I manage to snag a ride to the Shadyside neighborhood when Eden leaves to run errands in the morning. I need to collect my final paycheck, then head to the library for help getting unemployment set up.
Eden drops me off well before the nursery manager gets in for the day. But there are plenty of errands in the neighborhood I can catch up on while I’m not sitting on the bus waiting for every passenger to shuffle slowly down the aisle. I should look into one of those e-bikes.
As I debate the pros and cons of an e-bike compared to a car, I see a familiar figure squinting up at the sign for the pet store. I cup my hands over my mouth and shout, “Ben!” He doesn’t turn. Odd.
I walk over to him from the coffee shop entrance, iced latte in hand, and tap him on the shoulder with my cold drink. He twitches and turns to face me, but he doesn’t smile. “Oh,” he stammers. “Oh. Hi.”
I look at my watch. “They should be open. You going in?”
He sighs and shivers, despite the heat. “I just…hate it in there. I usually order dog food online and have it shipped but I ran out and forgot to adjust my subscription and Maurice is on special food I can’t get at my preferred grocery store so—”
“Hey!” I place a hand back on his shoulder. “Slow down there, big guy. I hear you saying you don’t like the vibe of Pet Mart?” He shakes his head rapidly. “Makes sense because it smells weird in there and the lights are always blinky.”
Ben’s face sags in apparent relief. “Yes. It’s the lights. God, the lights. It just … it makes my teeth hurt if that makes sense? I hate it so much.”
I take a sip of my drink, noting that Ben studies my face as I do so. He seems to be easing out of his fluorescent-light-induced stupor. I tell him, “If you’re willing to walk a few blocks, there’s a great independent pet store near the nursery where I work…where I used to work.”
He furrows his brows and scratches the back of his neck. “What makes it great?”
I take yet another sip of my drink, slurping up the last bit of liquid around the ice cubes in my jar. Eden says it’s obnoxious to walk around with glass jars and my own straw for my coffee, but she also rejects a ton of the glass jars my sisters give her to put honey in and I feel like it’s better to use them than fill a landfill with coffee cups.
“Well,” I rattle my ice cubes. “For starters, the owner is a kick-ass woman, which already makes it a highly functional business. She also does a lot of work with local rescues. And she sells cute sweaters and shirts for pets.” I pause a moment and stare at him. “Does your pet have a capsule wardrobe? Because he could.”
“Capsule wardrobe?” Ben looks dazed and I give his arm a gentle push to steer him toward Petagogy.
“Come on,” I tell him. “I’ll explain along the way.” He walks beside me silently as I list all the raincoats and bandanas I’ve seen in the window of the shop. When we reach the cozy store on Ellsworth Avenue, Ben barely hesitates on the threshold as I push my way inside. “Hey, Heather!” I wave at the owner, who pops her head out from behind a mountain of dog food bags she’s restocking.
“Oh, hey, Eila. Did you finally convince your sister to get a cat?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Still dreaming. My friend here needs some food for his…” I turn to face Ben, who seems to be doing deep breathing exercises. “What kind of dog do you have, anyway?”
He clears his throat, his body visibly relaxes. “I think he’s a terrier mix. Maybe some pointer in there. He’s a rescue.”
Heather nods and gestures around the store. “Well, let me know if you need any help. If there’s something specific you need I can probably order it.”
“We need a capsule wardrobe for Ben’s pooch,” I joke, and Heather laughs. I point at the rack of life vests. “We should start with sporting goods.”
Ben looks at me, sternly. “Maurice has three legs and he’s at least 12. I don’t take him sporting.” He holds up his fingers to form air quotes.
“Easy there. I’m just joking around. But really? Three legs?”
“Aw, a tri-paw’d.” Heather clasps her hands in front of her heart. “You should bring him in sometime. I’d love to meet him.”
Ben looks like someone just offered him a trip to Disney World, pulling out his phone as Heather asks him for pics of his dog. I glance over his shoulder and stare at the screen, seeing a wiry, cloudy-eyed dog curled up on a tuffet. Eventually, Heather gets back to her inventory, and Ben starts scanning the shelves for the special food.
“Wow, she’s just got it right here.” He holds up a small bag of kibble. I squint to read the label.
“Does that say ancestral grains? And pomegranate?”
Ben nods, grabbing a few more bags and holding them under each arm like footballs. “Maurice has had a hard life. He needs a balanced diet.”
“You sound like a commercial.” I read a bit more of the label. “I want to meet this dog, who eats trout and sweet potato with spelt and blueberry.”
Ben looks at me, deadly serious. “You can meet Maurice any time you want, Eila.”
It’s my turn to shiver a bit, but I tell myself it’s because of the air conditioning in Heather’s store and not the intensity of Ben’s gaze. “Well.” I swallow and tuck my hair behind my ears. “I have to take care of some things.” I gesture toward the nursery with my thumb. “You all set here? I guess I didn’t think about you having to carry the heavy food to your car…”
“I’m great. Thank you, Eila, for showing me this place.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight to better balance the dog food bags. “Maurice will be really happy, and I didn’t have to deal with the atmosphere at Pet Mart…”
“Nobody wants to deal with Pet Mart, Ben.”
He smiles. Just one side of his mouth hooks up, but his eyes light up with the gesture. He should look ridiculous, in his polo shirt with dog food bags under each arm. But with that smile and his shaggy hair and a jawline that could slice herbs…Ben Barber doesn’t look ridiculous at all.
“Okay, well, see you around.” I back out of the store and toss my remaining ice cubes into my mouth, crunching them between my teeth as I speed walk toward the nursery. This morning did not go as expected.