Chapter 14
Revenge Is Fishy
Seventeen Days Until I Have to Go Back to Work
The Carp-e Diem Café smells like peppermint and espresso, but I’m too focused on our mission to notice anything else. Jamie and I are crouched shoulder to shoulder near the door, giggling like we’re teenagers.
“Okay,” Jamie whispers. “You keep her busy, and I’ll set it up.”
“You trust me to handle this?”
That crooked grin of his is better than a scorching shower. “Doc, if there is one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you’re terrifying when you commit.”
“You’re talking about the lube, aren’t you?”
“You still have bruises on your arm from the contractions.” He leans in and kisses my cheek like it’s nothing, but my pulse skips a couple of beats. “Winnie won’t stand a chance.”
“Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming you.”
“Blame away.”
We stand and merge with the lunch crowd, which is about half the town.
Soup bowls steam, mugs clink, and the Big Mouth Billy Bass sings every time someone walks past. Winnie stands behind the counter in her ridiculous shark-print apron, chatting with customers like she doesn’t have a line out the door.
The second she sees me, she perks up. “Joy! You come for your usual?”
“Winnie, actually, we need to talk.” I thump my hand on the counter, putting on the most serious voice I can muster.
Her eyebrows shoot up. There is a fresh new hoop piercing in her left brow. “Um. Hi? What’s up?”
While she’s distracted, Jamie ducks behind the pastry case as smooth as a fox. I hear the faint squeak of the pastry case’s hinges creaking open, and Winnie tilts her chin toward the sound, but I snatch her wrist and signal her with two fingers.
“Eye contact, Winnie.” I lean closer. “You’ve been tormenting me since I got here. The glitter bomb? Really?”
Yesterday, Winnie dropped off more supplies that I’d ordered for the barn. On top was an envelope marked URGENT in big, dramatic letters. Naturally, I tore it open, only to get a full glitter facial.
“Genius, wasn’t it? You still have some in your hair.” She gives a crooked grin, the same one Jamie has, and plucks a pink piece from my hair like a proud parent.
Her brother is now swapping the chalkboard labels with the ones we prepped last night. Some of my favorites: Salmon Latte, Caviar Coffee Foam, Sea Bass Brain Soup, Fish Head Deluxe, and Blue Shrimp Roe Muffin.
Next, he erases the specials displayed in front of the pastry box.
A couple of customers clock him, but he presses a finger to his lips, and they obediently stifle their laughter. The whole town must know what a menace Winnie is.
My original plan was to replace some of her fish decor with actual fish, but I didn’t want to waste perfectly edible food. Also, I get coffee here, so having it smell rancid is not in my or Winnie’s best interests.
Jamie straightens, dusts off his hands on his jeans, and meets my eyes from his position behind the counter. That little cowboy hat tilt thing he does is so stupidly sexy that I forget I’m in the middle of my first-ever revenge plot.
Winnie squints her hazel eyes at me. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing,” I say, dubiously.
Right on cue, a woman with a knitted beanie squints at the display case, clacking her long fingernails on the glass. “Winnie, honey, what in the world is a cod explosion?”
Winnie whirls, sees the swapped labels, and gasps so loudly the minnow windchimes above the front door rattle. “You two did not!” she screeches, whirling around on me. “You monsters!”
“Can I get a big slab of the fish head deluxe?” I wink.
The entire café erupts into laughter.
“Finally time someone got you back, missy,” the woman next to me says, offering me a high five.
Questions erupt around us.
“Jamie, who is this?”
“I saw them together at Grandpa’s Basement last week.”
“Is that the woman who biffed it outside the elementary school?”
“She’s a vet helping Jamie out.”
“Heard she’s from New York.”
“I love her hair.”
“She did the girls’ makeup for the Cranberry Social last week.”
“Ooh.”
Winnie sends me a wide sneer before she joins in on the conversation. Why do I have a feeling that this prank has backfired?
I hear a whimper. A golden retriever is tucked under a table, one paw curled tight, ignoring the tiny dog biscuit that Gary—the same Gary who left me stranded in the middle of nowhere—waves in front of her nose.
I kneel. “Is she nervous from the noise?”
“You are getting popular for someone who didn’t know how to ride a snowmobile two weeks ago?”
“I could’ve gotten lost,” I say, half joking.
Gary’s wiry ear hair seems to mock me. “But you didn’t.”
The dog whines again.
“What’s wrong with her?” The dog’s eyes are bright, gums are pink, breathing is fine. But she won’t stop licking her paw.
“Beats me. Butters was peachy until her breakfast, then she just started yipping. Got an appointment in Woodstock tonight. Thirty-minute drive, if I don’t skid into a snowbank first. Still cursing Cathy for retiring.” He rubs one of Butters’s fluffy ears, looking at her with so much love.
“Mind if I check her out?”
Gary shrugs. “Please. Save me the drive if you can.”
“Butters,” I coo, holding out my hand. She sniffs, tail twitching, before she licks my palm.
“Good girl.” I smooth her ears down, scratching them for a second to get her comfortable with me.
Then I gently lift the paw she was fussing with.
She flinches but doesn’t pull away. Between the furry pads, something glints, pale and sharp.
“Fork,” I say.
Gary blinks. “You want to eat lunch or—”
“Fork.”
He passes one down. I carefully skim a prong between the metacarpal pad and her left digital pad to work the object free. I work cautiously so I don’t tear the tissue. Finally, a jagged splinter of bone pops free. No blood follows, but Butters whines, then immediately licks my wrist.
Gary’s mouth drops open. “From the bone I gave her this morning?”
“They splinter. Better her paw than her swallowing it. Try hide sticks or rubber chews instead.” I rub Butters’s head, and she thumps her tail against the floor.
“She may limp for a day, but she’s fine.
Clean it with some warm water when you get home, and keep an eye on it.
If she starts favoring it too much or if it looks inflamed, give me a call. ”
“Give you a call,” Gary repeats doubtfully. “You mean at Jamie’s?”
“Yeah. I’m there most days anyway.”
When I stand and turn around, the entire café erupts in applause, like I just hauled a kitten out of a burning Christmas tree.
Gary lets out a husky laugh. “You looking for a job? Because we could sure use a vet in this town.”
I wave both hands. “No, no. I already have a job in the city. I’ll be gone in seventeen days.”
“You’re counting,” a voice says behind me.
Jamie.
His face has fallen, and it makes me feel like he’s pried open a window in my chest, and now a frigid draft is wafting in.
Winnie, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to ignore it, pipes up. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ve got a free apartment above the café. Rent’s cheap, coffee’s free.” She gestures at her brother with glee. “Or, you know, my brother’s cabin. He’s got plenty of room.”
“I—uh.” My eyes ping-pong around. “No, I’m needed back home.”
But Miriam doesn’t really need me. The clinic is drowning in résumés from eager vets who’d kill for my job.
Still, I’m in line to take over when Miriam retires. I’ve always dreamed of running my own practice.
I can’t give that up. Jamie and I have only known each other for fourteen days.
Fourteen.
Yet the thought of giving up whatever is budding between us seems like dropping a box of used needles on my foot.
So, for one single breath, I let myself wonder: What if I stayed in Cranberry Hollow?