Page 111 of How to Ruin a Wedding

I open my mouth, then shut it. I agree. I think Anders should be happy out in the open. I don’t want him to feel like he has to pull away—like he isn’t wanted.

But I’m nervous I’m not the one who can make him as happy as he deserves. Every relationship I’ve been in has failed. Even if his familyforgives me, who’s to say our relationship can ever be healed? Shouldn’t he be with someone with less baggage?

“Can we revisit this conversation?” I finally ask.

Valerie rolls her eyes. “I’ve barely forgiven you, and you’re already taking advantage.”

“Sorry,” I say.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves a hand. “What are these plans? If you’re not staying for Anders, why the hell would you stay in Charleston?”

“I’m going to buy K9 Friends,” I say. “I think. It’s actually not up for sale.”

“The place Anders adopted Sora?”

My heart stutters at the thought of Anders traveling so much, but between him and Olive, I know Sora is well loved and taken care of.

“Yeah. It needs a lot of repairs, a lot of funding, a new staff member—maybe more. Just an overall facelift. I think it deserves it. It lacks a lot, but not love. It’s loved so much, and I want it to have everything it needs. I want it to be better.”

“So”—Valerie frowns—“you’re going to buy a shelter that’s not for sale.”

“I don’t know if you know this about me,” I say before I can stop myself, “but I’m pretty good at convincing people to do things.”

When Valerie glares at me, I add, “Too soon?”

She frowns for a second, then tilts her head in a laugh. “I hate that I like you.”

“I love that I like you.”

She smiles—and I feel the pieces of our friendship click back into place. When they do, it’s brighter and warmer than it was before.

30.

My hands ache from gripping the metal wrench—slick with the sweat from my palms—trying to turn the screw, under the water valve, to the left. At this point I’m sure, when I pull away, some of my flesh will remain on the tool.

Dainese, behind me, says, “I told you we should just call a plumber.”

“Doyouhave plumber money?” I say through gritted teeth, trying to turn the damn screw for the millionth time. We have three new dogs to groom, and the pipes decided this was the perfect time to stop working.

“I might if someone hadn’t purchased brand-new monitors for the cages,” Dainese counters.

“You can’t live without falling asleep to TV,” I shoot back. “The dogs deserve the same.”

“Touché.”

I suck in a breath and twist.

In a violent burst, the screw completely loosens, the pipes buckle, and water shoots from them, smacking into me. Dainese yelps, and we scramble to shove them back into place on the walls.

“Find the screw!” Dainese shouts, and I drop to the floor, feeling around for it.

We’re drenched by the time I find it, and nearly drowned by the time I position it back where it belongs and screw it shut. The water eases but still leaks from sporadic areas of the pipes.

Dainese, hair so matted it looks like a second skin, deadpans, “Should I call the plumber now?”

“I think that’s a great idea. I wish you had thought of it before.” She shakes her fist at me, then leaves me at the grooming station.

It was the only place we haven’t renovated since I purchased a share three months ago. Partly because it was the most expensive quote, and partly because I wanted to focus on the dogs’ living areas—extending the walls for more space, clear glass so it felt less like a prison and more like shared area, grade-A cushions for dogs with arthritis—then getting a new POS system, hiring a permanent assistant for when I wasn’t around, buying the supplies to onboard more dogs, and gathering quotes for potentially building an addition for private vet visits for dogs who don’t do well traveling, so we could have vet techs do what they needed here.