Free Must Love Dogs: New Leash on Life by Claire Cook Page B

tapped the Answer button. "Hey," I whispered. "Can I call you back in about ten minutes?"
    " Sure," he said.
    I pushed the End button and put my cell back in my purse. "Okay, we're going in." I clicked open my door and slid out of the car. I opened the back door and reached for Mother Teresa's leash.
    She almost bowled me over on her way out. She lumbered across her former front yard, dragging me with her. She stopped at the base of the spirea hedge for a long, luxurious pee right next to Uncle Pete's left foot.
    " Good girl," I said.
    " Michael," Phoebe was saying, "it's a hedge." Mother Teresa walked over and leaned into Phoebe's thigh. Phoebe reached down and patted her head.
    " It's my hedge," Michael said. "I planted it and if it needs to be cut, I'll cut it and not this loser."
    " Or we could go get a haircut," I said.
    " It was here when we bought the house," Phoebe said.
    Phoebe and Michael stared at each other.
    "Cut the hedge, Peter," Phoebe said.
    Mother Teresa slumped to the grass and buried her nose in her paws.
    "You let this idiot touch my hedge," Michael said without taking his eyes off Phoebe, "and I won't give you permission to take the girls to Savannah."
    Phoebe grabbed the clippers and hacked a big hunk right out of the center of the hedge. She stabbed the points of the clippers into the ground about an inch away from Michael 's toes.
    " Are you happy now?" she screamed as she ran for the house.
     

     
    Chapter
    Eleven
    John wasn't waiting for me on the sidewalk in front of the Necrogamiac building holding two coffees from Starbucks. He wasn't even in the lobby.
    When the elevator door opened, I expected him to magically appear and tell me that he 'd come in early so he could get enough work done to spend the rest of the day with me. He'd say he was sorry he lost track of time. I'd respond that it could happen to anyone and assure him that I completely understood. I'd apologize again for forgetting to call him back last night. Apologies out of the way, we'd gaze at each other longingly as we rode the elevator back upstairs together.
    It didn 't happen. The only other passenger on the elevator was a youngish woman with light hair. And dark roots that appeared to be intentional as opposed to sloppy. She was sitting on the cushioned bench like she owned the place.
    I smiled at her.
    She smiled back. "Do we know each other?"
    I squinted. She did look vaguely familiar. Or maybe she just looked like someone I wished I looked like. Long legs, tight black pencil skirt, high heels, short jacket, cute haircut, a smile that said I'm sexy and I know it .
    The jacket and pants I 'd thought were appropriately businesslike as well as moderately stylish when I put them on this morning turned dowdy on the spot. I resisted an urge to tell this perfect stranger that I had better clothes at home. And then to beg her to take me shopping immediately.
    " Don't tell me," she said. "Tennis, right?"
    " Um," I said. "Actually, I don't—"
    She laughed an adorable laugh. "I know, Zumba! Back row, I see you when we turn around?"
    A muffled buzzer went off. It sounded like a test of the Eme rgency Broadcast System. She dug her phone out of her purse and pushed a button. "Mom, listen, I can't talk about it right now. I'm in the middle of an important meeting."
    I held up one hand and said, "It's fine," as if we really were in a meeting.
    She ignored me. "Mom, listen, I mean it. Stop calling me at work. I'll call you one night this week. Or as soon as I can."
    She hung up and rolled her eyes. "Mothers."
    " Nice ring," I said, mostly to change the subject.
    " It's called 'Mom Alert.' I'll email you the link if you want."
    " That's okay," I said. A bell rang. For a moment I thought she had a call from someone else, but it was only the elevator stopping. The crisscross of brass doors opened.
    " My floor already," she said. "I hate that." She reached out to keep the door from closing. "In my next life I'm going to be an elevator operator