by Isabel Jolie
I lead her out of the clinic, rethinking this. What am I doing inviting her to my place? Should I tell her before she comes over? I don’t have experience with this. Then again, why say anything now? She’s gonna get the whole picture laid out for her in a vibrant technicolor explosion this evening. Worst-case scenario? We have dinner and agree to be friends.
Chapter 4
Delilah
“Welcome home!” I burst through Anna’s apartment door, arms held high to wrap her in an I-am-so-fecking-glad-to-see-you-hug. Chewie leaps in front of me, ecstatic to be home with her mommy. My heart echoes the dog’s sentiment, and I can’t help but laugh. Oh, sugar, what a freaking relief to be delivering a healthy dog.
Anna crouches to love on her furry beast. Jackson shouts out a hello from the kitchen and asks if I want anything to drink. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not gonna stay long.”
From her bending position, Anna checks out my outfit. She grins. “You look good, girl. Have you got a date?”
I grin right back and pretty much bounce over to one of the kitchen stools. Being free of dog responsibilities feels damn good. One long nap, shower, and a blow out on my hair, and it’s a new day. So much brighter than yesterday. “Yep, I do. Your vet asked me out!” I almost squeal.
“Dr. Herriot!” Anna exclaims. “Wait, why did you go to the vet?”
I twist a little on the stool as I flutter my fingers around to indicate she can calm down. “Everything’s fine, but we did have an incident. A small incident. It’s all okay.”
Big brown eyes stare back at me. She’s not exactly mad, but she’s definitely waiting for the explanation. She continues to comb over the mangy mutt’s curly hair as if she’s hunting for the injury.
“Yeah, so, Chewie ate an entire bag of dog food.”
Jackson chuckles behind me. I continue, “You told me you’d be out of cell range. Thank the gods you had me on your caretaker list. And she’s fine now. He did give her an IV because I guess the dry food dehydrated her, but she’s good. Been pooping like a champ today.” I grin, proud. The dog’s alive. I’ll probably never dog sit again, but she survived. Alive is good. “Once I knew she’d be okay, I figured telling you all about it in person was preferable to me sending an email or text.”
Anna crosses her legs on the floor, and the brown mass of fur attempts to crawl into her lap and curl up. She’s too big to actually fit, but her tail wags back and forth, oblivious. “She’s such a good dog. A healthy, hungry girl, aren’t you?” Anna tilts her head to me, a big smile across her face, the happiest of dog moms. “So, Dr. Herriot? He’s hot as fuck.”
Jackson’s voice sounds from behind me, a mixture of curious and wary. “Who is this?”
“Oh, my vet. You haven’t met him,” Anna answers as she scratches Chew’s ears.
Jackson steps out of the kitchen, gives me a quick hug, then pops Anna on the head. “Sounds like maybe I should. Hot as fuck. Really?”
“Not as hot as you, babe.” She blows him a kiss, and he smirks, shaking his head as he walks to the back of the apartment.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out. Mom’s calling. I decline the call and slip it back into my clutch. There’s no way I’m answering her call on the same day I have a date. She’s got, like, crazy black magic powers and she’ll sense through the phone line what I’m up to. Definite decline.
“So, yeah.” I lower my voice in case Jackson’s listening in. I reach out with my leg and toe Anna to get her attention. “You never told me your vet is so freaking hot! And he’s super nice. Like, such a good guy.”
Anna smiles. “Yeah. He’s a nice guy. But, Dee, you don’t normally go out with a guy more than once or twice. You’re gonna be good to him, right?” She angles her eyebrows seriously. “You aren’t going to force me to change vets, are you?”
“No. Not at all. He’s not even that into me. I was prepared to ask him out, but then he asked me out!” I squeal that last bit because it’s exciting. Even Anna described him as sexy, and he has women calling him right and left. What girl doesn’t get jazzed when a hottie asks her out? Anna’s wearing her skeptic face, so I reassure her.
“It’s not a definite date. He didn’t use the word date. This is almost more like friends getting together. Besides, I’ll be moving back to New Orleans.”
“When?” Anna’s quick with the question. I often talk about moving back to New Orleans, but since we work together, she’s always questioning my plans.
“There’s no date set. It’s gonna eventually happen, though. These are my fun years.” I jump off the stool, arms wide open, attempting to mimic the dramatic Titanic moment on the bow of the ship.
Anna returns her attention to Chew while shaking her head. I’m not sure she gets my impersonation.
“Be good to him. He seems like a nice guy. I’d hate to see him added to the long line of heartbroken men in your wake.”
“Oh, sugar! Heartbroken men, my ass,” I snap.
She rolls her eyes, and I brace for her to spout off names, but she drops it. “So, tell me more about what he said about Chew. Anything I need to watch out for?”
“Not really. Make sure she continues to drink lots of water and has regular bowel movements. She had diarrhea, but her poo seems to be hardening up. I’m so sorry. I’m the worst at taking care of things.”
“No, you are not! She’s doing great. And she’s overeaten with me before too. That’s why I keep her food in a locked container. She’s a greedy little minx. Don’t be hard on yourself.” For effect, she points, scolding me. “Don’t ever say that again, girl. You are great at taking care of those you love. No self-degradation in this room. Got it?”
Well, I survived this test. I’ll give myself that much. The dog is alive.
Chapter 5
Delilah
I pay the cab driver and step out onto Pierrepont Street. Two scrolled black iron doors with matching fall-themed teardrop wreaths greet me. The Beaux-Arts style entrance compliments the traditional brick apartment building smack dab in the center of Brooklyn Heights. I step up and ring apartment 8D. A buzzer sounds, and I push the heavy door open. The nondescript lobby has marble floors and several brass door elevators. No doorman. Interesting. I recommend to anyone who asks that they live in a doorman building. The convenience is worth the extra expense. Not to mention the added safety.
When the elevator opens, I glance down the hall. Mason stands with his apartment door propped open with his foot, a smile on his face. He’s wearing faded jeans and a tucked-in button-down flannel shirt with a well-worn brown leather belt. His sleeves are rolled up on his forearms, and he has several plastic bracelets on one arm. I didn’t notice those yesterday. They’re the kind of bracelets that support various causes.
He bends to give me a polite welcoming hug then pushes the door wide. We enter a narrow hall. Immediately to my right is another door. The door is open, and through a small window at the end of the bathroom, I can see a skyline view of Manhattan. The short entrance hall opens into an expansive loft-like space with a dining and living room combination. I don’t see a kitchen, but I assume it’s on the other side of the wall near the dining area. The high ceilings and oversized windows make me think the room must be quite sunny during the day.
Less than two steps into the great room, I halt. On every single wall, pieces of paper are taped. For a minute, I’m unsure, but no, it’s most definitely children’s art. Some of the paper bears the marks of age, faded colors, and dust. Those are mostly comprised of lines and scribbles. Some of the fresher papers include torn-out pages from coloring books, carefully drawn in the lines. A few are colorful paintings in the abstract. Handprints and footprints. Others landscape and animal drawings. Many cat and dog line sketches. I point at the paintings and grin. “Do your kid owners send you artwork?”
He slips both hands into his front pockets and closes one eye, as if he’s thinking about my question. “Kid owners? You mean my patients’ owners?”
“Yeah.” The
re’s a ton of art here. He must have been collecting these for years.
“No. My daughter is a budding artist. These are all hers.”
Jesus, Mother, Mary, and Angels. I did not expect that. A single dad. I’ve never done that before. Dated a parent. People with kids usually seem so different.
His shoe taps mine. “You can close your mouth.”
“Oh, no, I ah—”
“I should’ve said something yesterday, but I didn’t really know how to bring it up. I haven’t dated, or tried to date, since she was born. If it’s an issue for you, we can just be friends. Really. I’ve got a great vegetarian lasagna in the oven and a huge kale salad, so I hope you’ll still stay for dinner. An adult dinner without a child at the table is a rarity for me.”
As he’s talking, I twist around, studying all the art, wishing my brain would catch up. This is fine. What does it matter if he has a daughter? I’ll probably never meet her. I mean, isn’t that kind of a rule among single parents? You don’t introduce dates until you’re serious? And I’m gonna be moving. I don’t do serious. But wait...
“Are you single?”
He exhales, and it sounds like a mixture of a laugh and relief. “Yes. Never been married, actually. Kara lives with me. Her mom’s in a band and isn’t around. Or...she hasn’t been.” He calls as he heads to a hall at the end of the room, “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Water?”
“Wine, please.” Yes, this situation calls for alcoholic reinforcement.
He disappears around the corner, and I meander along the wall, perusing the art. One piece proudly proclaims, “I LOVE DADDY.” I reach out to touch it, the thick, dried paint uneven beneath my fingertip. I can’t help but smile. As the kid of a painter, the abundance of art reminds me of my afternoons spent drawing and painting away beneath mom’s expert tutelage. Some of the favorite days of my life.
Mason joins me at the wall and hands me a glass of red. With a slight smile on his face, he sits down on the oversized worn brown leather sofa and motions for me to join him.
“I probably should have asked you out to dinner. It’s been so long.” He sets his glass down on the table. “This whole dating thing. My life.” He shakes his head and stares out the window. It’s dark, and other than the random lights from an apartment building across the street, there’s not much to see. “Kara was born less than a year after I started working, right out of vet school. Exhausting days. And nights. Kara came home with me from the hospital. She’s four now, and the clinic’s getting a bit easier.” He lifts his shoulders, inhaling deeply. “As you saw, it can still be manic and nonstop, but at least now I don’t have to refer to books to double-check every single diagnosis. And four is easier. Each month it gets easier with Kara. But those first few years were not easy. At all. Dating wasn’t remotely on my radar. I haven’t done the online app thing. The idea of creating a dating profile? No, thanks. Do you have kids?”
I giggle-snort at the ridiculousness of the question then immediately sit straighter and compose myself. He’s got a serious face going on. The man’s not joking. Right. “No. I don’t even babysit.” Oh, Mylanta. He’s going to usher me out the door before dinner. “So, um, Kara came home with you from the hospital. Is that normal? Or were you guys living together then broke up? For the love of nuts and berries, I should stop talking.” I slap my palm over my forehead, and he grins in response. At least I’m entertaining.
He kicks his feet out on the coffee table and crosses one foot over the other. “It’s fine. Kara’s mom wasn’t ready for motherhood. We hooked up a few times when I was right out of vet school. Pregnancy wasn’t in her plans. She told me she was going to put the baby up for adoption, but the adoption agency wanted her to get the father to agree.” He stares toward the back of the room, as if lost in the memory replaying before him. On an exhale, he lifts his gaze. “Here we are.”
It all makes sense. “So, where is Kara now?”
“She’s at Rockaway Beach with my mom. They get back tomorrow. My mom’s been a godsend. I don’t know what in the world I would’ve done without her. She cares for Kara during the day and when I work late, like last night. Kara will be starting kindergarten next year. Which is insane to think about. You wait. When you have kids, you’ll see. It’s like they take everything out of you. You have to be on every single minute they’re awake. Then it gets easier, especially when they eat on a more regular daytime schedule. Then they start moving around, and it’s like you have to have eagle eyes, watching for danger. Then they start to get smarter and don’t pose such a risk to themselves. Then you blink, and you have this wunderkind who’s learning her letters and numbers and talking to you like a little adult, and you can say something like ‘pick up your toys’ and she does it!”
He’s full of disbelief, and I suppress my laugh. He’s so animated when he talks about his daughter, it’s like he comes alive and loses some of the serious man vibe.
I don’t have any personal experience with what he’s talking about, but I love listening to him. So full of life. His forearm muscles flex when he shifts his wine glass. Dark, curly hair covers his wrists and a touch of the back of his hand. Everything about him says he’s relaxed and at home, from his socked feet crossed on the coffee table to the way he rambles. The laidback vibe works for me. So much better than the bar scene I frequent. I kick off my boots and pull my legs up onto the sofa.
He scratches his head, ruffling his hair a bit. “What am I doing? You don’t want to hear about kids. I mean, do you want kids? One day?” He asks the question as if the thought just crossed his mind.
“Yeah, I do. They’re part of the plan.” One day, when I’m older. Have grown up more. Can take care of a dog without an emergency visit to the vet.
A buzzer sounds in the kitchen, and he stands. “Lasagna’s ready.”
I follow him into a kitchen with a lovely window over the sink and Silestone counters and white appliances. The tiny kitchen offers limited counter space but has a cozy vibe. I stand on the edge, searching for a way I can help. He bypasses me with the lasagna, and I refill our wine glasses then follow him to the dining table.
He’s already set the table for two. A couple of candles are set out, and while he lights them, I duck back into the kitchen and grab the salad I saw sitting on the counter. When I round the corner, I collide with Mason, and his arm wraps around my waist, and some part of his anatomy brushes my ass. A flurry of sensations shoots through me, and I instinctively press my body closer to his and breathe in his fresh herbal soap smell.
He holds on to my hips and steps back with a sexy smile. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” This man can rub against me all he wants.
The lasagna is loaded with cheese, finely chopped vegetables, and spicy marinara sauce. I moan with my first bite because it is that good. It’s so much better than anything I could cook. I tell him so.
“Single dads kind of need to cook.” He gives this modest shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “What do you do, Delilah? When you’re not saving dogs that eat too much?”
I laugh, maybe a little louder than the situation warrants. I’m typically not one to get nervous, but he’s more mature than a lot of the guys I meet. Better looking too. That must be why the nerves are shooting off a fireworks extravaganza deep in my belly. “You mean, what do I do when I’m not out attempting to kill my friends’ pets?”
He flexes his socked feet as he stretches out his legs. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. So, you know I’m a vet. You’re one up on me. What do you do?”
“I’m an art director at an ad agency.”
His thick dark eyebrows angle inward towards his nose. “What’s an art director do?”
“I’m the one who works on the layouts for ads. The photographs or illustrations.” I splay out my hands in the air and shift them around to kind of give him a visual aid. “I decide where the headline goes, font for the body copy, where to put it on the page, that kind of thing.”
“That ki
nd of thing. Hmmm. So, why an art director?”
I twirl my glass, swishing the wine around, trying to remember exactly why I went into advertising. “Well, I always wanted to do something with art. My mom, she’s a painter. She doesn’t make any real money, but she loves it. I love painting too, but I also love graphic design, photography, illustrations. She’s an introvert, so spending time alone works well for her, you know? But I’m more of an extrovert. I’d go crazy if I didn’t interact with people during the day. In an ad agency, I get to work with art, but I work with people all day too. It fits my personality best. And it was a middle ground for me and my parents.” I sip more of my wine as I consider how to change the subject. “Why’d you become a vet?”
He grins. “Love of animals. Probably what drives most vets. And science. I’ve been into science for as long as I can remember.”
“Life motto?”
He sort of chuckles. “Excuse me?”
“We’re asking questions. Getting to know each other. What’s your life motto? The words you live by?”
Within seconds, he answers. “Be kind to all living things.”
I nod a bit, appreciating the depth of his motto and the appropriateness, given his career.
“Your turn. Life motto?” he asks.
“Love is all around.” Somehow my life motto, stolen straight from one of my all-time favorite flicks, Love Actually, doesn’t seem quite so impressive when compared to Mason’s.
“Cute. Life goal?”
Did he shade my life motto? “Um. I don’t know. Let’s see. Life goal.” I’ve never been a goal-oriented kind of person. “Be near family. Be happy.” Don’t rock the boat. “What’s yours?”
“Give back.” That could also be a life motto, but it’s not like I’m gonna shade his life goal. “Favorite city?” I ask.
Seconds lapse before he answers. “Minneapolis.” Wow. Unexpected. “Yours?”
My response is instantaneous. “Barcelona. Favorite airline?”
