The Charm Offensive

“I’ll be here when you’re ready to make that payment.” Beth smiled and swiveled her chair toward her computer. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Ms. Callahan.”

Outside, Sophie leaned against the stone wall of Pacific Bank and Trust. Damp, cold air stuck to her cheeks like blistering hand slaps. Stoplights flashed in the thick fog, dull yellow flares of criticism and condemnation and failure. Even the pigeons nesting up inside the Pacific Bank and Trust sign never cooed, as if already aware she couldn’t afford to waste even one crumb.

Sophie searched the silver mist that had spilled into the city after yesterday’s winter storm, seeking the silent romance of the fog she usually loved. But only a dull grayness blanketed the streets. In front of her, a bus hissed to a stop. Its electric lines sparked and its brakes wheezed an acrid, bitter scent as its occupants spewed onto the sidewalk and scattered like bees from a harassed hive.

Cell phones chimed, coffee splattered the cement, paper bags with morning breakfast muffins crumbled as late workers rushed to their high-rise cubicles and corner offices. Inside the fog, the city pulsed, reminding Sophie that she was an adult and no longer ten years old, shivering and hungry in a one-room apartment with only her sister, who was just a year older than she was. Two little girls confused and scared and all because of George and Cindy Callahan.

How dare her father try to thrust her back into her past. She’d overcome her childhood with persistence and will and guts. He’d not put her back there.

She pushed away from the wall and strode along the sidewalk, stretching her legs into a run. Each smack of her running shoe on the concrete dislodged her panic and organized her thoughts, enough to quiet the frantic little girl that screamed inside her.

Her father had to be in some kind of trouble to take that much money. He knew what the funds were for. If he’d only told Sophie, she’d have helped him. He was her father. That’s what good daughters did, even when their fathers weren’t always good.

At the fourth block, she pulled out her cell phone and left her father a lengthy voice mail, pleading with him to call her. By the sixth block, she’d slowed to a fast walk and sent him four texts: two pleas, one appeal and one demand.

Eleven blocks later, standing outside the Pampered Pooch, Sophie wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and checked her phone. No response.

Silence was nothing new from George Callahan. Her father had always drifted in and out of Sophie’s life. The length of his stays had increased the last few years and he always surfaced eventually. Yet this time, Sophie couldn’t wait. She had to find him and her money and soon.

For now though she had a business to run and a niece to get to school.

The bells chimed on the door. Sophie stepped inside, leaving that frightened little girl from years past outside on the sidewalk. Inside these walls, Sophie Callahan was a confident small-business owner and capable caretaker. There was simply no room for anything else, like doubt or nerves.

Sophie flipped the sign in the window to Open and greeted April, one of her three employees, the one who managed to be both her most reliable and most scattered employee in the same week. Sophie never quite knew which April would show up on any given workday. But even April not at her best was better than no one at all. “Did you get some sleep last night?”

April waddled over to settle on the stool behind the counter. A bandanna corralled her unruly burst of wild burnt-copper curls, and a tie-dyed sweatshirt almost contained her protruding belly. “Barely. The babies kicked all night and my maternity clothes barely fit anymore.”

“You’re seven-and-a-half months pregnant with twins—I imagine that’s typical.” Sophie used the rolling cart to prop open the swinging door to the back room.

“So is bed rest,” April muttered.

“Bed rest?” Sophie gripped, in a bear hug, the fifty-pound bag of dog food she was hefting, needing to squash the kernels of panic popping through her core. “As in ‘you have to stay in bed and can only get out to use the bathroom’ bed rest?”

“Yes, that kind exactly.” April rolled a paw-print pencil between her fingers, but wasn’t able to hide the misery in her voice.

Sophie adjusted the bag in her arms and walked down the center aisle, feeling uneasy. Selfishly, she needed April in the store, not in bed. Reliable April was good with customers and calming for the pets, and lately she’d been helping Sophie organize the Paws and Bark Bash. The gala would raise funds for service dog organizations and rescue groups that helped with homeless animals in the Bay Area. Now Sophie had her father to locate. Who’d run the store while Sophie chased down George?

She dropped the heavy bag on the bent shelf. She’d known April would go on maternity leave; she’d just assumed she’d have more time to prepare. Things were supposed to be different in four weeks when Sophie had paid her debts in full. Instead, all Sophie had was an empty bank account, a missing father and surging panic that’d consume her if she wasn’t careful.

Sophie glanced over the top shelf at April. Tears filled April’s eyes and slipped down her full cheeks. Sophie rushed to the younger woman, swiping the box of tissues from the far end of the counter. “You have to do what’s best for your babies. It’s going to be fine.”

Everything had to be fine. Sophie had no other choice.

“I can’t stay in bed all day.” April pressed a tissue to her eyes. “It’s best for my babies if I stay here during the day. With you and Troy and Erin doing the legwork, I could sit on this stool. Bed or stool, what does it matter?”

“Being in bed won’t be that bad.” Sophie handed April another tissue. “Besides, you have to follow the doctor’s orders for the babies’ safety.”

“I can’t do this.” More tears dampened April’s cheeks.

“We’ll get through it.” Sophie rubbed April’s shoulders. “Everything will work out.” Maybe if Sophie repeated it often enough and shouted it loud enough, she’d start to believe her own words.

Troy, full-time college student, part-time pet-shop worker, called out from the back room before he leaned around the cart in the doorway. “Soph, can you help with the morning arrivals?”

Sophie drew a deep breath. Her cell phone hadn’t vibrated in her back pocket. Her father hadn’t responded. She’d lost her entire savings and an employee in the same morning. That little panicked girl from her past tapped on the front window, wanting to be let in. Sophie turned her back on the store entrance. “I’ll help you get the dogs settled, then call Erin to see if she can come in earlier.”

The bell chimed on the front door behind Sophie, signaling the arrival of their first morning customer. Sophie ignored whoever it was. “April, do not move from this stool. If that customer needs assistance, I’ll be right back.” At April’s nod, Sophie rushed through the back to the two outdoor play yards.

Doggy day care was almost full. Her rescued Lab-mix and two senior cats had finally been adopted into their forever homes yesterday. Sophie ran some calculations, hoping that would be enough to cover Erin’s and Troy’s overtime. One day she wouldn’t have to budget by the hour. At least that had been the plan. In a notebook upstairs in her third-floor apartment, she’d designed an area for more kennels to offer long-term boarding services and allow her to take in more animal rescues. She’d mentally renovated the empty second-floor apartment for a vet’s office. She’d drawn the layout for her modern storefront. She’d visualized the growth of her business, visualized making the Pampered Pooch a full-service one-stop that catered to a pet’s every need, both house pets and service animals. Unfortunately, she’d never visualized the disappearance of all her money that’d ensure her future vision.

And, worse, she’d never visualized not living and working here, in this space. Their home. That rapping on the glass increased, the terrified tempo tripping through her. No, she wasn’t that forgotten little girl. She’d find her money and save everything.

Stepping around a crate of dog treats in the storage room, she texted an SOS to Ruthie Cain, her best friend since freshman year in high school. They’d bonded while waiting to be picked joint last for the volleyball team in PE. She strode through the cramped kennel area and pulled up short to avoid slamming into the male back filling the doorway. The man’s broad shoulders looked as if he could hold the weight of the world without stumbling.

But physical appearance wasn’t an indication of the size of one’s heart. She’d witnessed more strength of character in a thirty-pound toddler than in most grown men. That same toddler now stood just over four feet—a compact package of bravery, kindness and a pure heart who reminded Sophie every day that good still existed.

Her cell phone vibrated and she opened a new text from Ruthie. Help was less than ten minutes away.

“Excuse me.” Sophie stuffed her phone into her back pocket and squeezed around the man in the archway, but she didn’t manage to avoid contact. She popped out into the storefront and caught her running shoe on the wheel of the rolling cart. What was happening? She confronted the stranger, the rolling cart the only barrier between them. “This area has to remain clear.” And it wasn’t just for fire-code reasons.

“I’m attempting to clear the area now.” The man grinned at Sophie.

There was nothing symmetrical in the small smile that lifted only one side of his mouth, backed up into a sculpted cheekbone and sparked into his more green than brown eyes. She’d never quite understood that centuries-old fluttery feeling women described until now. She’d never liked being too warm or too queasy or too aware of those complicated emotional spots deep inside her. She blamed the single dimple denting his left cheek and wished he’d step behind the storage-room door. Instead, he studied Sophie as if she might be his next task on his own private to-do list. And made her wonder if she ranked first. Sophie told herself to focus and cleared her throat. “You need to move.”

“If you step aside, the cart and I can clear the doorway.”

Even his smooth voice appealed to her. But good-looking men were like designer shoes in the department store. She’d notice, acknowledge and keep moving. Designer shoes busted her budget; good-looking men busted more than her bank account, like her heart.

April slid a dented, damp cardboard box across the counter where she perched. “He offered to shelve the dog food in exchange for these little guys.”

Sophie held the man’s gaze and willed April not to open the box. Prayed April wouldn’t open the box. Sophie didn’t want to know what little helpless guys shivered inside. She couldn’t accept any more rescues. “Our kennels are full.”

“But there’re five wet and dirty babies in here.” April spread a lavender Pampered Pooch towel across the counter. “Five teeny, tiny kittens that can’t be more than four weeks old.”

Sophie gripped the metal handle on the rolling cart. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to look. It was a school day. She was losing her employee. And she had to find her father. Wasn’t that enough for a Friday?

Mewling and scratching sounds drifted from inside the cardboard and stuttered against her heart. She didn’t have time to call Dr. Bradshaw to examine the kittens or search for the heat lamp in the basement or reorganize an already too-crowded kennel. She had to save her home, not add more dependents to it. “We don’t have room for your kittens.”

“They aren’t my kittens.” He pointed over her shoulder. “I found them outside on your doorstep when I arrived.”

“I’m sure your vet will take them in.” Sophie tore off a corner of the waterlogged box flap and crushed it in her fist. That was the closest she’d get without risking her resolve. Neglectful pet owners, even the good-looking ones, made her tired and angry. “And while you’re there, pay to have your adult cat spayed to prevent this from happening again.”

“I’m not a cat person. I prefer dogs.” He shoved his fingers through his chestnut hair, creating spikes on top of his head. “Those baby kittens would be invisible next to the size of dog I prefer.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” she said. He was more appealing with his disheveled hair and earnest tone and tense dark eyebrows over his hazel eyes. He didn’t like to be doubted. Sophie didn’t like mistreated animals. Even more, she didn’t like that this stranger made her want to check her teeth for spinach from last night’s salad, pinch her cheeks for color and take off her baseball cap to fix her hair. Notice, acknowledge and move on. She’d noticed his charm. She’d acknowledged his good looks. Now she needed to move on. “I’m not accusing you of neglect or being a bad pet owner.”

“Suggesting is almost the same.” He rubbed his cheek, erasing his dimple. “In fact, suggestion is often confused with accusation.”

Tension sharpened his voice and narrowed his eyes. Being accused of lying did not sit well with him. Sophie didn’t care about preserving his pride. She was the voice for the abandoned and mistreated and neglected. “And we’re thankful you’re willing to surrender this litter.”