toes so you keep bringing me muffins.” I point at Kenna, stuffing a huge bite of muffin in my mouth. “Mmm … you are a goggess,” I muse, my mouth too stuffed to properly pronounce my ds. I wash the muffin down with a generous gulp of coffee.
“How many dogs are on your schedule today, Xan?” I ask.
Xander always parks one of his mobile grooming vans in front of the shop on Saturdays, which is a great source of foot traffic for us. Even more so since he has become TikTok famous. People actually follow his van, like a food truck, dropping in to watch him work his magic.
My baby brother is an artist. He has a way of seeing each pet’s inner personality, and then bringing that to life in his sessions. Video game characters, super heroes, film classics … he pulls from it all. You never know “who” is going to emerge from his van. This is exactly what makes his videos go viral.
Xander checks his schedule on his phone before answering. “Six dogs total, counting the stray that got brought into the clinic last night.”
I know Xander won’t be charging a dime for that one. Kenna will donate the photos, and I’ll supply an outfit or two for the cute factor. It’s a winning formula for getting pets adopted—fast.
If only I had the winning formula for raising cash fast. I tamp down the tide of worry. There’s still a month to go. Maybe I can somehow make the Petfluencer thing pay off?
