Killer stopped.

Hog blinked in surprise.

“See?” Emma said. “You just have to let her know she’s not the boss of you.” She looked over his head at Alison. “We’re all equals here.”

“Hmm.”

Emma smiled. “Ryan misses you.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“He brought you Killer in the middle of the night. The man misses you.”

“You were eavesdropping.”

“Of course I was.”

“Then you know he brought me Killer because he has an early meeting.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “If you believe that, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought you were.”

“You think I’m smart?”

“Not anymore.” Emma paused. “Okay, yes, I think you’re smart. Smart and bitchy.”

That ripped a laugh from Alison. “Are you always this honest?”

“Only since my coma. You know what you need?”

“More wine?”

“A plan,” Emma said. “A plan to win him over with your smartassy, bitchy brilliance.”

Alison was speechless for a full minute. Her throat actually felt tight.

“What?” Emma asked.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Emma blinked. “Are you saying I’m the nicest person in your life?”

“Who’s not related to me, yeah. Terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Very. But while you think I’m so nice, what’s your getting-Ryan-back plan?”

“I’m working on it.”

“I feel like that’s code for ‘I don’t know,’” Emma said.

“I’m starting with being his friend.” By practicing . . . sometimes on you. A fact she wisely kept to herself.

“How are you being his friend?”

Alison sighed. “It’s still in the planning stage.”

Emma snorted and grabbed her iPad. She opened up a blank note and began to type.

ALISON’S MASTER PLAN:

Be his friend—i.e., be there for him.

Pay attention to him and show interest—e.g., ask questions.

Respect him—e.g., care about the things he cares about, like his family and friends.

Flirt with him—e.g., smile.

Don’t try to change him—i.e., accept him as he is, flaws and all.

“There,” Emma said. “Complete with examples.”

“Seems complicated,” Alison said, also keeping to herself the fact that she already had a list going, mostly because her list wasn’t working, and neither was practicing.

“It’s called Being Human one-oh-one.”

Alison’s phone dinged an incoming email.

Emma was putting away her iPad. “It’s in your in-box. You are welcome.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Look, think of it like this. The only way you can blow it is if you do nothing. What do you have to lose?”

Good question. And she had one for Emma as well. “So why are you only this honest since your coma?”

She shrugged. “Life’s too short for bullshit.”

Alison lifted her red Solo cup. “Amen to that.”

Chapter 18

Step 18: It’s the small things.

The next morning, Alison pulled up to Paw Pals, this time fully suited up, armor in place. She was juggling three coffees in a carrier, Killer, and her laptop, and she’d decided not to question why she felt the need to be here when she could’ve done the books from her office at Armstrong, or even her own place.

But the truth was . . . she’d fallen in love with Paw Pals. She loved the space, loved what Emma had done to it—though she’d definitely take that to her grave.

She and Killer entered the building and Killer went immediately on Yorkshire Terrier High Alert. “Behave,” Alison said over her barking. “Or I’ll put you in with the salties.” She handed Miss Kitty one of the coffees.

“A bribe?” Miss Kitty asked.

“Yes.”

Miss Kitty smiled and accepted the coffee.

Alison moved to the front desk, where Khloe stood. “How’s things?” she asked the girl.

“Well, my boyfriend’s a dick and my rent just got raised, so—”

“I meant here,” Alison said. “How are things here?”

“Oh. Right.” Khloe blushed. “Things here are good. We’ve got a full house today. Oh, and I just checked in our first turtle! Sammy’s one hundred years old and he hits his pie tin when he wants you to fill it with lettuce. Cute, right?”

“Right,” Alison said distractedly because . . . a turtle? How did one day-sit a turtle? She moved to the back. Marco was watching over the yards, playing with the dogs. He waved and she nodded and turned to Emma, who was sitting on the floor going through some boxes of what looked like cat food inventory. Emma said, “You might want to at least pretend to have interest in your employees.”

“What do you mean? I’m perfectly friendly.”

“Are you though?”

Alison sighed. “I’m working on it.”

“Now that we’re open again, you might want to work harder.”

“You know, maybe you should hang out in the salty yard today.”

“Ha ha,” Emma said. Then her eyes locked on the two coffees. “Tell me one of those is for me.”

“Yes. The one that’s sugar and cream with a splash of coffee.”

Emma hesitated. “Did you poison it?”

“Yeah, you caught me. I’m killing you off so I can handle all the customers on my own.” She shivered in horror. “Trust me, you’re not going anywhere until you earn us both some serious dough.”

With a snort, Emma took the coffee and sipped. “Admit it, I’m growing on you.”

“God forbid.” Alison unhooked Killer from her leash and let her loose.

Killer barked and headed for a once-again snoozing Hog.

“Killer, sit,” Emma said, and to Alison’s shock, Killer skidded to a stop and sat.

Alison was reluctantly impressed.

“Be nice,” Emma said, pointing at Killer. “Only very good boys and girls get to stay up front and be greeters.”