“And so is Ricky. I realized recently that I hadn’t really listened to him or asked about how he and Miranda are doing, but he’s happy,” I point out before laughing quietly. “He’s reading books on stepparenting and being considerate of their traditions. He’s serious about her, talking about marrying her.”
Tiffany lowers her phone, her eyes brightening at that news. “Ooh, I didn’t know that. I’ll have to pass along the resources I’ve pulled for Harper and Ace. I’m helping her plan things on the fly because they don’t want to wait, so I’ve got a whole list of florists, bakers, venues, and photographers.”
My smile is genuine as I turn left according to my phone’s directions. “Of course you do. Because you solve everyone’s problems.”
Tiffany shrugs in agreement. “It’s my superpower.” Despite her words, that’s twice she’s brushed off what she does for others, acting like it’s no big deal when it most definitely is.
I complete my turn and give her a careful look. “But who solves your problems?”
She’s silent for a moment, as if it’s a new idea to her. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never thought about it.” A few seconds later, she adds, “The only real problem I’ve had recently was how to get home safely after unexpectedly getting drunk, and you helped me.”
There’s a quiet appreciation to the statement that doesn’t need to be voiced, but it still makes my stomach warm and my heart feel bigger in my chest. My words are serious and filled with meaning as I tell her, “I’m glad you called me that night.”
I can feel her eyes caressing my profile, and I wonder what’s going through her mind when she says, “Me too.”
I look over, and our eyes meet, the connection strong and instant between us.
I’ve got you.
Tiffany clears her throat. “Turn right there.”
I see our destination, a good-sized white aluminum sided building with a large sign declaring, The Bone Zone. Ace Young Doggie Daycare.
“The Bone Zone?”
Tiffany laughs like the long-suffering, responsible sister I think she’s always been. “Ace has matured, but he’s still Ace.”
There’s one car parked out front, and the glass door is a beacon of light in the dark of the night. We park, going over to the door and opening it into a scene of pure chaos.
Two people are inside, Ace, who I recognize from his similarity to Tiffany, and a woman I vaguely recognize from the other day on the street. She must be Harper, his fiancée. She’s wearing pjs with smiling worms climbing out of apples and rain boots, a weird outfit of necessity, I’m guessing. But her anxious expression is the true judge of the seriousness of the situation.
Ace’s hair is sticking straight up, and water is splashing around his ankles as he runs around, doing what, I’m not sure. Clearly, whatever went wrong is bad, and the first thought I have is that I’m glad the walls aren’t sheetrock or plaster. I feel like I just walked into a hurricane scene.
“Tiff!” Ace says, splashing over. “There you are! Grab a mop.”
Tiffany props the door open, letting water run out to the parking lot in a tiny river of dingy, sudsy gray. “I don’t think a mop’s gonna do it. Have you figured out what happened and how to fix it so we’re not fighting an ongoing issue?”
A tiny smile lifts my lips, not at the situation but at her calm in a crisis.
Ace points toward the back. “The fucking drain is clogged. It’s hair . . . it’s always hair.” He pushes the mop around, swishing water toward the door. “Had an Old English sheepdog in for a groom today. Let’s just say Shaggers is accurately named. We vacuumed and swept and thought we got it all before it went down the drain. But apparently not.” He holds a hand wide, demonstrating the ‘duh’ of the proof of the clog.
Ace picks up a clump of hair floating on the surface of the water, and though she looks a bit green, Harper jumps in. “Ace snaked the drain, so it’s working, but it backed up everywhere. If we can get the water to the drains or the doors, we should be okay. I think. I hope.”
Ace looks up, reassuring her. “We’ve got it, babe.” For the first time, he notices me.
“I’m Ace, Tiffany’s brother,” he says, giving me a look quite similar to his sister’s protective look. “And you are?”
Despite the situation, he’s smiling like he knows exactly who I am. I roll with it, offering a hand. “Daniel Stryker. It’s nice to meet you, Ace. Wish it were under better circumstances.”
Ace looks at my hand, grinning as he holds up his own wet hair-covered hand. “Thanks, but trust me, not the right time to stand on formalities. Next time?”
He’s right, and I tuck my hand away with a laugh. “Deal. Tell me where you want me.”