Chapter 7
Donkeys With Pink Eye Wait for No One
? I Think I Like You Better When You’re Gone
- Renee Rapp
Angelina
I stroll into the office and wave at Marnie behind the desk.
Judging by the roll of her eyes, she must be on the phone with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Marcus.
She stops twirling her blonde hair around her finger long enough to wave as I stride into my private office in the back, depositing my purse on the floor next to my desk.
Micah, my assistant and absentee best man, trails in shortly after, setting a large cup of coffee on my desk.
“Bless you,” I say, taking a long drink of the sweet, sweet nectar. “What do you have for me?”
“Cheez Whiz is waiting in the exam room for his checkup, old man Wilson called about Clover again, and there’s a litter of doodles coming in for vaccinations at eleven.”
Back in Denver, I specialized in treating large animals, mainly livestock, but in Oak Ridge, my patients run the gamut from the tiniest of creatures to the largest. I love the variety. One day can be incredibly boring, and the next, I could be treating a donkey with pink eye.
Clover’s a frequent flyer for that affliction.
“Got it. Call Wilson back. Tell him he needs to give the antibiotics more time and to reach back out tomorrow if there’s no change.”
Micah sits in the chair across from me and scribbles on his notepad. “You know he’s just going to call back later, right?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’d be concerned if he didn’t.”
“Would you mind if I take off early today? We’re heading to Nashville for Hudson’s sister’s bachelorette this weekend, and he offered to set up the suite for the bridal party.”
Micah’s in his twenties and somehow has his life together more than I ever have.
He’s been married to his partner, Hudson, for two years, and they live on a four-acre hobby farm on the outskirts of Willow Valley.
My twenties were spent getting my degree and line dancing in dive bars on the weekend.
I thought I’d be settled by now, impromptu wedding notwithstanding.
“That’s fine. There’s not much on the schedule for today. Worst case, I’ll give Doc a call if there’s an emergency.”
Doctor Briggs retired after I took over his practice, but he still comes back to work when I need someone to cover for me. He says it keeps him sharp, but I think he misses it more than he’s letting on.
I stand, roll my neck, and straighten my spine. “Let’s go. Wouldn’t want to keep Cheez Whiz waiting.”
After a visit with the orange cat from hell, a spaniel with an ear infection, another call from old man Wilson, and vaccinations for six golden doodle puppies, I head back to my office to fill out some paperwork.
A while later, a quiet knock sounds at my office door, but I don’t look up from the folder in front of me as I finish transferring my notes from the last appointment. “What is it?”
Micah’s face peeks through a crack in the door. “Hey, Ange? There’s a hot cowboy looking for you. Says he’s your husband.”
A deep chuckle reverberates over the threshold.
I look up and lock eyes with none other than the man I’ve been avoiding for the better part of a week. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to have lunch with my wife,” he says matter-of-factly, dropping into the chair opposite me.
I catch sight of Micah over Griffin’s shoulder, his green eyes wide with shock. “Holy shit,” he mouths the words, miming fanning himself. “He’s hot.”
I shoo him away. Smirking, Micah closes the door behind him.
Griffin’s eyes land on my empty ring finger. “Where’s your wedding ring, Angel?”
“Lost it during a rectal exam,” I deadpan. It’s a lie, but I’m not about to tell him the truth. It’s burning a hole in the pocket of my scrubs because I couldn’t bring myself to leave it at home. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I had the annulment papers drawn up. It just needs your signature.”
I pull out a folder from my top drawer and slide it across the desk. Before I can move my hand away, Griffin’s palm encases it. “I don’t remember agreeing to an annulment. Matter of fact, not more than a week ago, I told the world that you’re my wife.”
His voice is low and gruff, and it sets off a riot of butterflies in my belly.
“You’re kidding, right? We were drunk. Let’s sign the papers and move on with our lives like it never happened.”
Like you did five years ago when you walked out of my apartment and never looked back.
Griffin stands and walks around my desk until he’s towering over me.
I’m a woman cornered, and I should be scared, but this is Griffin—he won’t hurt me.
Not physically, at least. I hardened my heart to this man when I woke up to a cold bed.
Or so I thought—the events in Las Vegas might suggest otherwise.
I can’t be held responsible for what jilted Angie did.
She was operating on free will and margaritas alone.
He grips the armrests on either side of my hips, leaning forward to bring us nose to nose. “I’ll never forget that night, Angel. Not in a million years. Not when I’m six feet underground. Not even in the next life.”
My pulse quickens at the force and sincerity of his words. The annulment is what I wanted, so why does it suddenly feel wrong?
“You can’t say things like that. I might actually believe them.”
For a moment, the only sounds are the erratic rhythm of my heart pulsing in my head and our synchronized breaths.
After what feels like a lifetime, he speaks again. “I never say anything I don’t mean.”
Before I can respond, another knock sounds at the office door.
“That’ll be lunch,” Griffin says.
Micah trails in with a takeout bag from Rosie’s Diner and a drink carrier, setting them down on my desk.
“Thanks,” I say. “If anybody comes in, let them know I’ll be back in thirty.”
“You sure you don’t want to take the full hour?” Micah flicks his gaze to my husband. The suggestive undertone isn’t subtle by any means.
“I’m good. I’ll see you in thirty.”
Griffin casually moves the folder out of the way as if it doesn’t contain vital documents, and he slides a Styrofoam container across my desk. Inside is a club sandwich and a side of crinkle-cut fries—my usual order. Will I ever not be surprised by this man and his attention to detail?
I pop a fry into my mouth and settle back in the chair. “Don’t you have riding lessons or something else you could be doing?”
“I always have time for my wife.”
I roll my eyes and take another bite.
My phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out and groan at the name on the screen. I should block his number.
Tyler: I’ll be back in town tomorrow. We should talk.
This from the man who left me the world’s shittiest breakup note and went solo on our honeymoon trip. What’s there to talk about? We don’t have any kids together, so there are no custody arrangements to make.
As soon as I returned from Vegas, I divested myself from the joint bank account, and the rest of our assets remained separate. It’s not like I’d want to reconcile with a man who ditched me on our wedding day. He’d have to be out of his mind to think I’d go back to him after that.
Griffin swallows around a bite of his burger, his brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”
I shrug. “It’s Ty.”
“Of course it is.” He scoffs. “Took him long enough.”
“Too busy lounging on the beach,” I quip, picking up half of my sandwich.
“What does he want?”
“To talk, I guess.” I lick the sauce from my thumb.
Griffin tracks the movement. “Are you ready to listen?”
“It won’t change anything.”
He shoves the rest of his burger into his mouth and wipes his hands on a napkin. “Not even if he got down on his knees and said he made the biggest mistake of his life?”
“Not even then.”
Griffin nods, brow furrowed, and his mouth pulled into a subtle frown.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your face did.”
He sets down his already empty container after devouring his food the same way he devoured my—nope, not going there.
“Three years, Ange. It can’t be easy to let that go.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Those three years meant nothing the second I found that note. I don’t owe him anything.”
While Tyler’s been off in Mexico doing god knows what, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on our relationship. I’m not entirely sure I wasn’t settling for mediocre when I agreed to marry him. I think I loved him, in my own way, but it wasn’t the kind of love I grew up around.
My parents were head over heels for each other, and their devotion only deepened with time.
I always wanted that for myself. A part of me wanted to believe I’d found it with Tyler, but I didn’t get butterflies when he touched me, and he never showed up on my lunch break just because he could. It wasn’t like…
Griffin.
It wasn’t like Griffin.
I shove the thought away, too conflicted to give it any credence. This isn’t anything; it can’t be anything. Vegas was a mistake, and Colorado was a lie.
I crumple up my napkin and toss it into the mostly empty container. “I should get back to work. Donkeys with pink eye wait for no one.”
He stands and runs his palms down his jeans, drawing my attention to those thick, muscular thighs.
Stop looking at his thighs.
“Clover again?” he asks.
I nod. “Wouldn’t be a Monday afternoon at Oak Ridge Animal Clinic if I didn’t have to field calls from old man Wilson.”
He bags up the trash, and we stand awkwardly for a moment. “I’ll see you around.”
And just like that, he strides out the door, leaving behind the folder that would dissolve our marriage.
As soon as I walk through the front door of my midtown bungalow, I strip off my bra and toss it onto the back of the couch, making my way to the kitchen and turning on the kettle.
I’ve always taken great pride in my home.
Every detail is perfectly curated down to the organized spice drawer and tea cabinet.
Tyler always hated what he called my ‘girly’ aesthetic—pink bedding, gold accents, sparkly countertops and backsplash—but it’s not like he contributed anything beyond a few video game consoles and some memorabilia from his rodeo career.
There used to be photos of him and Griffin on my bookshelves, and the house smelled vaguely like his favorite cologne. Now it just smells like me, and Griffin’s presence isn’t characterized by the photos, but by the ring I slipped on my finger at the end of my shift against my better judgment.
I don’t let myself dwell on why it feels at home there.
When the kettle clicks off, I pour myself a steaming cup of Earl Grey and set it on the coffee table to cool before making my way to my bedroom to change out of my scrubs.
I gather up my laundry and toss it in the wash, pulling up short when I notice a load still sitting in the dryer.
I open the door and pull out a white dress shirt and a pair of black slacks.
Tyler’s wedding clothes.
When I got the note, I assumed he’d left in the night. The fabric in my hands tells another story. How long before he changed his mind? Was he putting on his cuff links when he decided he didn’t want to marry me anymore? Or was it after he slipped on the jacket and adjusted his collar just right?
In my mind’s eye, I can picture it perfectly—his dark hair slicked back, blue eyes raking over his handsome figure in his black suit. He scowls and shakes his head before tugging off his tie and tossing it onto the bed. Then the image blurs.
It’s not Tyler anymore.
It’s Griffin.
He’s standing across from me at the altar in his tweed suit coat and jeans, with an unexpected softness in his warm brown eyes. The contrast is startling, but what’s more troubling is the intense longing I feel for the latter.
Shaking myself out of the vision, I ball up Tyler’s clothing and stomp outside to the trash. The neighbor across the street waves at me. I wave back before unceremoniously shoving the fabric into the can with a satisfied smile.
Now there’s nothing left to tie me to Tyler but the memories we once shared.
I don’t hold any fondness for them anymore.
They’re just a bittersweet reminder of how it all ended, of the life he fled and the woman he left behind.
I said goodbye to that version of me at the hotel bar, deleted every trace of our relationship from my phone, and promised myself no man would ever again have the power to break me.
Once inside, I settle on the couch with my tea in one hand and the remote in the other. A little trash TV is just what the doctor ordered.