Page 19 of Wag More Bark Less

I tucked the phone into my crossbody bag and waited at the corner for an oncoming red Jeep. The female driver stopped next to a large flower box, waiting for me to pass. A blond shepherd dog with tall, pointed ears stuck its head out the back window, locking eyes on Ellie. She offered the pup a couple of enthusiastic tail wags as we crossed to the other side, but otherwise, paid it no mind.

The Sunrise Skillet was apparently a popular place, as the only seats available were at the front counter. With a sign in the window promising the establishment was dog friendly for well-behaved pups, I headed for an open stool.

Ellie kept close to my side as we navigated the sea of people. With any luck, there’d be a patio seat waiting once we got our food to-go.

The interior was rustic and charming. Exactly the kind of place I’d expect to find in a small mountain town with its distressed wood, corrugated galvanized steel accents, and framed pictures of moose, bears, and elk. Farmhouse-style tables lined the middle, smaller two-seater tables dotted the edges near the windows, and a ring of stools circled the front diner-style counter.

I slipped onto one to study the menu, and Ellie tucked herself out of the way.

“She’s adorable,” a woman about my age said to me when I decided on the Denver skillet—when in Rome—and closed the menu. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she tugged it over the front of one shoulder as she asked, “What’s her name?”

“Ellie.”

“Ellie.” The woman seemed to consider that a moment, silently nodding as she fidgeted with her ponytail. “I like that.”

“Her government name is Eleanor.”

The woman studied my dog. Ellie gave her one of those cute stares with a slight head tilt, but otherwise, remained pressed against my legs. “It suits her.”

“She seems to like it. Well, not her government name. I usually save that for when she’s in trouble.” I had no idea why I was divulging personal information to a stranger, only that the woman had this familiar sense about her. As though we’d met before, perhaps at a duty station or during my travels. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

“Alyssa.” The name didn’t jog a memory. But I still couldn’t help the feeling we knew one another. With how much I moved around however, it was entirely possible we’d bumped into one another years ago. The world was small like that, I’d learned. “Is Maggie short for Margaret?”

“If my grandpa had it his way, yes.” Grandpa wanted me named after Margaret Houlihan, but I didn’t think Alyssa would get the M*A*S*H reference, so I left that part out. “But my mom is obsessed with flowers. So, Maggie is short for Magnolia.”

“Magnolia. I like that. You new to town, then, or just passing through?” she asked, dumping her third creamer packet into a small to-go cup, turning it a creamy beige color as she stirred.

“Got in yesterday, actually. I’m visiting for a few weeks.”

I tried to catch the server’s eye to put in my order, but the poor lone woman behind the counter was swamped. Despite being hungry, it dawned on me that I had nowhere to be. No schedule to adhere to. Tension uncoiled from my body. I could wait.

“A few weeks? You on the run or something?” Alyssa asked, letting out a laugh.

“You’re not right, but you’re also not wrong.”

She turned on her stool, giving me her full attention. “You might as well tell me. I’m invested now. Plus, I’m super nosy.”

I hesitated. She seemed genuine, but I’d run into women like this before. The ones who feigned friendliness and turned on you at the first sign of you taking away their spotlight. As though we’d been in some secret competition the whole time. I seemed to attract them in droves.

It was why my best friend was my baby sister. Female friendships, I’d found, were complicated and required a hefty amount of caution. I didn’t know if I’d run into Alyssa on a daily basis or if this would be our only encounter, and that made me pause. How much could I safely share, and why did I suddenly feel the urge to spill it all?

“How about this?” she offered. “I’ll tell you my secret first, then you tell me yours.”

“Okay,” I said, intrigued.

“But no pity. And we’re both sworn to secrecy.” She held out her hand to shake on this deal.

“Agreed.”

“My friends think I’m back in town to help my grandma through Golden Days.” Before I could ask what that was, she leaned in and added in a low voice, “The truth is I was evicted from my apartment in Boulder, and I have nowhere else to go.”

“Are you okay⁠—”

“Nope. Don’t do that,” Alyssa said, cutting me off with a pointed finger. “No pity, remember?”

“Right.”

“So, spill it. Why are you really here, Magnolia?”