Chapter 1
Toby
A symphony of ringing phones, barking dogs, and festive Christmas music blasted me the second I pulled open the door to escape the busy city sidewalk. The immediate temperature change from bitter cold to dry heat stung my cheeks as my scarf flapped against my coat.
Merideth—Merri for short—looked up from behind the reception desk, her expression already harried. “Dr. Thomas.” She spoke over the chaos, a look of utter relief in her eyes.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” I said, addressing the entire waiting room. “The storm last night left the roads a mess.”
You’d think Boston would have snow removal down to a science, but there were still delays. Delays I should likely account for, considering I’d lived long enough to experience many.
The allure of the snooze button was just too strong on cold, wintry mornings when the sky was gray and overcast and my bed was soft and warm. One of these days, I’d become the morning person I just knew I was meant to be, but clearly, today would not be that day.
“Just let me put this down in my office.” I went on, holding up my briefcase, scarf, and travel mug of coffee. “And I’ll get right to—”
Splat.
It wasn’t so much the splashing sound that made me stop. After all, who could hear it over the chaos of the animal hospital waiting room? But the way my shoe slipped was not to be ignored.
Sliding a little, I flailed my arms as I fought to stay on my feet, regretting all over again my love for the snooze button. If only I spent my early mornings in the gym instead of sleeping in, my core would be stronger and I wouldn’t be in a heap on the floor.
I landed flat on my back, shoes up in the air, scarf in my face. My briefcase snapped open when it hit the ground, papers and my stethoscope spilling out along with a shiny red apple I’d snagged on my way out to compensate for the fact I’d missed breakfast.
Blowing the scarf out of my face, I turned my head in time to see the apple roll across the floor and stop at the feet of a Saint Bernard who leaned down and fit the entire thing in his mouth without any effort.
“Bruno! Drop that!” the Bernard’s owner chided.
Bruno opened his jaws and spat out the fruit, which was now decorated with teeth marks and slobber.
Breakfast of champions.
“Dr. Thomas!” Merri rushed from around the desk to peer down from above. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
“There is pee on the floor,” I noted. Pretty sure it was soaking into my pant leg.
She nodded.
The dog beside me, a Jack Russell terrier, dragged his tongue up my cheek.
“Thanks for the support,” I told him, and he licked me again.
Groaning, I peeled myself off the floor, trying to ignore the scent of urine while praying I didn’t smell like it the rest of the day. This coat was definitely going straight to the dry cleaners.
“I am so sorry, Dr. Thomas.” A woman sitting on a nearby bench fretted. “Maple here is a nervous tinkler.”
Maple, a goldendoodle, whined like she was embarrassed.
“No need to be embarrassed,” I told Maple, reaching down to scratch behind her ear. “It happens to everyone.”
“It does?” Merri wondered.
I turned, and she blanched, then handed me the travel mug and briefcase that she’d kindly put back together.
“Thank you,” I said, straightening my coat. “Could we maybe get a little cleanup out here?”
“Right away,” she agreed.
“Oh, I’ll do it,” Maple’s owner offered.
I held up my hand. “No need, ma’am. We’re trained professionals.”
The owner of the Jack Russel laughed under her breath.
The phone behind the desk started ringing. Over in the corner, a cat let out a loud yowl from a carrier, and “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree” blasted through the speakers.
“Just give me five,” I said, tugging free the slobber-coated apple, which was back in the mouth of the St. Bernard, and hurrying into the back toward my shoebox-sized office.
“Where is Dr. Richardson?” I asked when David, one of the techs, appeared in the doorway.
“She’s running late. Her daughter is sick and has to wait for the sitter to get there,” he explained.
Gonna be one of those days. ‘Tis the season.
After dropping my items, discarding the apple, and scrubbing my hands at the sink, I exchanged my coat—yes, it reeked of Maple’s nervous tinkle—for my white doctor’s coat.
Thank God I was already dressed in navy scrubs because today was going to be a busy one.
“Okay then, start getting patients into exam rooms,” I instructed, gesturing to the two other techs waiting at the counter. “Let’s get to work!”
The rich aroma of the takeout lasagna I’d stopped for on my way home from work taunted my empty stomach.
Since missing breakfast this morning, I managed a protein bar and half a banana sometime around noon, which I ate between patients.
It was now fully dark, after six in the evening, and the temperature was dropping by the minute.
I absolutely could not wait to get into a hot shower, scrub myself clean, put on the comfiest pajamas I owned, and become one with my couch while I stuffed myself full of lasagna and washed it down with a generous glass of Chianti.
I loved being a veterinarian. It was my dream job, but it was also exhausting.
The second I let myself into my third-floor walk-up, I sighed in relief and sagged against the door. After a brief respite, I used the last of my reserves to set my takeout in the kitchen and rush toward my bedroom, already stripping my scrubs as I went.
I’d made it only one step into my bedroom when my cell phone started to ring back out in the kitchen. Head inside my shirt, I groaned.
The ringing stopped, and I sighed gratefully, only to have it start right back up again. Ripping the shirt over my head, I dropped it in the hamper and went back for the phone. Cold air prickled my skin, and a shiver worked its way along my spine as I lifted the phone to see who was calling.
“Mom,” I said, pressing the phone to my ear. “Is everything okay?”
“You’re asking me?” she chided. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days, and you haven’t returned any of my calls.”
“You called twice in a row,” I pointed out.
“Apparently, that’s the secret to get you to answer.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s been so crazy at work. I’ve been working long shifts, and by the time I get home, I’m—”
“Tired of talking to people.” She finished for me.
Clearly, we’d had this conversation before.
“It’s not personal, Mom,” I emphasized.
“I know that, Toby. But I’m worried about you. So is your father.”
I snorted lightly. “Please, Dad is a workaholic just like me.”
“That’s exactly why he’s worried. He knows how hard it is to never take a break.”
“Listen, Mom.” I began, untying the string at the waistband of my scrub bottoms. I wanted so badly to peel them off, but standing around naked while talking to your mother on the phone was surely a criminal offense. “I just got home and really need—”
“You’re coming home for Christmas,” she announced, not even letting me finish.
I knew this was coming. We had this conversation every year since I’d accepted a job here in Boston. Sighing, I said, “You know I can’t this year.”
“Oh, posh.” She brushed away the refusal. “Tobias Thomas, you say that every year. And every year, I let you get away with it.”
“Can we just skip to that part? I need to shower.”
“Not this year.”
“What?” I said, walking over to the floor-length mirror to inventory myself while she prepared for some motherly guilt trip I would have to somehow sweet-talk my way out of. It didn’t matter that I was closing in on thirty years. Or that I had my own successful career, apartment, and life.
Mom guilt somehow overruled adulthood. Especially when you were an only child.
Be strong, Toby. I encouraged myself, going as far as lifting my arm to make a muscle in the mirror.
I really needed to hit the gym more.
I poked my midsection, which was trim but hardly defined.
“…Tobias, are you listening to me?”
“Uh, yes?”
“Are you eating enough?” she demanded.
I don’t know how she did it, but even states apart, she somehow always knew when I missed a meal. Or two.
“I’m trying to eat now, Mom, but someone won’t let me off the phone.”
“Don’t be cute with me, young man.”
“I’m almost thirty.”
“You don’t have to remind me. I’m the one who was in labor for fifty-two hours.”
Oh God, not the fifty-two-hours lecture. “I know, Mom. It was the longest three days of your life,” I murmured, pushing back my curls before letting them flop right back into my face.
“But the most rewarding.”
“I can’t make it this year, Mom,” I said, deciding to cut right to it. “One of the doctors is out on maternity leave. The other has two small children. I’m the only full-time doc left. The other vet is part-time.”
“Five hundred and fifty.”
I turned away from my pale, ordinary reflection and frowned. “What?”
“That’s how many veterinarians are practicing in Boston.”
“Did you look that up?” I wondered.
“I had no choice,” she said, then bulldozed ahead. “Because I’m tired of hearing the I’m too busy for Christmas line I’ve been hearing for years now. There are plenty of other veterinarians in that city for you to come home for one Christmas.”
“But the animal hospital—”
“Will be fine without you for two weeks. You’ve been filling in for all of them for years. It’s time they filled in for you.”
Before I could even come up with an excuse, she spoke again.
“Please, Toby. If you won’t do it for your only mother…”
I rolled my eyes.
“Then do it for your father. He’s tired and needs help at the clinic. Boston has five hundred veterinarians, but Winterbury only has one.”
“Is he sick?” I worried.
“No. Nothing like that. I’d just like for him to slow down a little, is all. And I want to see my son.”
Digging my toe into the carpet, I looked up at the ceiling. “Let me see if I can get the time off.”
Her voice brightened instantly “Really?”
“Yes, I’ll talk to everyone at work tomorrow and see what I can do.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m so excited! I’ll need to make a list,” she said in frenzy. Then, “George! I’ll need you to get down all the decorations from the attic!”
“Mom.” I interrupted her planning. “I can’t promise I’ll get the time off.”
“Oh, posh,” she said, the words like the wind and blowing mine away. “I know you will. You haven’t been home for Christmas in so long.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” I murmured, knowing that was a lie.
“Oh?” She challenged. “When was the last time?”
“I come home,” I said, avoiding the answer.
“Yes.” She agreed. “But never at Christmas.”
That’s because Christmas in Winterbury wasn’t just about family. It was about the entire town.
And frankly, I’d rather slip in dog pee every day for a year than spend Christmas with some of the people there. Well, okay. Person. It was just one person.
But that was enough.
“Okay, honey, I’ve got to go,” she said, the energy palpable in her voice. “I have to make a list. And, oh! I need to order the pajamas.”
I groaned out loud. “No. No pajamas.”
“But why, Toby? It’s tradition.”
“I’m a grown man. I’m not wearing matching pajamas with my parents, for crying out loud.”
“Do it for Teacup,” she implored.
“Your chihuahua doesn’t want to wear matching pajamas either.”
“We can take a new family photo for above the mantel.” She went on. “George!”
My lasagna was probably ice cold by now. I needed to put it in the oven before I got into the shower.
And maybe I’d have that wine before dinner.
“Mom—”
“Okay, honey. It was good talking to you. Let me know what day you’ll be here. Love you!” She hung up before I could even say a word.
I dropped my phone on the bed, stripped off the rest of my clothes, and padded into the bathroom to turn on the shower. As the water heated, I grabbed a fresh towel and sighed.
Winterbury for Christmas. I used to love it. The lights, traditions, people, and food. Not any more, though, not after he ruined it.
I would just avoid him and his farm. It was a small town but not that small. Besides, it was his busy season. He probably wouldn’t be out and about. And if he was, so what? I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I was a grown man who’d moved on from silly feuds and flimsy crushes.
Except they weren’t silly. They hurt.
Archer Hodge was nothing more than a sour memory, and I wouldn’t spare him another single second of thought.