Page 27

TYLER

The clock on the wall ticks closer to closing time, and I’m just finishing up brushing out a particularly stubborn mat on a Shih Tzu’s ear when the bell above the door jingles. Cindy’s head snaps up from the counter where she’s been scrolling on her phone, and she groans.

“No. No way. We’re closing in ten minutes. Tell them to come back tomorrow.”

I glance over my shoulder. A man stands in the doorway, holding a leash attached to a poodle that looks like it’s been rolling in flour. He’s average height, average build, average everything—except for the way he moves. It’s… off. Like he’s not quite used to his limbs. He steps inside, and the door swings shut behind him with a soft click.

“Hi there,” I say, forcing a smile. “What can we do for you?”

“Nails,” he says, his voice flat, like he’s reading from a script. “Just the nails.”

Cindy groans again, louder this time. “Tyler, I’m not staying late for this. I’ve got plans.”

“It’s fine,” I say, though my stomach twists a little. There’s something about this guy that makes my skin crawl. “I’ll take care of it.”

Cindy narrows her eyes at me, then at the man. “You sure? He looks… weird.”

“Cindy,” I hiss, shooting her a look. She shrugs, unapologetic.

“I’m just saying. He’s got that ‘I might be a serial killer’ vibe. You know, like that guy from the true crime podcast we listened to last week.”

“Cindy!” I snap, my face heating up. I glance at the man, but he’s just standing there, staring at us with an expression that’s somehow both blank and intense at the same time.

“What? He’s not even reacting. That’s creepy, right? Normal people would at least laugh or something.”

“Can you just… go take out the trash or something?” I mutter.

Cindy rolls her eyes but grabs the trash bag from behind the counter. “Fine. But if you get murdered, I’m telling the cops I told you so.”

She disappears into the back, and I turn back to the man, forcing another smile. “Sorry about that. She’s… a lot. Let’s get your pup taken care of.”

He nods, still not saying anything, and hands me the leash. The poodle waddles over to me, its tail wagging lazily. It’s a sweet dog, at least, and I kneel down to give it a quick scratch behind the ears.

“What’s his name?” I ask, trying to make conversation.

“Fluffy,” he says, his tone still flat.

“Cute.” I stand up and lead the poodle over to the grooming table. “This won’t take long. Just a quick trim, and you’ll be on your way.”

He follows me, standing a little too close for comfort. I can feel his eyes on me as I lift Fluffy onto the table and start clipping his nails. The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, and I find myself babbling just to fill it.

“So, do you live around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“No,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Oh. Just visiting, then?”

“Yes.”

I glance up at him, but he’s staring at Fluffy, his expression unreadable. There’s something about the way he’s standing, the way he’s not blinking, that makes my stomach churn. I focus back on the poodle, my hands moving quickly.

I’m just finishing up Fluffy’s nails when the man—Bob, he’d said his name was—leans in a little too close. His breath smells faintly metallic, like he’s been chewing on pennies. I try not to wrinkle my nose as I set the clippers down and give Fluffy a quick pat.

“So,” he says, deliberately, “I’ve seen you around town with that business tycoon. Alfonso Ramone.”

I freeze for a second, my hand still on Fluffy’s back. The way he says it isn’t casual. It’s like he’s testing me, probing for something. I force a laugh, though it comes out a little strained.

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing him socially,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Guess dating a billionaire makes me tabloid fodder, huh?”