Nosy Clients

MISTY PARCIVAL was bored. So bored. Garth almost felt bad for taking advantage of her boredom to landscape the acre behind her nearly palatial home again . It was the second time in the last three years, and Garth was pretty proud of the first time he'd been there. He'd managed to utilize the clusters of granite boulders present on her property to create organic-looking flowerbeds of native flora. He built rock fountains near the property boundaries that were amazing, with the waist-high brick fencing she'd insisted upon, even knowing that California's unstable ground often tried to shake off brick walls like a dog shook off mud clumps.

He even "decorated" her oak trees, creating a light-spun fairyland that could be changed on a seasonal basis with a few deft button pushes on the battery pack.

Right now, the three trees were set to showcase a rather spooky combination of orange and purple, with a blackout relief of jack-o'-lantern faces in the foliage as it was aimed at the house.

Her entire backyard had taken him—with help from his dad and a few part-time workers he used—a month and a half, and a lot of that was shifting rock from the back of his truck to the rock fountains, which were specially placed to help drain water into the flower beds. The whole layout was very drought resistant without looking "cactusy" as Misty called it.

Garth couldn't figure out why Misty would want to mess with a good thing by putting vegetable boxes on the far end of the property, replacing half of the flowerbeds with raised wooden boxes full of rich soil meant for nutritious tomatoes, with no walkways in sight.

He'd spent the last two days changing out the tree decorations—adding the relief jack-o'-lantern faces had taken him a day of programming, but it had also given him a day to work on Misty to get her to change her mind.

He honestly didn't think she wanted to vegetable garden. He'd watched her spend an hour deciding what to wear to sun herself for fifteen minutes before the sun got "too sunny" and, in spite of the very mild morning, the air got "too scorching."

The thing was, Misty wasn't really a spoiled heiress. She had been a very busy mother of three, and the backyard had been her first project after the youngest had gone off to college. Her husband made a mint and continued to make a mint, and she was left to her own devices.

She just hadn't figured out what her devices were , Garth firmly believed, so she had called him to redo her backyard because it had worked so well the first time.

Oddly enough, as he pulled up to Misty's lush front yard—which was decorated to Jonathan Parcival's specs, which were, in turn, derived from Jonathan's late mother, and were not, thank fuck, open to changes or redecorating schemes—Garth was thinking about Milo, and how his best friend had shown up at his house with a dog wearing cat ears in an attempt to drag Milo out of what even a stranger could see had been a devastating depression.

It took a good friend to show up at your house with a dog and say, "Look, it's this or I have you committed."

Garth wasn't a good enough friend to this nice middle-aged woman to actually bring her a dog, but suddenly, as Chad gave a hopeful woof upon seeing what he knew to be one of his favorite yards, Garth was beset by another idea.

"C'mon, big fella," he said as he let Chad out of the driver's side. "Let's see if we can get Michael to watch you for a bit. I've got a plan."

MICHAEL WAS Misty's sixtysomething assistant/majordomo, and he had a soft spot for Chad. Maybe it was the big dog's playfulness—Garth traveled with a bucket of toys, and Michael and Chad had played tug-o-war and kill-the-squeaky for hours when Garth had been here last time. Michael's husband was deathly allergic to animals, and Garth could tell big good dogs were a thing that had been missing from his life.

He was at the door to greet Garth and escort Chad around to the back while Garth consulted with the mistress of the house, and Garth pulled a battered twenty out of his wallet and had a murmured conversation with Michael.

Michael made him put the twenty back in his wallet and said, "It's brilliant. I wish I'd thought of it. Do you think you could make it happen today?"

"Would you like me to text you before we come back?" Garth asked. "In case we're bringing a friend with us?"

"Definitely," Michael said. "I could send Sandy to the store for a bed and some food and such. Let us know."

Garth nodded, although he knew that if this worked like he planned, Misty might very well be the one to go shopping. This was going to be her dog, after all.

So Michael took Chad to the back to play fetch, and Garth went to talk to Misty in her study. The study—another leftover from the former Mrs. Parcival—was a fussy, ornate sort of place that seemed to oppress its current owner with an overabundance of clutter, complete with curl-embellished bookshelves in dark red cherrywood, and red velvet drapes.

It was a shame Misty couldn't convince her husband to let her decorate other parts of the house besides the backyard, but they had to work with what they had.

"Garth," she said, her face lighting up when she saw him. She was a pretty woman in her early fifties, with hair kept a rich chestnut brown by her hairdresser and a body that showed a devotion to tennis courts and gym memberships and a secret addiction to the rich coffee drinks that were not forgiven by a waistline. She was fit, but round and soft, and her smile was genuine.

"Misty," he said fondly. "How you doing?"

"Are you ready to build my—" She was betrayed by a softly bitten lip and a slight hesitation. "—garden boxes?"

Garth sighed. "Misty," he said, "you hate dirt. You hate the out-of-doors."

"I don't always hate it," she protested. "I used to love taking my children to the park or watching them play sports." That last was said so wistfully, Garth suddenly knew he had to follow through with this idea or die trying.

"Which is what we're doing today," he said with grim determination. "We're going to find a reason for you to go out and play in your backyard that doesn't involve trying to raise prize tomatoes."

She bit her brightly painted lower lip again—but this time in what looked like hope. "What did you have in mind?" she asked.

WELL, FIRST she had to change. One didn't go to the animal shelter on Bradshaw in a pink twinset and white slacks. Garth told her jeans and a sweatshirt; she used to take her children camping in an RV, surely she had that wardrobe leftover.

She did, in fact, and when she'd pulled her hair back in a ponytail and put on jeans and Keds, she looked ten years younger.

"We don't have to do anything permanent here, do we?" she asked nervously as they drove.

"We're only going to look," he soothed. "Think of this as research for maybe why you don't want to grow tomatoes."

She let out a disconsolate sigh. "I don't even like marinara," she admitted. "Whenever we go Italian, I get pesto."

Garth tried not to laugh, but he knew the corners of his mouth quirked up a bit. "Then maybe this could be a solution. It's worth checking, isn't it?"

"I was supposed to be working on my book today," she said.

"You're writing a book?" That was something he hadn't known. Misty liked to dress and behave as, Garth assumed, the previous Mrs. Parcival had, but he knew from earlier conversations that she had a degree in history and librarianship, and she'd had a career and goals and everything before being whisked away to the big mansion to be a wife and a mother.

"It's romance," she said, peeking around like she was afraid somebody would bug Garth's bruiser of an extra cab truck to listen in on Misty Parcival's most profound and shameful secret.

"Why's that bad?" he asked, flummoxed.

"Jonathan thinks all romance is trash," she mumbled, and Garth snorted.

"Yeah, straight white men often say that," he commented. "They're sort of… you know. Assured in the pecking order. If they see a pretty girl, they're absolutely positive they can have a pretty girl. Women and people who aren't straight and white, they don't always get what they want. Having a happy ever after is a lot harder when you're making sure everybody gets one."

Misty made a suspicious sound, and Garth finished making a very tricky left-hand turn off the freeway before glancing over at her.

"Misty?" he asked. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"It's just… you get it!" She sniffled. "Jon doesn't get it, and it hurts explaining it to him and… how is it you get it?"

Garth sighed. "I… well, earlier this morning a new friend—" He smiled a little. "A new doggy friend, told me that his boyfriend broke up with him because he was helping his bestie pay for her sister's hospital bills." He felt only a little guilty talking about Milo's problems. He was dying to tell somebody about them, because it wasn't his imagination. Milo was a really awesome guy who just needed a little help with his dog. And, well, his life. And his self-esteem. But that morning, Garth had seen the awesome come alive in his new "doggy" friend. Everything from helping his best friend with her sister to that amazing breakup song, sung defiantly when the relationship was obviously over, made the slender, elfin adopter of difficult dogs more and more interesting.

"What's that got to do with writing romance?" she asked, sounding bewildered.

Garth tried to put that conversation with Milo into perspective.

"Milo," he said, thinking about it hard, "wasn't asking for a lot outside his relationship. He'd started out with this one person—this family — and he asked that his boyfriend respect that, even the financial part. And his boyfriend couldn't. He felt entitled to all of Milo's attention, all his respect, all his affection, and that's not fair, is it?"

"No," she said, and he liked that she sounded definitive and the slightest bit pissed off. It wasn't only him and his fascination with Milo—Milo's ex had been totally out of line.

"No," he agreed. "When people feel entitled to happiness, they don't know how to work for it. Milo's ex wasn't recognizing that Milo got his own say in how he spent his money. He felt like all of Milo belonged to him. It's like sometimes people need a road map for how a partnership works. And sometimes they need a promise that it can . That's, you know, what romance books or movies are all about, right?"

Misty gave a soggy little laugh. "Do you like them?"

Garth figured that they'd gone beyond client/service provider by now. "If I let you in on a little secret, do you promise not to tell?"

"Okay," she said, and she sounded breathless, like a teenager. "Tell me."

"My buddy Doug and I were supposed to have a guys' weekend, right? His wife and kids were off at her parents for a week, and neither of us had any jobs. We were going to play poker with our friends and go fishing and watch sports." He negotiated Bradshaw Road with one hand and pounded his chest with the other. "We were men! Rawr!"

She giggled like a teenager, and he found himself liking her even more. "Did you kill and eat your own food?"

"Yup. Not a pizza was safe for a ten-mile radius. We were ruthless."

More laughter, so he went on.

"See, our poker friends all ended up with the flu, which sucked, and it was just us. And it was raining, and while we could have gone fishing in the rain—we have before—we were both feeling… I don't know. A little blue. We ended up shotgunning all the romantic movies. All of them. From the ones that were big when we were in high school, our parents' favorites, even Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant."

"He was gay, you know," she said like she was offering him a chocolate.

"Mm-hmm," he said, nodding because what boy didn't appreciate himself a little Archie Leach? "I am aware. Anyway, we spent three days watching romance movies and listening to the rain. The rain finally stopped, and we both went running—we were so bloated after all the pizza—and when we got back, my buddy was like, ‘Man, I gotta tell you. I watch postapocalyptic sci-fi all the time, and it leaves me depressed about life. That shit was fun . I want to watch that with my wife . No offense.'"

He laughed a little because the "No offense" had been such a dude-bro thing to say.

"That's lovely," she told him.

"It is." And there was their turnoff. "It was. And we haven't stopped watching them since. I've actually gone over to their house to watch romance movies at least once a month. It's cute. He and his wife laugh and make snarky comments, and then they try to figure out how I'll meet the man of my dreams. It's a good time. But it's important too. Because it's hard to have a relationship, and it lets my friend and his wife know that it's possible, and that sometimes people communicate like they do."

"And it lets you know that it can happen," Misty said, sounding happy and validated and all the things Garth had planned.

"Yup. Hope all around. You keep writing—and you tell your husband that if he doesn't get that it's important to you, he's missed something sort of amazing about you."

"Well, your friend's ex missed out on a gem there, that's for certain," she said, and Garth felt his chest warm with a compliment aimed at Milo. "That sort of dedication, of loyalty—it doesn't happen all the time. People get so hung up on what they deserve, on their own piece of the pie or their own recognition… they literally sell their souls, or their hearts, and they positively devour anybody who offers them kindness. I've seen it happen."

"Me too," Garth said softly. He didn't want to think about that, though—that memory was painful, but it was also faded. The sunshine of too much living had blurred the edges, made it something from youth and not an adult debacle. Not a toxic nightmare. He only had Milo's relationship to look at to know that a love affair ending when college ended was not the worst thing that could have happened to him. "Here we are, Misty. You ready?"

"I'm just here to look," she said, but she already sounded more sure of herself. She was definitely more excited about this than she was about tomatoes.

"Of course," he told her. He was pretty sure they were going home with a dog.

WHEN GARTH walked Misty around the big-dog enclosure at the animal shelter, she did not, as he suspected she would, go immediately for the puppies. Instead, she found two dogs, four and six years old respectively, middle-aged dogs, as she said. Old enough to know better. They were pit bull mixes—although what they were mixed with only their mother knew for sure—and they didn't look at all like a matched set, but after Garth and Misty spent an hour with the two dogs in the shelter's outside enclosure, it appeared as though the dogs could play together happily, and Garth got to use his finely honed ball-throwing muscles for a whole new appreciative audience.

The dogs were named Butch and Daisy, and Daisy might have been the ugliest, most brutish-looking dog Garth had ever seen. But the moment she was brought into the greeting room, both Misty and Garth were subjected to the sweetest, most thorough slobbery tongue bath in the history of big derpy dogs, and the first thing Butch did when he met Daisy was start to clean her ears.

It was kismet for dogs—or two supersweet animals who were absurdly happy for a friend.

Misty was half an hour into their playtime when Garth realized she was wiping away tears.

"Misty?" he asked hesitantly as he threw the ball for the umpteenth time. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take you to a bad place."

She shook her head. "Look at them," she said, choked. "They need me. They… they really love me. I can't leave them here, can I?"

"We have plenty of room in the extra cab," Garth told her, pleased. "And if we called Michael, he could have Sandy get a head start on supplies."

She sniffled and wiped her eyes on the inside of her sweatshirt before she rubbed Daisy behind the ears some more. Daisy was apparently a shameless attention whore, because she gazed adoringly at her new mistress and slobbered some more.

"I think if everything's in order," Misty said, continuing to rub Daisy's floppy ears and big, blocky triangle head, "we should stop on our way home. I want to pick out the dog beds—I think Daisy needs something pink and frilly, don't you?"

Daisy's enormous jowls sagged as she gave Garth a doggy grin.

"Oh absolutely," he said. "She's a pretty girl." He sank to his haunches and scrubbed at her back end until her wrist-thick tail practically vibrated. After she flopped to the ground, a quaking blob of canine Jell-O, he turned to Butch, who shyly thrust his head under Garth's armpit in an attempt at a full-body hug. "And you're a good boy," he crooned. "Such a good boy."

Butch moved his head to Garth's shoulder and whuffled, and Garth figured they should get out of there before he ended up bringing home another big good dog. He was starting to see how they could be addictive.

"SO," GARTH said as Misty practiced throwing for the dogs in the backyard, "you should probably practice walking the both of them on leads back here before you take them somewhere."

Misty nodded and looked beseechingly to Michael. "Would you be willing to help me, uhm…." She paused when she saw Michael on his haunches, petting Butch's stomach and wiping his eyes on his shoulder. "Would you need an increase in…? Michael, are you okay?"

"I'm so happy," he said, wiping his eyes again. "They're perfect."

"Oh," she said, and then peered at her employee—and friend—in surprise. "Michael, why didn't you tell me you wanted a dog?"

He gave her a droll glance, which was quite an accomplishment given the red-rimmed eyes. "I don't live here, Misty. It's not my place. But you know Andrew's deathly allergic. We can't have pets. He'd wake up one night and forget to breathe. But… but if you have dogs…." He gave her a winsome smile.

"Well, it's like we have dogs, isn't it?" she asked happily. "And we can learn how to walk them, and we can take them places…." She turned to Garth. "Where do dogs go?"

He laughed a little. "To the park. To the lake. To dog parks." He gestured toward the acres of land he'd landscaped as organically as possible. "To their own amazing backyard. I mean, hang a platform swing under that oak tree, Misty, and attach some ropes to it, and I'll bet they invent their own games. Big rubber trash cans—as long as you don't let them fill with water. And like I said, I could set you up with a small pond with a filter and recycled water so they can swim in the summer."

She glanced around. "Anything else?" she asked.

He pointed to their back porch, which was shaded by an overhang from the house but was just big enough for a soda refrigerator and to house the lawn furniture.

"Do you want an apron there?" he asked. "It would take me about three days, but a concrete apron, with an awning from the house, would give you a place to eat lunch or dinner alfresco on good days. Think about it—bring out the right furniture and you could eat out here if you wanted, and the dogs wouldn't be cooped up in the house. Or, if you want, I could call Doug, my contractor friend—"

"The one who likes romances?" she asked hopefully.

Garth grinned, pleased she'd remembered. "Yup, that's the one. We both got our degrees in engineering and then went on to do nothing with our degrees. But if you like, and you get permission from Mr. Parcival, we could convert the small porch into an office with a wraparound window, and lay an apron for an adjoining porch with an awning and some lawn furniture. So, you know—"

Now Misty was, well, misty. "I could have a place to write that doesn't smell like dead mother-in-law?" she asked pitifully and then clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry. Mrs. Parcival was a wonderful woman who—"

"Wasn't you," Garth told her firmly. "I'll give you Doug's number, and the three of us can have a sit-down. In the meantime, if you like, instead of the whole garden reorganization we had planned, let me start on the dog pond. Think about some requirements if you like."

"Can the grandchildren wade in it?" she asked hopefully.

"Steps and a slip-proof bottom," he ticked off.

"Can we have places for toys?" she asked.

"Shelves," he said.

"What about their hair—"

"Superintensive pool filters," he said, holding up three fingers.

She paused and stared at both the dogs in a semihorrified way. "What about the dogs'…." She waved her hands. "I should have thought of this before, but what about their…." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Their dookie."

Michael and Garth shared sympathetic gazes as they both tried not to burst out laughing.

"I can dig a pit," Garth said, "with a pipe that comes out. You deposit the, erm, dookie in the pipe and add enzymes every so often to turn the waste into fertilized dirt. Good for the environment. We'll make sure it's far away from the pool, with a completely independent water filtration system. How's that?"

Misty brightened so much Garth almost had to shade his eyes. "And that way," she said, her voice trembling, "I wouldn't have to feel bad about having you map out a month of your time for tomato boxes that"—her voice caught happily—"I don't have to make you build!"

Garth managed a chuckle. "Nope. Absolutely no tomato boxes in this contract, Misty."

She gave a happy little squeak and threw her arms around Garth's neck. "You're a really good friend," she sobbed. "Thank you."

THAT NIGHT, Garth left Misty and her new friends to their own devices, knowing Michael would help with any problems she might have. On his way home, he tagged Doug about the back porch, and he had a vision he wanted to share with his friend, so they talked long past the time Garth pulled into his own driveway and parked. Chad had run around the backyard and sniffed all the flowers (and given Garth even more matter to put in Garth's own poo pit) by the time that conversation was done, and Garth was left in the heavy, humid air of a mid-October night, staring at the orange moon over his backyard.

He felt… well, a lot of things.

Pleased at how well his experiment with Misty had worked, happy for the new dog adoptions, and hopeful that Misty's husband would see that his smart, savvy wife needed more in her life now that the children had flown.

But there was more. He'd outlined the specs of the job with Doug and explained how it had come about. Doug had his own dogs—a couple of Labrador retrievers, one black and one yellow—who were sweeter than pie and loved Doug's little girls like their own puppies. Doug had been all for the "dog-and-office porch," as they'd phrased it, as well as the shaded concrete area for picnics and alfresco dining. They'd worked together before—they were good at it—and Garth looked forward to the project.

But that still wasn't the conversation he wanted. He stood under that orange moon, sweating a little now that the breeze from the morning had died down, leaving the earth blanketed by the thin clouds that had once been fog, and remembered Milo that morning.

God, he was cute. The almost pointy ears, the almond eyes, the hard little apples of his cheeks. But he was also so vulnerable—any fool could see that. Garth couldn't make a move on him now , not just after Milo pulled his britches on and found his inner dog man. That would be… well, it felt predatory.

But Garth had loved their connection so far. Maybe… maybe just a little text?

Before the thought had even cleared his brain, he had the phone in hand, pulling up Milo's number to text, along with pictures of the two dogs.

You should tell your friend she inspired me , he texted. I helped my client adopt these two beauties today because she needed the dogs more than the garden boxes. I thought if you could take on Julia, she could deal with these bruisers.

He grimaced after he sent that. Ooh… way to imply that Milo was incompetent. But that's not how he meant it. Julia was a challenge . Lots of energy, lots of quirks, and she was behaving for Milo around Chad, but Garth was so worried about her for Milo's work situation. She had a shrill sort of bark; he wasn't even sure she was that vicious, but her bark sounded savage, and other dogs reacted to that sound. If Chad hadn't been such a… a…. Chad , Julia might have gotten a rise out of him, but Chad would literally let a small dog gnaw on his leg and stare at it before he so much as woofed to protest his abuse.

Shit! Did he need to explain all that to Milo, or—

You're such a good guy!

Garth stared at the phone hungrily, because another bubble was working.

And Julia IS a challenge. God, she snarled at the neighbor today, and it's a good thing Jerry's a good guy because he yelped and scared her back. I picked her up and held her, and she whimpered in my neck, and I'm starting to think her bark is the most vicious thing about her.

Maybe the neighbor snarled first , Garth texted loyally.

He seems sweet , Milo returned, but we don't talk that much .

Well, maybe Julia is also shy. Perhaps give your neighbor some treats and have him greet Julia with them.

Bribes—good idea. But back to your day. You helped a woman adopt two giant dogs instead of going for the big job. I think you got it backwards. You're the one with the cape.

Garth swallowed, suddenly hungry for the praise. Milo wouldn't know what that meant to him—not after what happened with Garth's own ex, who had given up their relationship for the big job out of state.

You're the one being a good guy. But you do need to tell your friend. Sometimes we need to know our risks pay off.

I'll text her. She'll be insufferable. It'll be great.

Garth chuckled to himself, thinking about the kind of friendship a sentence like that implied.

Have you decided what you're doing tomorrow ? he asked.

Yeah. Julia's coming with me. I'm bringing a travel crate so she can be safe. Cross your fingers—I hear consulting work is where it's at these days, but I don't want to find out the hard way.

Garth laughed some more. Maybe it was because Milo wasn't tripping over his dog's leash every ten steps, but the pixilated, almost dark humor that he'd seen in the other man before was even more apparent in text.

Let me know how it goes. I can commiserate with pizza.

Ooh—Mari always brings ice cream and vodka. It'll be good to add protein.

Sausage and pepperoni?

There is no bad pizza. Even the kind with fish, which I understand some people think is an abomination. I just think it's for a refined palate. It makes my oatmeal and my fruit and cottage cheese all worth it.

Garth shuddered and gave Chad a short whistle to get them back inside the house. Cottage cheese is the abomination. Even with fruit.

But it's so slimming!

Garth didn't even have to hear the tone of voice to know that had been sarcastic.

I'll take my love handles, thank you , he replied, and he busied himself locking up the back and getting Chad set up with food and water for a minute so he didn't see Milo's reply.

The GIF with the cartoon character rolling its eyes did not disappoint.

And it didn't hurt his ego any either.

They continued texting while Garth stripped off his work clothes in the mudroom and clunked his boots out on the back porch to shake off some of the extra dirt from the tread.

Finally he texted, Must shower and eat now. Let me know how it goes tomorrow. Will see you Friday, NMW.

NMW?

No Matter What. Good luck.

Thanks. And thanks for the nice thing to tell Mari. She said you're making her blush. If you knew her, you'd know how unlikely that is.

Garth smiled and shivered a little as he stood in his mudroom in his briefs. I'll have to meet her sometime.

I'd love that. Get fed!

Will do. Night.

Night.

As Garth trotted to the shower and then started the spray, he thought about the conversation and let it keep him warm. Yeah, so maybe Milo wasn't in a place for romance right now, but a friendship— everybody needed a friend.

They could discuss what kind of friend later. Maybe naked. Maybe not, but… well, maybe.

That kind of friend could be very awesome at this stage in Garth's life. A friend who loved dogs. And Garth's love handles. And sarcasm.

And maybe, hopefully, nakedness.

He tried not to hope too hard.