by Ellis, Aven
Brooks’ expression grows sheepish. “I told you I’m rubbish at this.”
“No, you’re absolutely perfect,” I say truthfully. “And I don’t have a problem with that because I’m sure I taste like one, too.”
“Mmm,” Brooks says, his eyes flickering sexily. “There’s one way to find out.”
He cups my face in his hands, slowly running his thumb along my cheekbone in a sensual way. I close my eyes as he lowers his head toward mine, and as he’s about to kiss me, his phone goes off with the theme from Sherlock as his ringtone.
“Damn,” Brooks snaps, stepping back from me and reaching for his phone. “I’m so sorry, but I have to take this. It’s work.”
“Of course,” I say, watching him.
“Hello? Yes . . . Right . . .”
Brooks’ expression goes intense, as if he’s gathering all kinds of information and is sorting it out in his head.
“How long has she been in labor?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “No. Have her bring her in, and I’ll meet her there.”
Brooks hangs up. He lifts his eyes to meet mine and I see nothing but worry in them.
“Payton, I’m so sorry,” he says, reaching for my hands and squeezing them in his. “Believe me when I tell you I don’t want to do this. Please understand that. But I have to go. Straight away. There’s a cat in a difficult labor, and she most likely needs a C-section to deliver her kittens.”
I furrow my brow. “But aren’t you an exotic vet?”
“Yes, but the on call vet—Dr. Reid—is prepping for an emergency surgery right now on a dog. The exotic on call vet is doing surgery on an eagle that was brought in. They need me to do the cat.”
“Well then, of course, let’s go,” I say, nodding quickly.
“You’re not upset?” Brooks asks, a shocked expression flickering across his handsome face.
“What? That’s crazy, of course not,” I say, tugging his hand and heading back down the pier. “Come on, we need to hurry. I’ll come with you.”
Brooks stops and stares at me. “To the clinic?”
“That’s where you’re going to deliver the kittens, right?”
“Yes, but I didn—”
“Brooks! Stop wasting time!” I say, pulling him again and picking up the pace despite the fact I’m in heels. “You have kittens to deliver!”
We hurry down the pier, trying to get to his old SUV as fast as we can. As soon as we’re inside, I turn to him.
“This is so exciting!” I declare.
Brooks turns on the engine and quickly reaches for his seat belt. “You think so?”
“Yes! We’re on a real emergency. And you have the opportunity to save some lives, how amazing is this?”
Brooks eases into traffic. “You might not think this is so amazing when it happens a lot.”
“Does it?” I ask, curious.
“Sometimes. I have off nights, of course, but if there is an overflow situation, or an exotic emergency, I usually go in. You might think it’s exciting now, but it might get old,” he says softly.
Isla, I think. Brooks is thinking of Isla and how she didn’t support him doing his life calling.
I want to tell him I’m not Isla. That I admire him and his passion for his profession.
But I don’t want him to think I’m already painting myself as his girlfriend. Now is not the perfect time for that, not when we just had our first restaurant date.
Even though my heart is already whispering to me that I want him to be my boyfriend.
I keep my feelings to myself and decide to deflect with humor instead.
“I’m more concerned about the fact that you have the Sherlock theme for your work ringtone,” I say, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Why is that?”
Brooks suddenly looks sheepish.
“You’ll ask me to end this date and take you home if I tell you.”
“Oh, talk about intrigue. Go on.”
“No.”
“Brooks!”
He sighs. “Fine. But you are going to think I’m the biggest geek ever.”
“I’ll wait until you explain before I make the geek assessment,” I tease.
“Fine,” Brooks says, sighing as he merges into traffic. “As a vet I see myself like Sherlock. You know, trying to figure out medical mysteries. And you know those scenes where Benedict Cumberbatch has all those clues and thoughts going through his head and he eliminates them and zeroes in on the answer? That’s how I feel my brain works in diagnosis. So that’s why when I get a call from the clinic, you hear the Sherlock ringtone.”
He gives me a quick side-eye while driving. “See? I told you I’m an utter geek.”
Ohhh, you’re so wrong, Dr. Martin, I think as I study his gorgeous profile. You just made yourself a thousand times hotter with that description.
He’s brilliant.
He’s sexy.
He’s British.
And I’m already done for this man.
“I think it’s genius,” I say firmly.
“You do?”
“Well, it helps that I love Sherlock, but I love the way your mind works like that,” I say truthfully. “Intelligence is very, very, sexy.”
Brooks is silent for a moment, and then a smile spreads across his face.
“So you’re not going to abandon the date yet?” he asks.
“Nope,” I say, laughing.
“Well, I should have known you were invested when you ate beans with eggs last night.”
“Blech, that was the worst thing ever.”
“You’re mad,” Brooks teases back. “It’s brilliant. I’ll get you to come round on that.”
“Um, how can I think of a polite way to say this?” I say, pretending to ponder. “I’ll go with no. Just no. That was vile.”
“Vile?”
“Vile.”
“What if your beloved Kate eats them with William?”
“I’m not Kate.”
“But you aspire to be like Kate.”
“No, I aspire to have her style and class. Not eat beans.”
Brooks grins, and my heart sings in response. We talk during the drive, and I ask Brooks what will happen when we get to the clinic. He explains how he’ll do an exam and radiograph to see how the kittens look, then do a C-section to get the kittens out if necessary.
“I’m in awe,” I say truthfully.
Brooks cocks an eyebrow as he drives. “Why? Because I can deliver kittens in addition to pigs?”
I grin. “No, not that. But that you can operate on so many different kinds of animals. You had to learn like a zillion anatomies!”
“A zillion. That would make me quite a mastermind, yes.”
I laugh. “You know what I’m getting at.”
“I do. And thank you.”
Before we know it, we’re back at the clinic. As soon as we step inside, I see two groups of people. One is a young couple in tears, and I assume that must be the owners of the dog hit by a car, and my heart instantly wrenches. The other is a woman with a cat carrier, and I know she is the owner of Brooks’ patient.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Martin,” Brooks says, quickly going over to the woman and extending his hand.
“Thank God,” she says, standing up and grasping his hand. “I’m Patti. And this is Luna. She’s really struggling to have these kittens, Doctor.”
She lifts the carrier and Luna lets out a painful moan.
“Why don’t you come on back and let me check her out?” Brooks says, nodding his head.
Derna opens the door, dressed in scrubs. “I’ve got everything ready in x-ray, Dr. Martin.”
“Brilliant,” Brooks says. Then he turns to me. “You’ll be okay?”
“Absolutely,” I say, nodding at him. “While you work, I’ll work. But my tool is a smart phone instead of a scalpel.”
Brooks flashes me a smile. “All right. You have a go at the blog, and I’ll see what’s going on with Luna.”
I watch as he leads Patti and Luna back to the exam rooms
. I sink down into a plastic chair and retrieve my phone. I access my Payton’s Take on Kate page and see there are a ton of comments on my post about my adaptation of Kate’s casual style. I click on it, and ugggggh, members are arguing. This is the part of my job that stresses me out. I take a breath for courage and begin to read:
Caitlyn921: Payton I’m so bored of your posts. We all know how to wear stripes with white jeans, can you please quit wasting our time?
MomOf2: Caitlyn why don’t you go read another blog if you don’t like Payton’s style?
Caitlyn921: MomOf2 I don’t recall asking for your advice.
ChiOmegaEmily06: Caitlyn921 you are a troll
Caitlyn921: Oh, is this an “I worship Payton board she can do no wrong” blog only?
DanielleLuvsFashion: I hate to say it, I’m bored with stripes, too.
TexasKatie: Did y’all notice Kate wears STRIPED T-shirts when she’s out with George? Seriously, people, relax. Payton is spot on in her posts, as usual.
GemmaMiddleton: If you want to see CURRENT FASHION with a FRESH TWIST, here’s a link to my YouTube channel
A huge knot forms in the pit of my stomach. Ugh, I wish I didn’t want to please everyone. I know not everyone will love all of my posts. I know that. But knowing this doesn’t make that logic any easier to follow. And I hate when other people post links to their blogs or YouTube channels on my page, that’s incredibly rude. But I’ll ignore that one, keep my irritation to myself, and work on my response. And I have to respond, as this is my business, and I can’t let this spark turn into a fire on my page.
I draw a calming breath of air and type:
All, this is a friendly reminder that we don’t have to agree on my interpretation of style. Different opinions are always welcome here, but to keep this page fun, please respect each other when commenting. Thank you, fellow Kate lovers! Payton
I reread for typos, read again to make sure the tone is right, and then post it. Now I need to check Payton’s Take on Living to make sure nobody is getting into a fight about my selection of fun staplers for the home office.
See? This is what my parents don’t understand. I have to respond to my readers, settle disputes, provide content, appeal to advertisers, work on promotional opportunities, pay for photo rights, study click-through rates, track visitor data . . . I might only be twenty-one, but I know what I’m doing.
I am running a legitimate business.
While I’m scrolling through the comments on my staplers, grateful that people at this moment are excited about them, I get a text message. I swipe the screen and see that it’s from my friend Marlowe. Oh, yay! Marlow is swamped with her new job, so I don’t hear from her as much as I used to, but she always makes a point to at least send me a text once a week to keep in touch. I open it and read:
I’m in need of a facial in the worst way. Want to plan a spa date? Hopefully sometime this month, on a Saturday? Miss you! Xo
I grin and reply:
Absolutely yes, facials and lunch on a Saturday, let me know what dates work for you. Miss you more xoxo
I move back over to my lifestyle blog and finish reading the comments. As I drop my phone into my purse, the door opens and Patti comes out, taking the seat next to me. I glance at her and see worry etched on her face.
“Dr. Martin is prepping her for surgery,” she says, twisting a cocktail ring on her right hand. “I’m so nervous.”
“Your cat is in good hands,” I say reassuringly.
“Oh, I know,” Patti says, nodding. “I’m just worried about Luna and the kittens.”
I put down my phone. “Is this her first time having kittens?”
Patti smiles at me. “Oh, no, I breed American Curl cats. I fell in love with them, and they’re such great cats, so easygoing and fun. I want to share my love of them with the world! Oh, would you like to see a picture?”
I get the feeling Patti is a talker who needs to talk right now, so I agree.
Patti eagerly whips out her iPhone and accesses her pictures. “This is Luna and Orbit.”
Ah, she has a solar system thing going on here.
I glance down at the two cats with fabulously curled back ears.
“I’ve never seen cats like this,” I say, studying the picture. “They’re beautiful!”
“Aren’t they? And they’re so inquisitive. You should see Luna and Orbit playing . . .”
Patti begins a story, and I nod and ask appropriate questions. I learn more about American Curls, like how they have a kitten personality and get bored without interaction.
The door opens, and we both look up. An older vet in surgical scrubs walks out, one in his mid-fifties with thick salt-and-pepper hair and fit physique.
The other couple immediately stands up, and anxiety washes over me as the vet heads over to them.
“Charlie is in recovery,” he says. “Come on back, and I’ll explain everything.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know if my heart could have taken it if he had to tell those owners Charlie didn’t make it.
Then it hits me. Brooks has to do this all the time. Give owners heartbreaking news. I don’t know how he does it.
But I do know, my heart whispers. Brooks loves animals so much that he can accept the hard part of his job to get to the rewarding parts. Like saving the kittens and Luna tonight.
Patti goes back to talking about cats, and I resume my role as her audience.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ll be an American Curl expert by the time Brooks has completed the C-section.
The door opens again, and this time, it’s Brooks.
Wearing surgical scrubs.
Whitney was right about this being hot. The scrubs show off his broad chest and tall frame and I have a feeling his backside looks rather magnificent in them as well.
“Patti,” Brooks says, coming over to us as we stand up. “Everything went brilliantly. You have all four kittens, but one is very small.”
“Oh, can I see them?” Patti asks excitedly.
“Sure, come on back,” Brooks says, nodding.
“Come on, you have to see them!” Patti says to me.
“I’d love to, thank you,” I say, picking up my purse.
Brooks leads us back to where Luna is, and four kittens are surrounding her.
“Oh, Dr. Martin, the one is so tiny,” Patti cries, clasping her hands to her chest.
“Yes. I was going to ask you if I could take Luna and the kittens home with me tonight, so I can do round the clock observation on them. We aren’t a 24-hour clinic here, and I would bring them back in the morning.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Patti says, nodding.
Brooks then goes over all the details of the surgery, but I’m still stuck on the fact that he’s going to nurse these kittens through the first twenty-four hours of life. He doesn’t have to do this. But he wants to.
And my heart swells a little bit because of it.
“All right, I’m going to let you have a few moments with her but I’ll call you first thing in the morning when I get in tomorrow,” Brooks says, nodding.
“Thank you, Dr. Martin,” Patti says, nodding. Then she glances at me. “And nice meeting you . . . oh, I didn’t even get your name!”
“Payton,” I say, smiling at her. “And nice meeting you, Patti.”
“This way,” Brooks says, leading me out of the recovery area and down a hallway.
I step into his office, and he shuts the door behind me. I quickly take it in, from the big desk that is impossibly neat, with his computer, phone, and impeccably stacked files, to the leather sofa against the wall, to the light shade of pewter the walls are painted. I see his degree framed on one wall, and then models of pigs and reptiles and rabbits on floating bookshelves, some with anatomies exposed, probably for explaining procedures to pet owners.
“Thank you,” Brooks says, reaching for my hand.
“For what? For letting you save a life?”
“Yes.”
“No, no, you aren’t thanking me for that. Actually, I should thank you for letting me be a part of this. I love seeing you at work.”
Brooks draws me into his arms and gazes down at me, sending shivers of happiness down my spine.
“I am quite dashing when I’m typing up case notes,” he teases.
I chuckle, and Brooks smiles in response. Then he gently brushes a hand against the side of my face. “I’m afraid the rest of our evening will be spent watching over my feline patients. But I was thinking I could put on Sherlock and we could hang out while I take care of Luna and her kittens.”
“I could be game,” I say, gazing up at him. “If we watch ‘The Great Game,’ that is.”
Brooks’ face lights up. “Is that your favorite episode?”
I nod. “Yes. It’s, as you would say, brilliant.”
He furrows his brow. “I don’t say that a lot.”
I laugh. “What? Oh yes, you do!”
“I’m going to say it’s perfect then,” he teases, running his fingers through my hair. “And now I sound like you. But is it the perfect episode, Payton?”
My breath catches in my throat as I stare into his brandy-colored eyes.
“Yes,” I say, but I’m not talking about Sherlock at all. “It is.”
As he drops a sweet kiss on my lips, I have no doubt I’m falling for this man.
I should be scared of this, of how my feelings are progressing so quickly. This has never happened to me before. Interest in dating a guy? Yes. Excited to go out on a date? Of course.
But this is different.
Completely, magically, wonderfully different.
Brooks is different.
And I only hope that he might have these same feelings for me, too.
CHAPTER 15
*Mental Note* Today’s plan to improve myself item, result: I never thought I’d say this, but learning to let some things go is tremendously liberating . . .
***
“Best. Date. Ever,” I declare.
Brooks gazes at me from his side of the bed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I always hoped a woman would say that to me after spending time in my bed.”
I laugh, and he does, too.
Because right now we’re sitting against the headboard in his king-sized bed, with Luna and her kittens on a thick, fluffy blanket between us. We’ve spent the rest of our evening watching over them, with Brooks monitoring them closely. So far, all the kittens seem to be doing great, along with their mother.
