Walk the Dog

by Isabel Jolie

  No one says no to me. For a moment, I have no words. “How much will it cost for me to stay here overnight with her?”

  His phone vibrates. When he checks it, I can’t see the name on the screen. But this time, there’s a seriousness to his expression that wasn’t there before. He answers the call. “Amber? Yes. I’m finishing up with a client, and then I’ll call you back.” When he drops his phone back in his pocket, he’s all business and ready to usher me out.

  “If I leave her overnight, does she have to stay until Monday? Or can I pick her up in the morning?”

  “We’re closed on Sunday. But if you tell me what time, I’ll be here so you can pick her up.”

  This is not ideal, and I resist the urge to stomp my foot because this is not what I want. But if there’s any chance of Chewie having issues during the night, it’s safer to leave her here. I chew on my thumbnail as I mull over this predicament, and the sound of his exhale rushes my answer. “Okay. I’ll leave her here.”

  I walk over to her. She’s back on the dog bed on the floor, and I bend to place kisses on her head. He offers me a business card with a handwritten number on the back. “We’ll take good care of her. That’s my personal cell. If you want to check on her during the night, feel free to call or text.”

  I stand and shove his card into my pocketbook, and it hits me he needs my number. “Let me give you mine. In case anything goes wrong.” I hold out my hand for his phone. He looks a bit confused, and I stretch my arm toward his lab coat pocket for his cell. “I’ll enter it. Or I can write it down.” I glance around the sparse room for a piece of paper.

  The corners of his lips curve up a tad as he hesitates then exhales, punches his code, and passes me his phone. As I’m entering my information, a text comes through from Ashley. I hand the phone back to him. Women reach out to him non-stop, it seems. I envision meeting him in a bar, and, yeah, I can see it. If I met him out and about, he’d be the kind of guy I’d try to meet. He has a seriousness to him that’s a huge turn-on. And those eyes. It’s a rare color reminiscent of a forest, green tinged with golden brown.

  “What time can I pick her up in the morning?”

  “You tell me. I’ll be here.”

  “Are you staying overnight?”

  “No. We have an on-call vet tech who will be with her overnight. But I’ll back here early in the morning.”

  “Eight a.m. good? I’ll treat you to breakfast.”

  He offers a polite smile and steps to open the door for me to leave. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be here by eight. If anything changes during the night, I’ll text you. But don’t worry. She’s going to be fine.”

  He guides me out of the now empty clinic, and as he opens the door to the street, his hand comes to rest on my back. He’s probably fighting the urge to push me out the door, but the warmth of his touch has me pausing and glancing back into those iridescent orbs.

  “Thank you.” When I say it, I mean it more than I have in a long time. He didn’t let me have my way, but he did put up with my crazy all day by letting me occupy one of his patient rooms. He’s a good guy. Kind. Thoughtful. He bought me lunch. He saved the dog. And he happens to be sexy as all get-out.

  As I head home, weaving through the pedestrians crowding the sidewalk, an idea forms in my head. An idea that has me humming a tune and perking up as I pop into my favorite pizzeria for a slice.

  Chapter 3

  Mason

  Sunday morning, an empty, dark waiting room greets me. I flip the lights out of habit before heading to the back. It’s not even seven, so I’m not surprised at all when I find Eric, our on-call vet tech, stretched out, snoring on the cot in our back room. We pull it out when someone needs to stay overnight. We have two cats that are staying with us until Monday, recovering from surgeries. They are each curled up on their fleece beds. One watches me as I walk by. There’s an extra-large crate on the floor, and I bend to check on the patient whose wellbeing Eric has been in charge of all night.

  The large, brown labradoodle stands, and her tail thumps the side of the crate. As I’m opening the crate door, Eric speaks from behind me. “She’s doing good. She’s passed some big piles of poop.”

  “Great,” I tell him as she looks at me with her soulful orbs then licks my face from chin to brow. I stand, reach over, and grab the extra Starbucks coffee I picked up on the way in and pass it to Eric. Now free, the dog sniffs around the edges of the room, checking out the space. She looks like an entirely different dog from the one who arrived yesterday in distress. “Thanks for coming in last night.”

  Eric stretches his arms. “That’s what I’m here for.” Eric prefers the night shift, as he’s pursuing acting by day. I’ve always suspected he could earn more as a bartender than a vet tech. Asked him about it once, and he concurred, but said he’d rather spend his moonlighting time with animals than people.

  I flip my light on in the closet I call an office and take my place in front of my laptop. The brown dog follows me in and sits by my side. I reach out and scratch her ears, then lean down to lift her tag to read the inscription. Chewbacca. Cute, but long. No wonder they shorten it and call her Chewie.

  When I shift my attention to my laptop, she lies on the floor by my feet. An email from Rob, one of my partners in the clinic, catches my attention. He’s found an ideal spot for a second location in Connecticut. My shoulder muscles tighten as I read through his email, attempting to ignore the mild burning sensation. Fuck. Rob’s right. Opening additional locations will be important to our overall income growth. But I bought into this practice five years ago, and the debt from that, as well my debt from vet school, is sizeable. And now, as soon as we’ve gotten a handle on business debt, he wants to take on more.

  There’s a tap on the doorframe. “I’m heading out, okay?”

  “Thanks again, Eric.”

  “Anytime. I’ve fed the cats and set out food on the shelf for this dog. You can decide if you want to feed her. Don’t work all day on your day off.”

  When he leaves, Chewbacca and I stare at each other. Then it occurs to me that she’s not supposed to spend the whole day here. I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts to locate her owner’s name. Well, not her owner, her dog sitter. I grin as I read what she’s typed into the notes section on the contact field.

  Thx for saving Chu. Namaste

  Yesterday was a shit storm. Saturdays are always busy, and as the only vet not stricken with flu, the day pushed manic. But I do remember her. For some reason, Ashley couldn’t stand her. Said something about her type being all about money. I didn’t get that vibe, but what do I know?

  She definitely cared about this dog. And the dog cared about her. In my book, that is about the best character check around. Chewbacca raises her paw to my leg, requesting more scratching. She twists her body against me as I scratch, hitting a good spot. The blonde’s warm smile comes to mind. Then I remember her shocked expression when I stood firm and didn’t allow her to stay overnight with the dog. Hell, maybe Ashley is right. She definitely acted like she’d never heard the word “no” before. And she did ask me how much it would cost, as if throwing money around would change my answer.

  I tap out a quick text to tell her the dog is well, and she can pick her up as planned.

  Then I click open the spreadsheet to study the financials Dave prepared for converting to a twenty-four-seven vet clinic. I’ve been worried about the space, but he has this idea that we can buy a van to drive boarders to the Connecticut location, thus expanding to provide boarding. His ideas sound good, but every one of his ideas increases expenses. I’m knee deep in his explanations for each line item when my phone vibrates with an incoming text.

  Delilah: I’m at the door.

  I close my laptop and stand to stretch. A mild tension headache is forming across my forehead.

  When I open the door, Chewbacca bounds past me and almost knocks her over. The movement takes us both by surprise. She has a tray full of coffees she’s h
olding up in the air as she laughs. The dog’s paws have landed directly on her breasts. I rescue the coffees and stand back, holding the door for her to enter. Her hair is down, and in the morning light, it looks like spun gold. She’s wearing a form fitting long sleeve gray t-shirt, faded, ripped jeans, and brown boots. Yesterday, I did notice her, but it was too manic to take in much. Today, I have time, and I mindlessly linger on those soft, healthy curves.

  “She’s feeling better, huh?” Delilah’s long blonde hair falls almost to her waist. Her slim gold nose ring glimmers in the light, as do the diamonds lining the edge of her left ear. She’s wearing a pale pink gloss that glistens on her full lips. The day before, she’d had messy hair piled up on her head and looked exhausted and frazzled. Today, she looks fresh and young. Energetic. A stark contrast to yesterday.

  “Yeah, she’s doing better. We’ll mail the bill to you, and you can be on your way home.” In the back of my head, I hear Dave bitching that we charge at the time of service, but I don’t really want to have to figure out how to run a credit card. The receptionist normally handles payments. I do know how to do it, but it’s been a long time.

  “Billing is fine, but I need to get the bill. Not Anna. Or, if you tell me how much it is, I can pay now.”

  I take slow steps to the reception desk, trying to remember what I need to do. I sit at Bet’s desk and am lost among the smattering of Post-It notes lining the monitor and all over her desk. I was hoping her username and password would be on one of the sticky notes, but all she’s written down are ridiculous animal jokes.

  “I did pick up some coffees. I wasn’t sure what you drank, so I have one black, one with skim, one with cream, and one with soy. All Pike’s Place.” She’s holding the tray out to me like a happy waitress offering nirvana.

  “You really covered your bases, huh?”

  She smiles, showing off brilliant white teeth offset with candy pink lip gloss. “What do you drink?”

  “Any and all caffeine. I’ll be fine with whatever you don’t drink.”

  “What? No. What’s your normal order?”

  I resume reading the Post-Its. “Anything, really. I’m not picky. You take what you like, and I’ll have what’s left over.”

  “Okay. I took the soy. Which one of these do you want?”

  I glance up at her. She does have a soy girl persona. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s also vegan. “I’ll take the one with cream?”

  “Cream? Really?” She sets the tray down on the ground and pulls out the requested coffee for me.

  I puff out my chest in mock bravado. “Is cream not manly enough for you?”

  She giggles and squirms a bit. “You’re my hero. Even with cream in your coffee, you’re still manly.”

  “I didn’t do anything, really, but thank you.” I didn’t do anything. Now, had she needed surgery, then I’d feel like I did something. But I always prefer to avoid putting an animal under anesthesia, so I’m relieved she didn’t need surgical intervention.

  Delilah bends to Chewbacca’s height, and the dog licks her, the same kind of thank you lick she gave me this morning. Dogs have an inherent wisdom and kindness. These two might be simply dog sitter and dog, but a visible bond has formed.

  Yesterday, Delilah struck me as a carefree spirit, her hair bouncing around on top of her head and her fingers fluttering in active affirmation while she spoke. In another life, her carefree spirit alone would have had me asking for her number.

  No matter what Ashley thinks, Delilah’s concern for the dog yesterday was genuine and real. She can’t be all bad. “When are Chewie’s owners back?” I ask.

  “Oh, today. Do you think she’s out of the woods now?”

  “Yes, I do.” Then I accept that I’m not going to find Bet’s username and password and push the roller chair away from the desk. “Can I write down your home address so we can mail you a bill?” I should know how to work this system, but it’s been years since my training day.

  “Oh, I can pay in cash if you don’t know how to do the credit card.”

  Damn. We were slammed yesterday. I don’t even want to ask, but I do. “Did anyone provide an estimate for services?”

  “Oh, yes.” She bounces on her heels, sending her hair and those full breasts, which happen to be at eye level, bouncing. She pulls out a folded piece of paper and holds it out for me. I open it, and sure enough, estimated charges are on here. Ashley completed a nonsurgical and a surgical estimate. The nonsurgical estimate is for $1,800.

  Business is not my strong suit. I became a veterinarian due to my love of science and animals, not because of some entrepreneurial drive. While I’m staring at the paper, a stack of cash is thrust into my face. Then she leans across me and scribbles on a piece of paper. The curves of her waist are inches from my face, and I peruse her svelte lines down to her tight ass defined by the stitching on the jeans pockets. In another life.

  A familiar smell wafts from her—camelia. We had potted camelia bushes growing up. It’s been ages since I smelled that scent, or even thought about Minnesota.

  When she’s done writing, she passes me the paper. “Here’s my name and address. That’s two thousand, but if the estimate was off and I owe more, just bill me. Does that work?”

  I stare down at the stack of money. Why is she carrying so much cash?

  “Now, do you have to work here today? Or can I take you to breakfast? There’s this great little place around the corner, and they have sidewalk seating so Chewie can sit with us.”

  I stare at her breasts for a minute then realize what I’m doing and have the good sense to lift my head. I focus on her sky-blue irises, not the curve of her breasts rising above her bra cup. She’s trying to be kind, and I recognize that, but I really do have work I need to get through this morning. We are meeting with bankers next week, and I’ll be damned if I’m applying for a loan without full confidence we can pay it back. “That’s not necessary. But thank you.”

  Her shoulders sag, and guilt for turning her down nips at me. When I stand, I pull open Bet’s drawer and stuff the cash inside. As I close the drawer, my gut tells me that’s not a smart place to put it. My phone buzzes, and when I see the caller ID, I forget all about the money. I’ve got to take this call. I hold up an index finger to Delilah to let her know I’ll be a moment and take a few steps back.

  “Amber. Hey. You’re up early.”

  “Or late. Depends on how you look at it.” Background noise carries through the phone, and I cringe.

  I raise my voice so she hears me in whatever nightclub she’s calling from. “I’m sorry I called you back so late last night. So, you’re in town next week?”

  “Yes. One more show tonight, then we’ll be driving back. Should be back around Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “Great.” I blink as a whirlwind of emotions catch me off guard. I haven’t seen her in years. “Text me, and we’ll figure out where to meet up.”

  Amber agrees, and then she’s gone. I’m not entirely sure if she hung up or we got disconnected, and as I stare at the phone, Delilah’s movement by my side reminds me she’s here.

  “Sorry about that. Um, here, let’s go back and get Chewbacca’s leash. That should be everything you need.”

  Delilah follows me into the back room. She walks straight up to the orange tabby’s cage and sticks her finger through, but she’s looking all around. “So, this is the room I wasn’t allowed in yesterday.”

  I hold up a leash for Delilah to confirm it’s hers and smile a bit at my blunder and her calling me out on it. “Yeah, I’m not exactly batting a thousand this morning. So, here you are. Behind the curtain.”

  She grins up at me, quizzically. “Curtain?”

  “Like The Wizard of Oz. Seeing the inner workings.” She turns on her heels.

  “What do you think?”

  “Groovy.” She beams her smile at me. This girl is all sunshine. She steps closer in a flirty way. I’m out of practice on this front, but with her hip out to the si
de and the way she runs her tongue over her lower lip, drawing my attention to her pale pink lip gloss, it’s possible. When she runs her fingers across my wrist, I can’t hold back my smile because, yes, she’s flirting with me. “Are you sure you can’t have breakfast with me?” She tilts her head as she asks and bats her eyelashes. She’s cute. And tempting. Fun.

  It’s Sunday. I don’t feel up for going out, but at the same time, my empty apartment has no appeal. It strikes me as the opposite of fun. “Actually, I’m on my own tonight. Any chance, and don’t feel pressured at all,” I hold my palm out to emphasize this point, “but any chance you’d like to come over, and I’ll cook for you?”

  She smiles and pops up onto her toes and bounces a few times. Excitement, maybe? Then she halts and stands flat on her feet, tilting her head as she swirls a strand of long golden hair around a finger. “Sure. I’d love to.”

  She grabs her phone then smacks her palm against her chest. “I was about to suggest we swap contact info, but that’s already done. Text me your address. If it’s okay, we can confirm a time a little later today, once I know for sure what time Anna and Jackson will be home to receive their baby. They’re aiming to be back this afternoon, but with traffic, you never know.”

  I grin. After four years of being a vet, you’d think I’d stop noticing when people refer to their pets as their children, but I still love it. Dogs, in particular, are some of my favorite people.

  “Oh, wait. Hold this.” She shoves her phone in my palm and digs through her massive pocketbook, then pulls out a wrinkled paper bag.

  While I’m holding her phone, a jingle announcing a text sounds. I barely glance at the name before she waves. “It’s my mom. I’ll text her back later.” Then she swaps her phone for the bag. I peer inside and see a couple of doughnuts and muffins. “I figured you might not agree to go to breakfast with me, so I brought some for you in case.”

  She’s sweet. A sugary breakfast isn’t my first choice, but my rumbling stomach reminds me all food is welcome. Bringing me breakfast is thoughtful.