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“Oh.” Her voice perks up. “And how is she? I wonder what your ship name could be,” she muses. “Zaratine? Or what about Clemra?

I groan. “Please stop. Both those sound like medication for STIs.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” she says with a laugh. “But you need ship names.”

“You could try using our actual names.”

“Well, you’re no fun. But either way, that’s not why I called.”

“Is everything okay?” The bus finally arrives at my stop, and I internally cringe at having to talk in front of the other passengers. “Are you okay?”

“Why do you do that?” she asks, her voice a little disappointed. “Do people only ever call you when something’s wrong?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Nina. Focus.”

“Okay. Yes. Sorry.” Her voice turns serious. “Are you able to house-sit at the beginning of next month and watch Dexter for the weekend?”

“Your dog?” I clarify.

“Well, yeah. How many other Dexters do you know?”

My shoulders sag in relief, proving Nina’s theory about how I expect something to always be wrong, to be true.

“Just the weekend? And don’t you normally just pay someone?”

“Dexter’s getting old. He needs medication daily, and honestly, I don’t trust leaving him with anyone but you,” she explains. “And you’ll have my car in case you need to get around. It can be like a mini vacation. And you could bring Zara.”

This has my ears pricking up, because a few days with Zara at Nina’s place is the equivalent of a holiday stay in a resort.

“I know how you get about fucking up your work schedule, so I wanted to give you some time.”

I think back to Zara also checking in with me so I could work out whether or not I had to work. “Am I really that particular about work?”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“What you said just got me thinking.”

“You’re the manager. You have to fill the spots when people call out,” she says. “It makes sense you don’t want to make your life harder.”

Her explanation actually makes me feel a million times better and less like some inflexible grump.

“So when do you need an answer by?”

“The weekend before is fine.”

“Yeah, I can do that, but just text me the exact dates you want me there.” I mentally note it down, knowing I’ll put it in my calendar as soon as we get off the phone.

“You’re the best,” she says. “I’ll text you now. Thank you.”

Just like she said she would, Nina texts me the dates and I transfer it along to my calendar, realizing Zara never told me what time the hair appointment is.

Hey, what time is that hair appointment?

2:30pm.

Do you think you can get a few days to yourself at the beginning of next month?

I got asked to dog sit for Nina, and her place is practically a resort. Thinking we could spend another weekend together.