by Grace Palmer
A strong one.
13
Melanie
It is nearing the end of the day, and Melanie only has a couple of patients left to see. There’s Charles, the Pekinese with the breathing problem, and a lovely mutt named Baxter who just needs a checkup. Nothing too difficult—a quiet end to a quiet day.
Melanie walks out from the back office with Charles’s file, but freezes when she lifts her eyes from the paper.
A handsome man is sitting in the waiting room. Not just any handsome man—it is Colin Strickland from the other night. Melanie can’t believe her eyes, and stares at him for a moment before she realizes that everyone in the waiting room is looking at her.
Including Colin, who is wearing a gentle smile that threatens to melt Melanie where she stands.
Mrs. Brunwood, Charles’s mom, is watching Melanie expectantly with raised brows. Charles is wheezing on her lap. “Uh, follow me, Mrs. Brunwood,” Melanie stutters, pulling herself together.
“Charlesy Poo has been very excitable recently,” Mrs. Brunwood says, interrupting Melanie’s thoughts. “I think he might have doggy ADHD. Can you prescribe him some Ritalin?”
Melanie is looking in Charles’ ear and straightens to meet Mrs. Brunwood’s gaze. Charles sits on the table and makes a snuffling noise.
“That’s surprising,” Melanie says, measuring her words. “I’ve never known him to be a hyperactive dog. What makes you think he has ADHD?”
“He is all over the place and barks up a storm. Sometimes he just spins in circles. I looked it up on the internet and I learned that you can get medication for it.”
“And how long has this been going on?”
“A few weeks.”
Melanie shoots a glance at the door. Something about Colin sitting patiently on the other side makes her heart thrum.
“It is possible for dogs to experience hyperkinesis and you’re correct that medication has been known to help in some cases,” she replies, bending to examine his other ear. “But if this has only been occurring for the past few weeks, I would say that it’s highly unlikely in Charles’ case. Has anything changed in regards to his environment or routine?”
Mrs. Brunwood immediately shakes her head. “No, nothing.”
“You haven’t changed the frequency or lengths of his walks?”
“Well, my hip has been bad recently,” she admits. “But when I can’t take him out, I’ve been sending him out into the backyard to play so that shouldn’t make a difference.”
Melanie has to stop herself from groaning out loud. She doesn’t have time for this. Colin is outside waiting to talk to her and now Melanie has to go through all the standard examination questions for the dog’s breathing difficulties as well as explaining to this woman that her Pekinese is bored, not hyperactive.
Charles’ examination runs ten minutes over, so when Melanie opens the door, she expects Colin to be gone.
But he’s still there. Still smiling. Still waiting patiently.
But for what? Why is he here?
Colin and Baxter’s dad, George, are chatting away when Melanie enters and it takes a moment for either of them to notice her standing there.
“Looks like we’re up!” George says cheerfully, standing and tugging on Baxter’s lead. “Great to meet you, Colin.”
“You too!” Colin says, waving at his new friend. “I’ll try out The Roast and let you know what I think.”
Melanie offers Colin a tense smile, realizing that she should acknowledge his presence with more than just an awkward stare. “I’ll, uh, be with you in just a few minutes, Colin,” she says.
He nods pleasantly as Melanie leads George and Baxter into the examination room. This examination goes much quicker but Melanie still finds herself glancing at the clock every few minutes, wondering at what point Colin will decide enough is enough.
Twenty minutes later, Melanie leads George out of the examination room. Sure enough, Colin is still waiting. She has a quick word with her receptionist, Annie, letting her know that Melanie will lock up, then turns to face Colin.
“Hi,” Melanie says finally.
“Hey.” Colin grins.
His cheeks are brushed with dark stubble and his eyes seem to twinkle under the fluorescent lights. He is wearing a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing tanned, muscular forearms. For the first time, Melanie notices his hand resting in his lap and the crude, bloodstained bandages around it.
“Jeez!” she exclaims, stepping over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Colin chuckles and rises to his feet. He towers over Melanie, scratching his head sheepishly with his good hand.
“As it turns out, I’ve got a builder’s vision but not a builder’s coordination.” His voice is low and smooth despite the injury, and it washes over Melanie like a wave. “Think you can fix me up, Doc?”
Melanie cocks a brow. “I thought it was obvious by this point, but you know I’m a veterinarian, right?”
“If you need me to act like a wounded puppy, I’d be happy to do that for you.” He sticks out his lower lip and does his best puppy-dog eyes, whimpering adorably.
Melanie rolls her eyes, laughing. “Oh, come on then. I suppose I’ve already made you wait out here nearly an hour.”
“For you, I could wait a lifetime.” He grins. “Lead the way.”
Melanie takes Colin into the examination room and gestures for him to sit on the table. “What happened?” she calls over her shoulder while she gathers a tray of supplies.
“Well.” Colin clears his throat. “I was sitting in my new house—which is in fact a very old house—alone with all my power tools, when I realized that if I sliced my finger open I’d have a good excuse to see my favorite doctor.”
“I suspect I am the only doctor you know at this stage,” she replies dryly, turning around. “But based on your current track record, I doubt I’ll be the last.”
She wheels the cart next to him and pulls on plastic gloves. The height of the table means Colin still looms above her, and his bulk seems to fill the room.
“Depends how good of a job you do on my finger,” Colin replies.
Is he flirting with her? No, surely not. He is way too handsome and cool to be into Melanie. Then again, why else would he be here and not at an actual doctor’s office? Maybe he doesn’t have insurance. That thought makes Melanie feel used. Still, he’s charming and sweet, and she can’t deny she’s thought about him a lot since he left her office the other night.
Melanie laughs. “And if I do a good job, you are coming back for more? I don’t think so. This is a one-time thing as a special thank you for being such a good soul the other night.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Colin says. “How is our little four-legged friend, by the way? Did you find his owner?”
Melanie reaches for Colin’s hand, pulling the bandages away carefully. A deep gash on his pointer finger oozes blood and Melanie can tell it will need stitches.
“Yes and no,” Melanie replies, beginning to clean the wound. Colin hisses as she applies antiseptic. “His name is Bandit. He’s chipped, but the person he belonged to passed away a couple of weeks ago,” Melanie explains. “I’ll keep him here to heal up and then hand him over to one of the rescue shelters to re-home.”
“I’ll save you a step,” Colin says. “I’d love to take the little guy.”
Melanie purses her lips. “And why would I just give him to you? I don’t know anything about you. You could be a psychopath.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to get to know me a little better to find out,” Colin says cheerfully.
“Or perform a couple of checks,” Melanie counters.
He chuckles. “Or that.”
Colin seems a little deflated, but Melanie can’t figure out why. What does he want from her? Does he really care about the dog? She doesn’t trust him, but then again she hasn’t trusted a man in several years.
When she finishes cleaning the wound, she looks up
to meet Colin’s gaze. He is watching her intently, with a gentle smile still balanced on his lips.
“I am afraid this will require stitches,” she advises.
Colin nods. “I thought it might.”
“What actually happened?” Melanie asks, threading her needle.
“Something very dumb,” Colin says. “I was cutting weather stripping with my trusty Stanley knife and my hand slipped.”
“Sounds like an easy enough thing to do.”
Colin shrugs. “I guess so. I’ve only been on the job for a few days now, so it feels a bit early to be causing myself grievous bodily harm. I usually wait until the halfway point of a project for that.”
“I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t lose the hand then,” Melanie jokes. “Seeing as you’ve still got so much to do.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
To his credit, Colin barely winces as Melanie begins to sew up the wound. He looks away, but other than that, there is no whining or groaning. He is calm the whole time.
“There was something I meant to ask you the other night,” Colin says as she’s finishing up. “Admittedly, I chickened out.”
“Mhmm?” Melanie checks the stitches, and starts rummaging on the tray for a bandage.
Colin clears his throat. “Do you want to get dinner sometime?”
Melanie freezes. She looks up at him, into those intense brown eyes, and her instincts immediately shout, No! Sure, he seems nice enough, but who is to say that he won’t reveal himself to be a massive jerk the second she lets him in? He’s a stranger to her and to Willow Beach. She knows nothing about him except that he is apparently quite accident-prone.
Then Melanie thinks about her conversation with Sabrina on her birthday. Sabrina would tell her to go for it, to not even hesitate. In fact, if Sabrina finds out that a hunky architect who loves dogs asked Melanie out and she didn’t say yes, she’ll bop her over the head immediately.
She realizes that Colin has been waiting a long moment for her answer and she blinks, glancing back down at the hand.
“Sure,” she says quietly. “That sounds fun.”
When she looks back up, Colin is grinning from ear to ear. “Good.”
Melanie finishes patching him up and they exchange numbers, arranging to meet up on Friday. She sees him out the door and locks up behind him, then goes up to her apartment. Bandit is there, wagging his tail from the dog bed in the corner but he doesn’t get up—he’s not loving the cast.
Melanie’s phone pings and she pulls it out, reading one new message from Colin. If the date goes bad, I still get to keep Bandit, right?
She chuckles and types back: I never said you could have him in the first place!
A second later, he replies: I’ll be sure to layer on the charm then. For the dog’s sake, of course ;)
Melanie smiles, her stomach fluttering against all odds. She gently picks up Bandit and brings him to the sofa for a snuggle with her while she calls Sabrina.
“Hello?”
“I did it,” Melanie announces. “I’m getting myself back out there!”
“Yes, ma’am! Did you sign up for a dating app or something?”
“God, no.” Melanie laughs. She can’t imagine anything more stressful than swiping through dozens of faces, hoping the one she picks isn’t a complete rake. “I’ve got a date with a guy I met through work.”
“The doctor is in,” Sabrina replies approvingly. “Tell me all about him.”
“Well, he hit a dog with his car, not a great start. But then he was so concerned about him that he stuck around and chatted with me for hours. He came back today and asked me on a date.”
“And what is this mystery man’s name? Do I know him?”
“Colin. He just moved to town. He bought an old house and is renovating it.”
“This is excellent news, Mel. I’m really proud of you.”
Melanie is proud of herself too, though she didn’t realize it until now. Maybe this is a new beginning for her. Maybe she’ll never have another dream about Derek, and she’ll spend the rest of her days slowly forgetting his face and how much it hurt when he said goodbye.
Or maybe it will be a disaster.
Only one way to find out.
14
Drew
The last thing that Drew expects to see as he walks back around the inn is his sister, Tasha, wandering out from the guesthouse with a mask of exhaustion on her face.
“Has she told you yet?” he demands.
“Good to see you too, Drew,” she murmurs with trademark sarcasm, although her voice is choked with lingering sleepiness. She must’ve been napping.
“Has she told you yet?” he repeats.
“Has who told me what?”
Drew hesitates. He looks down, shaking his head and muttering a curse under his breath, then pulls off his baseball cap, scrubbing at the ginger hair beneath. His thick eyebrows veer down and he sighs. “Dad ran off with the maid,” he tells her.
Tasha blinks. He knows what she’s thinking: she must not have heard him correctly because there is no way that Dad would abandon Mom and the inn like that.
“Dad did what?” Tasha asks.
“He ran off with the maid!” Drew repeats, agitation causing his words to snap out like firecrackers.
Tasha takes a step back out of surprise. “With Annika?” she questions. “That’s … that’s not possible.”
“It is possible, and it happened.” Drew shoves his cap back on. “Mom’s out on the patio if you want to go ask her. I’m going to guzzle ten beers if you’d rather do that instead.”
He stands still for a second, watching emotions war across Tasha’s face. She’s always been so vibrant and full of life—it’s part of what made her great on stage—but right now, she looks absolutely drained.
“Drinking it is,” she says quietly.
The two of them head out onto the street together in silence.
The walk to their local bar, the Lobster Trap, isn’t long. Neither of them offers a word to break the quiet on the way there, as though having decided that this news cannot possibly be discussed further until they each have a beer in hand. They turn out of the inn’s tree-lined avenue and onto Main Street, which is bustling with life. The May night is filled with the sounds of traffic, people laughing, drinks clinking, generic pop music pumping from the various shops.
It doesn’t feel right.
There shouldn’t be anyone smiling, not when the Baldwin family has just been torn to shreds. A child runs ahead with an ice-cream cone clutched in one chubby hand and all Drew can think about is how once upon a time he was that child—no job, no family drama, not a care in the world beyond the next bite of chocolate goodness. Now what is he?
Something different. Older. More battered, more broken, far worse for the wear.
The Lobster Trap sits in a little square off the main strip, and the beer garden out front is already littered with sunburned tourists drinking beer and chatting happily with each other.
“Let’s sit inside,” Tasha suggests, her first words to Drew since they left the house.
Drew agrees, and they walk into the bar’s dark interior, which is practically empty. Various ropes, traps, and other fishing implements hang from the wooden walls and ceiling. The booths are fitted with forest-green vinyl seats, and there is a stage area at the far end of the room with a backdrop of netting.
The two of them take a couple stools at the bar, and both of them order a beer. The bartender seems to pick up on their grim mood and moves to the other side of the bar after serving them.
“So the old man ran off with the maid,” Drew says wearily. For some reason, it feels important to reiterate the facts as they currently stand. They still don’t feel real, though. “I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Did Mom?” Tasha asks.
Drew takes a swig of his beer, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you remember when we went on that road trip to O
rlando and they fought the whole way home?” she asks. “For some reason, that sticks out. I guess I never really saw them fight.”
“Yeah, I do remember. What was that even about?”
“I can’t remember,” Tasha admits. “I must’ve been about eight at that point.”
“Yeah.” Drew nods. “You know, I can remember a couple of times they fought when we were little, but I can’t remember anything from when we were teenagers.”
“That’s a good point.” Tasha takes a drink of her beer. “Do you think it was because of the inn? I can’t remember them ever fighting after they took it over.”
“Why would it be the inn?” he questions. “Surely that would make them fight more, being in each other’s way all the time. Mom wasn’t exactly a stay-at-home mom anymore, and Dad sold his business. They had no choice but to be around each other. Maybe that’s what undid everything.”
“I don’t think he was too upset about selling the contracting business,” Tasha muses. “Mom has alluded a couple times now to him being more than happy to give it up. He never wanted to be a contractor in the first place.”
“Well, maybe that was the problem. They stopped fighting. They grew complacent and lost the bit of friction that gave them their edge.”
Tasha’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “That’s remarkably insightful for a meathead jock,” she teases.
They both laugh, but the laughter dies quickly and a sticky awkwardness lingers in its wake. It feels wrong to laugh. They look down and twiddle their thumbs until the bartender comes by to serve them another round.
“So, what have you been up to recently?” Drew asks. “I feel like it’s been ages.”
“Not a lot,” Tasha scoffs. “What about you? Got a girlfriend?”
“Nope. How’s Chuck?”
“Let’s not.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
“Fair enough then. We’ll let sleeping dogs lie. Any other crises hanging over your head?”
Tasha pretends to think. “Uh, not much, just got fired, that’s all.”
