9
Anna
I open the door to the store and am met with a wave of very welcome heat. Before heading in, I look for Zoe. She’s right by the cash register.
“Are you sure Hemingway can come in? He’s not very good at wiping his paws on a mat.”
“Of course,” Zoe says. “I’ll mop up after him.”
“Is he the first dog to enter the premises under their new owner?” Relieved, I usher Hemingway into the warmth.
“I believe he is.” Like most people, Zoe seems naturally drawn to Hemingway. His soft fur is so inviting. He gives her a short enthusiastic bark when she pets his head. “Does he want some water?”
“He’s fine. He’s hardly been on a long hike on a hot summer’s day.” I pet Hemingway on the head as well. “Sit, Hem,” I say, hoping he will obey. He does, making me proud. “How’s business?” I ask, becau
