while he was eating, so he promptly occupied himself with his sandwich and newspaper. For my part, I pulled out my phone and picked up where I’d left off working on Cameron’s YouTube channel. I hemmed and hawed over the name for a bit, before finally deciding on VetLife.
Bailey had been so pleased with our spotlight on senior dogs that she asked me to compile some of their videos on YouTube for easy access. I’d thought it was a fantastic idea, especially since it made Cameron squirm. He hated the thought of random people being able to watch him work. I loved the idea of being able to secretly get my Cameron fix anytime I wanted, even if I was like a creepy stalker behind a computer screen.
I finished my sandwich in record time and glanced up to find that my father was chewing slowly and only halfway done. He was determined to savor his few moments of food freedom. I decided not to rush him. I even pretended not to notice when he salted the tomatoes on his sandwich—twice.
Instead, I kept working. I nicked a couple of photos off Cameron’s Instagram page, one of the few he’d graced with his actual face, and then a few from his stepmother’s facebook page. I didn’t know why the two of them were pretending she’d retired because she was in the office practically every time I stopped by. Then I used the photos to make a catchy little intro that I still had to find the right music for.
“Oh, that’s cute.”
I glanced up to see Ms. Aldridge, leaning over my side of the booth. She was the town librarian, and seventy if she was a day. She held monthly puppet shows at the library with milk and cookies afterward that made her a big hit with the kids… and an even bigger hit with parents, who needed a freaking break. After spending some unadulterated time with my hyperactive nieces and nephews, I could relate.
I smiled as I pressed play on the intro again. “Yeah, I think I like it.”
“I wasn’t aware that you and Dr. Foster were….”
I peered up at her, but she didn’t finish. We blinked at one another, letting that fragment dangle for an inordinately long time before I prodded, “Were….”
“Were,” she confirmed.
“Oh, were!” I shook my head. “We’re just friends.”
She looked crushed. “That’s too bad. You two were so good together back in the day. You could do a lot worse than Dr. Foster,” she added loyally.
“That’s what I told ’im.” My father wet down his thumb liberally before turning the page on the newspaper, and I shuddered to see one of my pet peeves being played out in HD. “But you know kids today. They think they know everything.”
Small-town life. I hid my amusement. “If you two hens are quite finished clucking….”
“Well, actually I do have a favor to ask,” she said hurriedly. “If you have a little spare time, I could use your help.”
“What’s up?”
“I’d like you to come to my son’s surprise birthday party. I’d be tickled pink to have a professional take pictures of him and all his little friends.”
Little friends? I raised an eyebrow. Her son was older than I was, and last I’d heard, Thomas was in his fifties and worked at the bank. “Err… Tom?”
“No, Peter.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I wasn’t aware you had another—”
She flipped her phone around, and I found myself nose to screen with a corgi in a striped sweater vest. “That’s… Peter?” I questioned.
“Of course.” She swiped to show me another picture, and this time Peter was in a shearling jean jacket. He looked up at the camera smugly. He was cute, and he wasn’t about to let you forget it. Two pictures in, and I was fairly certain other dogs constantly wanted to punch him in the schnoz.
I looked up from the screen. “That’s the Peter who’s having a birthday party?”
“That’s the one.”
“The… surprise birthday party,” I said delicately, just to make sure we were on the same crazy page.
“Yes, he’s always wanted one.”
My father snorted and pretended it was a sneeze. I kicked his foot under the table, and he grunted, snapping his newspaper up straight.
Oblivious to our byplay, Mrs. Aldridge nattered on. “I invited all his friends, and there’s going to be a specially made cake, with dog-friendly ingredients. It’ll be shaped like a bone, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “Any other shape would be a slap in the face.”
“Exactly. You should bring Sascha!”
I wasn’t