Asher stepped forward to defuse the situation. Sera watched admiringly from the porch, resting her elbows on the railing.
Silver, however, wasn’t done playing. As Ash reached to scoop him up and away from the treed tourists, the puppy scooted out of reach, barking around his latex prize and wagging ever more furiously. He glanced back at Asher, inviting pursuit. Asher had no choice but to oblige. Enthralled with the game, Silver took off. Asher broke into a lope, even as Sera broke into a grin. Her landlord’s lean musculature was a pleasure to watch as he dodged and wove in his impromptu rugby match with the husky. She knew she should help him, but really, it was so much fun to watch…
She wasn’t alone in her sentiment, she saw. Across the courtyard, she glimpsed Aruni poke her head out of Tantrastic to see what the yelling was about. The class she was teaching had given up all pretense of maintaining mountain poses or sun salutations or whatever they were doing, crowding the plate-glass window to watch the goings-on. On the placita’s opposite side, Mr. Yazzie, who ran a sculpture gallery that specialized in fantastical—and fantastically expensive—glassworks, had also emerged, squinting to see what was up. He pulled his baggy maroon cardigan closer around his stocky body, nodding in response to Sera’s friendly wave. Pauline had introduced her to the gallery manager her first week here, and she’d found the older Native American gent very kind and charming, especially when he shyly confessed a penchant for sticky buns. Sera had assured him they’d be on her menu. Now she saw he had a bit of a sense of humor, too. “Five dollars on the puppy,” he called. “Care to match it?”
“I’ve gotta go with the Wolf, George,” she shot back. “And make it ten.”
George gave her a thumbs-up gesture of acknowledgment.
Asher was rounding the fountain again, Silver in the lead, while the tourists yelped and plastered themselves against the porch railing of Asher’s shop. A series of joyous barks erupted from the doghouse, where Sascha and the other pups rested, and the terrified couple squealed and backed away. Sera covered her mouth to keep from giggling.
Silver was barreling toward the placita’s entrance, and Sera had a moment’s fear he’d get out into the street. He disappeared into the covered archway, Asher steps behind. She heard a yip of doggy dismay, a Scottish-accented “Gotcha!” and then a bark of a laugh. Seconds later, Asher emerged, sans puppy but with a huge grin on his face. Behind him, a red-faced Malcolm McLeod trailed, puppy tucked firmly under one arm and dildo pinched gingerly between two fingers.
The tourists skedaddled the moment the way was clear, muttering about wild, depraved beasts and vowing to go in search of more civilized shopping. The placita’s front gate clanged pointedly behind them. Aruni and her class gave the dog wranglers deep bows from prayer position, while Mr. Yazzie clapped politely.
“Which one’s yours, lass?” Malcolm asked as he reached Sera’s front porch, hefting both pup and prop.
“Um, neither, really,” she said with a blush. “But I’ll take that one from you,” she said, nodding for the toy.
Malcolm’s mustachios twitched. Sera couldn’t tell whether it was irritation or amusement. “Guess that makes the pooch yer property, Asher my boy,” he said, passing the panting pup to the taller man.
Asher accepted the runt, crossing quickly to deposit him in the doghouse with Sascha and the others. Sera saw Lupe peeking out from one of the shop’s windows, her pouty lips pursed as she caught sight of Serafina. Sera saluted the saleswoman, struggling to keep the snark out of the gesture. Bet Asher never kissed you during a magical evening of dancing under the Fiesta lights, she thought smugly. But then again, maybe he had. Sera had no way of knowing what sort of romantic escapades her landlord got up to on his own time. He might mumble cryptic hints about his lack of recent action, but how could she tell if he was being honest? Blake Austin had once had her convinced of his fidelity, after all. She wasn’t exactly the world’s best judge of character when it came to men.
Sera’s smile faded, and she forced herself to focus on her new pie maven/construction foreman.
“Thanks for coming, Mr. McLeod,” she said, reaching to shake his hand.
Malcolm didn’t take it. Instead, he brushed right past her, entering Bliss without a backward glance. “So this is the space, is it?” he asked.
She followed him inside, tossing the toy back in the box with its brethren and wiping her slobbery hand on her jeans. She slanted Asher a raised eyebrow over her shoulder at Malcolm’s rudeness. His reply was a rueful shrug as he entered after them. Malcolm was stomping about, his wavy white hair trailing down the back of his weather-beaten coveralls, portly belly proceeding him. He knocked on the mahogany counter, wiggled the recessed shelving, and banged on the whitewashed adobe walls, muttering to himself. After a minute, he gathered himself and leapt into the air, coming down hard with both feet on the scuffed pine floorboards.
Sera gaped. He looked like one of the Mario brothers trying to smash a Yoshi. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m checking the floors for soundness. If I’m to be taking this shop from dump to dream, I’ll need to know what we can count on, and what’ll need replacing.”
“Well, count on is fine. Pounce on is something else,” Sera replied. She stuck one hand on her hip and gave Malcolm her best you’re not bossing me around glare.
“Who’s the expert here, girlie? Me or ye?”
“Did you just call me ‘girlie’?” Sera hissed.
Asher stepped between them. “Play nice, Malc,” he warned. “Remember what I told you.”
Sera reminded herself of the vow she’d made to herself not to let the pie maker get under her skin. “What exactly did you tell him, Asher?” she asked.
Malcolm’s face reddened even more, but Asher’s eyes were innocent. “I told him you were a nice lady who knew what she was doing and that he was a… how do you call it? A dipshit, and one who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”
“Ah.” Sera felt herself grow warm. “And when did you tell him this?”
“We had a quick chat over the weekend,” Asher said, waving as if to say it was nothing.
Sera wondered if anything else had come up during their “chat,” such as that stunning—and stunningly awkward—kiss she and Ash had shared. She decided she didn’t want to know. “Right,” she said briskly, hopping up to sit on her counter and give herself some height and distance from the men. “So, guys, I asked you here to talk logistics and make sure what we’re planning is kosher with everybody. Can we get down to business, Mr. McLeod, or do you have any other obnoxious remarks you’d like to offer that’ll make me reconsider my decision to hire you?”
Malcolm scowled, crossing his arms combatively but keeping a lid on his comments. “Let’s talk turkey, lass. I’ve got a rented lorry full o’ fixtures and it’s costing me a bloody fortune by the day. I’m no more eager to pussyfoot about than ye are.”
“Okay then. Let me show you what I had in mind.”
And Sera outlined what she wanted done. She’d drawn up diagrams as best she could, showing where she envisioned her ovens and storage areas, where the prep counters should be, and how she planned to partition off the working areas from the serving and dining spaces. Both men listened intently, Asher taking a backseat while Malcolm put in far more than his two cents.