Pupcakes Read online

  “What in the hell happened in here?”

  Brydie pointed over at Teddy. “He happened.”

  Elliott glanced from the clothes wadded up on the floor to Brydie. After a moment of confusion, she burst out laughing. “Oh my God!”

  “He’s a menace.”

  “Well, I was wondering how things were going, but I guess now I know,” Elliott said.

  “I don’t understand this dog,” Brydie said. “I have to carry him outside. All he does is sleep . . . and snore . . . and fart.”

  Elliott wrinkled her nose. “Maybe he misses his Mrs. Neumann,” she said. “I’ve met her a few times. She’s a really sweet old lady.”

  “I can’t imagine a sweet old lady owning a dog like this.”

  “I guess you’ll find out in a couple of days when you meet her.”

  Brydie rolled her eyes. “Great.”

  “Why don’t you take him to the dog park down the street?” Elliott offered. “I bet you could both use some fresh air.”

  “He won’t go anywhere in that harness,” Brydie replied. “We went outside earlier. He just lay in the grass.”

  Elliott bit at the corners of her lip to keep from laughing. She had a large, wide smile that hid two perfect rows of white teeth. People were all the time comparing her to a younger, tanner version of Julia Roberts. It was a feature of which Brydie was insanely jealous, as her own bow-shaped mouth made her look as if she were in a constant pout. “He won’t have to wear his harness at the dog park. And it’s a gorgeous day outside.”

  It was a pretty day. It was the beginning of October, and still quite warm, even for Memphis. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” Brydie said. She tucked a piece of brown hair behind her ear. The short haircut she’d had a year ago was still in that awkward stage and wouldn’t quite go into a ponytail. She looked down at herself. Her five-foot-six frame had always been voluptuous, her “baker’s body,” as she called it. Now her clothes hung on her. Months of stress created an effect that she’d never been able to achieve when she was married. “But everything I own makes me look like a homeless person.”

  “Hush,” Elliott replied. “You look great.”

  “I just don’t want to go anywhere.”

  Elliott narrowed her eyes at her friend. “You can’t trade one couch for another,” she said. “You have got to get out. You’ve got to find a job.”

  “I will.”

  “Will you?” Elliott asked. “Because you’ve been saying that for the last six months. I love you, Brydie, but it’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something with your life.”

  “I know, I know.” Brydie waved her off, blinking back tears.

  “The dog park would be a good start,” Elliott said, her voice softening. “I know it’s hard. But you can’t ignore the rest of the world forever.”

  “Fine,” Brydie said, putting her emotions in check and heading to the bedroom to find a new pair of pants. “But you’re carrying Teddy Roosevelt to the car for me.”

  THE GERMANTOWN DOG PARK was just two blocks from Brydie’s house. She’d never been to a dog park before, but Elliott told her that it was a place where people could let their dogs run around leash-free. This didn’t sound like such a good idea to Brydie—all those dogs running around with nobody controlling them—but Elliott assured her it was perfectly fine. She parked and turned around to look at Teddy Roosevelt in the backseat. He was standing up on his back legs and panting hard, looking out the window. “Do you want to go outside?” she asked.

  Teddy Roosevelt pawed at the window, making little whining noises in his throat.

  “Let’s go, then.” Brydie opened the back passenger door and picked him up, carrying him to the gate of the park. There were about ten other people there, and none of them seemed to notice Brydie and Teddy Roosevelt. They continued playing fetch with their dogs, chatting with each other, or drinking coffee on one of the park benches. The sun was shining and the grass had been freshly cut, filling Brydie’s nose with a sweet, soft scent. She loved it there.

  She sat Teddy Roosevelt down on the ground and watched him lumber off, hiking his leg at the first tree he encountered. His change in demeanor surprised her. Maybe this was a good idea, she thought. Everyone else around her seemed to be having a good time. There was a woman to Brydie’s right, a squat woman with blunt bangs and a cardigan, feeding treats to a huge harlequin Great Dane. When the Dane jumped up to grab the treat, he stood taller than his owner. After the dog gobbled up the treat, the woman said as if she were talking to an infant, “Good boy, Thor. You’re such a good boy!” Then the dog licked her entire face with a tongue that was at least half the length of his body.

  One man was throwing a ball while an elderly beagle chased it. Actually, the man and the beagle looked about the same age—ancient. Both were completely gray, and both had a slight limp in their gait.

  Brydie was so entranced watching the Great Dane and the beagle that she didn’t notice that Teddy Roosevelt had wandered off until she looked down and realized he was no longer near the tree. Feeling panic rising in her throat, she scanned the park. She didn’t see him anywhere.

  “Teddy!” she yelled, while other people in the park stared at her. “Teddy Roosevelt! Where are you?”

  Then she saw him—at the other end of the park, sniffing at a dog, a huge, furry dog three times his size. There was a man leaning down and petting the heads of both dogs. Brydie trotted up to them, breathless.

  “Is this your dog?” the man said, looking up at Brydie. He had a thick mass of curly black hair and eyes almost the same color. Stubble lined his jaws.

  “I, uh . . .” Brydie couldn’t think of what to say. Teddy Roosevelt wasn’t really her dog. Not exactly.

  The man straightened up, tucking an errant curl behind his ear. He looked at her expectantly.

  “Yes,” Brydie said quickly. “He’s my dog.”

  “He seems to have taken a fancy to Sasha here.”

  “I’m sorry.” Brydie reached down and pulled on Teddy Roosevelt’s collar. “It’s our first time here.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” he replied. “She loves other dogs.” He reached out his hand to Brydie. “I’m Nathan.”

  “Brydie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She smiled at him. He looked about her age—maybe a little younger—closer to thirty, and nice looking in a friendly sort of way. He was wearing dark wash jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt with a crisp, white T-shirt underneath. Brydie couldn’t help but imagine that up close he probably smelled nice, too. “What kind of dog is Sasha? She’s the size of a horse.”

  Nathan chuckled. “Maybe a pony, but you’re right. She’s a big dog. She’s an Irish wolfhound, and still a bit of a puppy, and clumsy as hell.”

  Brydie giggled. “I don’t think Teddy Roosevelt minds.”

  The two dogs were lying on the grass, Teddy giving Sasha’s ears a good once-over.

  “Your dog’s name is Teddy Roosevelt?”

  Brydie felt herself blush. “I didn’t name him.”

  “Your husband, then?”

  “No, no husband.” Brydie’s cheeks were burning. “It’s just an, uh, old family name.”

  “I see.”

  The sun had begun to set and the wind had picked up. It was starting to feel chilly. Brydie hadn’t been prepared for someone to ask her . . . well, anything about her life. My life, she thought. Oh, you know, I’m a broke divorcée who’s been forced into playing butler to a surly, trash-eating, old pug because my best friend can’t stand to see me mope around her house anymore?

  She looked down at Teddy. He’d moved from investigating Sasha’s ears to investigating Nathan’s shoes. And then her borrowed dog began to make a hacking noise that sounded an awful lot like sneezing—backward sneezing. Before Brydie could do anything, and to her abject horror, Teddy Roosevelt opened his mouth and vomited.

  He vomited all over the grass, all over himsel
f, and worst of all—all over Nathan’s shoes. Brydie couldn’t do anything but watch, frozen, until the whole, disgusting performance was over.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry!” She reached down to grab the dog. “He got into the garbage today. He must’ve . . . He must’ve eaten something . . .” she trailed off, unable to tear her eyes away from the man’s shoes. Without another word, she turned and raced out of the park with Teddy Roosevelt tucked under her arm like a wiggly, barfing bowling ball, cursing Elliott the whole way home.

  CHAPTER 4

  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST TOOK OFF WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING to him,” Elliott said as she pushed a plastic cart through ShopCo, one of the largest superstores in Memphis. “I mean, you just picked up the pug and ran?”

  Brydie nodded. “I panicked. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “The least you could have done was offer to buy him a new pair of shoes.”

  “They looked pretty expensive.”

  Elliott laughed. “Maybe you can make it up to him the next time you see him at the dog park.”

  “Oh, I’m never going back there,” Brydie replied.

  “Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”

  Brydie picked up a bottle of Moscato from an endcap and inspected it. “I tried going out like you wanted me to. It was a disaster. So I’m going to buy enough food here to get me through the winter, and then I’m going to get under the covers and stay there until Easter.”

  “Why do you suppose they make bottles of wine this big?” Elliott asked, ignoring her friend. “Who could possibly drink this much?”

  Brydie took the bottle back from her friend and put it into the cart. “Better get two of them just to be safe.”

  “You’re going to drink this in front of me even though you know I can’t have any?”

  Brydie nodded, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face.

  “Fine,” Elliott said. “But I think we need cupcakes to go with the wine.”

  “I’m not baking for you, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Brydie said.

  “You haven’t baked for me in ages.”

  “I haven’t baked for anyone in ages,” Brydie replied. “Surely we can find some cupcakes the size of these wine bottles somewhere.”

  ShopCo reminded Brydie of a store in Jonesboro. It was a big-box store like this one, although not quite so big. They’d given her little bakery a run for its money when it was first built, offering cheaper versions of what she and Allan created. As they passed through the deli and made their way into the bakery, Brydie saw a sign sitting atop two wax versions of cakes.

  “Now Hiring!” the sign boasted. “Seasonal Employees!”

  “Look, Brydie,” Elliott said. “You can work here.”

  Brydie inspected the sign more closely. “It says they’re hiring in the bakery and the deli.”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one, this place is almost an hour with traffic from where you live,” Elliott replied. “For another, this place is a cesspool. We just came her for the cheap wine.”

  “What was it you said about beggars not being choosers?”

  “I didn’t mean you should work here.”

  Brydie shrugged. Sure, it wasn’t her dream job, but her dream job had turned out to be more of a nightmare than anything else. “It’s just for the holidays.”

  “I guess any job is better than no job,” Elliott said. “And, hey, if they hired you in the bakery, at least you’d get to do what you love again.”

  “Maybe.” Brydie wasn’t so sure she loved baking anymore. She’d hardly baked a single thing since the night she caught Allan and one of their employees spread out on the bakery’s kitchen floor like pieces of puff pastry. Allan hadn’t even tried to stop her as she ran out of the shop in horror. Now baking reminded her too much of what she’d had—and lost.

  “It says to apply on their website,” Elliott said, pointing to the sign. “You can come over to my place and apply if you want. I know you don’t have Internet at Mrs. Neumann’s.”

  “You’ll have to help me with a resume,” Brydie replied. “I haven’t had one since before the shop opened.”

  Elliott nodded. “Fine, but first things first—let’s find some cupcakes to match our wine.”

  ELLIOTT AND BRYDIE stared down at Teddy Roosevelt from their perch on the couch. He hadn’t moved since they sat down.

  “What do you think he wants?” Brydie whispered.

  Elliott stifled a giggle, leaned in closer to her friend, and said, “Your immortal soul!”

  “Shut up!” Brydie pushed Elliott away from her. Her wine sloshed out of her glass and landed at the dog’s feet. He leaned down to sniff the liquid and then resumed his gaze at the two women.

  “Give him a cupcake,” Elliott said. She scooped a glob of frosting onto one of her fingertips and held it out for Teddy Roosevelt to sniff.

  Before Brydie could respond, the dog’s tongue had uncurled from his mouth and practically swallowed Elliott’s hand. “Don’t give that to him!” Brydie yelped. “It’s not good for him!”

  “Frosting isn’t going to hurt him.” Elliott rolled her eyes and wiped her hand on her shirt. “It’s vanilla, not chocolate.”

  “Still, he shouldn’t be having it,” Brydie chided. “I don’t want to kill this dog before I’ve lived here a week.”

  “He eats the damn trash,” Elliott muttered. “Or have you already forgotten your little incident at the dog park?”

  Brydie felt herself flush. “No.”

  “He sort of seems amiss in this house, don’t you think?” Elliott asked.

  “Huh?” Brydie turned her attention to her friend. She’d been thinking about Nathan and his dark eyes and curly hair. “Who seems amiss?”

  “The dog,” Elliott replied. “He’s sort of gross, you know? He’s old and smells and eats the trash. And this house, well”—Elliott gestured to the grand living room—“is perfect.”

  Brydie nodded. Elliott was right. Teddy didn’t fit with the house. A house like this should have come with a different sort of dog . . . maybe an Irish wolfhound like Sasha—something regal, or at the very least taller. She looked down at the little dog. He wasn’t the only one out of place. Hesitantly, she reached down and gave him a scratch under the chin. Maybe, she thought as she scratched him, maybe I’m not quite alone. Before she could take her hand away from his chin, Teddy Roosevelt sneezed.

  “Yep,” Elliott said, sticking her finger back into the frosting of her cupcake, “this dog is a real keeper.”

  CHAPTER 5

  BRYDIE STARED UP AT THE GERMANTOWN RETIREMENT Village as it loomed in front of her. It was a big, beautiful building—it didn’t look like a nursing home at all—with white pillars and carefully laid brickwork. It didn’t resemble the nursing home her grandparents ended up at in Piggott, Arkansas. This facility was trying hard to appear more like a mansion than anything else and the courtyard surrounding the building only added to that image. All around, orderlies in crisp white uniforms laughed and talked with elderly people as if they were at a party.

  To say this surprised Brydie was an understatement. She’d assumed that the nursing home would be drab and smell bad. However, as she and Teddy entered the foyer, the entire place smelled of rich mahogany and some kind of spice that Brydie couldn’t place. This is Germantown, she reminded herself, setting the dog down on the tiled floor. Rich people don’t live in holes.

  The woman behind the desk smiled up at Brydie. “Hello. How may I help you?”

  “I’m here to see . . .” Brydie trailed off, nervous. “I’m here to see Mrs. Pauline Neumann.”

  The woman knitted her eyebrows together. “Are you family?”

  “No,” Brydie replied. “I’m living in her house, and I have her dog.”

  The woman’s expression didn’t change.

  “I mean,” Brydie continued hastily, “I’m house-sitting for h
er. I’m supposed to bring her dog by every week for a visit. This is a new arrangement.”

  “I’ll just need to check the list for approval,” the woman replied. “And I’ll need an ID.”

  Brydie fumbled in her purse and handed over her driver’s license. The woman eyed her and then turned and disappeared into an office behind the desk. Brydie gripped Teddy’s leash. She wondered if the woman thought she was trying to pull one over on her—maybe she thought Brydie was lying about something. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to come to a nursing home if they didn’t have to, but she figured this was probably the nicest nursing home she’d ever seen. Maybe people tried all the time to get in to visit people they didn’t really know.

  As Brydie continued to stare down at the dog, now sprawled out on the floor, she became keenly aware that she was being watched. It was probably the woman from the front counter, come to tell her that she wasn’t welcome. She whisked around, ready to speak, then saw a familiar face and stopped cold.

  It was Nathan.

  The man from the dog park.

  He was standing in front of her, a mix of confusion and amusement playing on his face. He folded his arms across his plaid button-up shirt. After what seemed like forever, he finally said, “Well, this is the last place I thought I’d see the two of you.”

  Brydie felt her cheeks burn. “I’m here for a visit,” she said, because it was the only thing she could think to say. I’m supposed to be here, she reminded herself. There was no reason for her to be embarrassed. It was he who was out of place.

  Nathan stared at her from over the top of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He looked dapper and professional, with the exception of his unruly, curly hair, which spilled down his forehead and threatened to cover his eyes. He looked confused for a moment, and then he brightened. “Oh, yes. I know who you’re here to see.” And then he said, more to himself, “I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before.”

  “Put what together?” Brydie asked. “Are you visiting someone here, too?”