A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

“Almost didn’t recognize you without a dog in your lap.” “How’s Doris?” I ask. Bailey’s smile widens. “Better. Still doesn’t like the other dogs or most people, but she’s eating.” “Who’s Doris?” Van asks, looking confused. I ignore him. “Can I buy everyone a round of drinks?” It’s only as I look around the table that I notice the birthday balloons and a few gift bags, brightly colored tissue paper peeking out of the tops. “Wait—whose birthday is it?” All conversation stops. And from the way everyone’s eyes fall to Bailey, I don’t need anyone to answer. I spin, angling myself toward her and resting my arm on the back of her chair. “Bailey—is it your birthday?” She stares down at her hands, twisting a napkin in her lap. But she’s smiling. “It’s not a big deal.” My arm is still on the back of her chair, and I let it fall forward until it brushes her shoulders. “Oh, I happen to disagree. Where I come from, birthdays are a very big deal.” Shannon furrows her brow. “Like, birthdays are a big deal in Canada?” “Yeah, Eli,” Van says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “You have Canadian birthday traditions I don’t know about, eh?” “Yeah. We do.” We don’t. But no one else at this table knows that. Honestly, I’ve found that the American understanding of Canada begins and ends with maple leaves, Mounties, and the apparent universal appeal of Justin Trudeau. Oh, and eh. Just add eh to unlock your Canadian achievement badge. I grin at Bailey, staring pointedly until she li...