Chapter One #2
They returned to room four together. The mastiff was still sleeping peacefully, so Ryan moved to the next room where the third dog waited.
This one—a scarred male with one milky eye—watched them enter with visible wariness.
Dr. Sullivan had already treated the worst of his injuries, but he needed a full exam and monitoring.
“Hey, buddy,” Ryan said softly. He approached slowly, letting the dog see his hands. “You’re safe now. I know you don't believe me yet, but you are.”
The dog's good eye tracked him. Grayson stayed near the door, giving the animal space.
“Can you hand me that stethoscope?” Ryan asked, pointing to the counter.
Grayson moved quietly and placed it in Ryan’s outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed again. Ryan’s pulse jumped.
He pressed the stethoscope to the dog's side and listened. Heartbeat steady. Lungs clear. All good signs. The dog tolerated the examination without protest, though every muscle in his body stayed taut and ready.
“You’re going to be okay,” Ryan told him. “All of you are.”
He spent the next twenty minutes completing the exam, documenting everything in the chart, making sure the dog had food and water available.
Grayson helped when asked and otherwise stayed out of the way, but his presence made everything feel different.
Made Ryan more aware of his own movements, the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when it slipped from the scrunchie, the softness in his voice when he spoke to the frightened animals.
By the time all three dogs were settled in recovery kennels, Ryan’s feet ached and his scrubs had collected a variety of stains. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them in the waste bin then washed his hands at the sink. The water ran hot and soapy over his fingers.
“You should take a break,” Dr. Sullivan said, appearing in the doorway. “You've been going nonstop for two hours.”
Ryan dried his hands on a paper towel. “Yeah, okay. Just fifteen minutes.”
“Take thirty. You've earned it.”
The break room was small and cluttered, with a coffee maker that perpetually dripped, a microwave that only worked if you held the door shut, and a table covered in veterinary supply catalogs.
Ryan grabbed his water bottle from the fridge and collapsed into one of the plastic chairs. His legs thanked him immediately.
The door opened behind him. He turned, expecting Dr. Sullivan or maybe Janet from the front desk, but it was Grayson. He paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Ryan’s heart skipped a few beats. “Sure. Yeah.”
Grayson walked to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup from the pot that had probably been sitting there since they’d opened that morning. He didn’t add cream or sugar, just lifted it to his lips and drank it black. Ryan watched him over the rim of his water bottle.
“Long morning,” Grayson said, pulling out the chair across from Ryan.
“You’re telling me.” Ryan unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took a long drink. The cold felt good going down. “Those dogs are lucky you found them when you did.”
Grayson looked into his coffee cup. “We try to get to them as fast as we can. Sometimes we’re too late.”
“But not today.”
“Not today,” Grayson agreed.
Ryan set his water bottle on the table and leaned back in his chair. The fluorescent light above them flickered slightly, the way it always did. He should probably report it to building maintenance, but he never remembered to until he was sitting right here underneath it.
“So you do this often?” Ryan asked. “The rescue thing?”
“Often enough.” Grayson took another sip of coffee. “There's a network of us. We get tips, follow leads, try to shut down the operations when we can.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It can be.”
Ryan traced his finger along a scratch in the table's surface. Someone had carved initials into the laminate years ago, before he’d started working here. “What was it like? Where you found them?”
Grayson’s expression changed. Something closed off in his face, though his voice stayed even. “Not somewhere you’d ever want to visit. Trust me on that.”
The weight of those words settled between them. Ryan didn’t push. He could imagine enough from the condition of the dogs, from the scars and the fear in their eyes. Some things didn’t need to be spelled out.
“Well,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “at least they’re safe now. That’s what matters.”
“Because of people like you.” Grayson looked at him across the table. “The rescue is only half of it. They need someone who knows what they’re doing after. Someone who cares.”
Ryan felt heat creep up from his collar. He twisted the cap back onto his water bottle, just to have something to do with his hands. “I’m just doing my job.”
“You’re good at it.”
“You said that already.”
“Because it’s true.”
The coffee maker gurgled behind them. The fluorescent light continued its unsteady flickering. Ryan became aware of how quiet the break room was, how the sounds from the rest of the clinic seemed distant and muffled.
Grayson set down his coffee cup. His fingers stayed wrapped around it, like he needed something to hold on to. “Can I ask you something?”
Ryan’s stomach flipped. “Sure.”
“Would you want to get coffee sometime? Actual coffee, not whatever this is.” Grayson gestured at his cup. “Maybe somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic?”
Oh. Oh. Ryan’s brain stuttered over the question, trying to process it. Grayson was asking him out. This man with the amber eyes and amazing forearms and the gentle way he’d handled those traumatized dogs was asking him out for coffee.
“I’d like that,” Ryan said. The words came out quieter than he meant them to, but they came out, and that was what mattered.
Something shifted in Grayson’s expression. Relief maybe or satisfaction? “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ryan felt himself smile, the kind of smile he couldn’t control even if he wanted to. “That sounds really nice.”
“Good.” Grayson pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s your number?”
Ryan rattled it off and watched Grayson type it into his phone. Those hands, which had been so careful with the dogs, moved across the screen with surprising deftness. A second later, Ryan’s own phone buzzed in his pocket.
“That’s me,” Grayson said.
Ryan pulled out his phone and saw the text. Just a simple “hi” with a coffee cup emoji. He saved the contact, typing in “Grayson” and then, after a moment's hesitation, adding the emoji next to his name. Stupid, maybe, but it made him happy.
“So I’ll text you?” Grayson asked. “When I figure out my schedule?”
“Yeah. Yes. Definitely.”
They sat there for another moment. The coffee maker dripped. The light flickered. Ryan became aware that he was still smiling, that his face was probably doing something ridiculous and obvious, but he didn’t particularly care.
Grayson stood up, taking his coffee cup to the sink. He rinsed it out and set it in the dish rack. “I should get going. The others are probably wondering where I disappeared to.”
“Right. Yeah.” Ryan stood, too, though he wasn't ready for this conversation to end. “Thanks again. For bringing them in.”
“Thank you for taking care of them.” Grayson moved toward the door then paused. He turned back, and his eyes met Ryan’s. “I meant it, by the way. About the coffee.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Good.”
Grayson left. Ryan heard his footsteps moving down the hallway, heard the distant chime of the front door opening and closing. He stood alone in the break room, his phone warm in his hand, and felt something buoyant and fluttering take up residence in his stomach.
He looked at his phone again. Opened the text message. Stared at that stupid coffee cup emoji like it held secrets.
“Get it together,” he muttered to himself, but he was still smiling.
Dr. Sullivan called for him a few minutes later, and Ryan returned to work.
There were medications to administer, charts to update, kennels to clean.
The afternoon shift arrived, and Ryan briefed them on the three rescue dogs, explaining their conditions and care plans.
He checked on each dog again, noting their vital signs, making sure they had fresh water.
The pit bull wagged her tail when she saw him. The small movement felt like a victory.
But through all of it, through every task and conversation and routine procedure, Ryan felt his thoughts circling back to the break room. To Grayson’s voice asking him to coffee. To the way their eyes had met across the table. To the phone number now saved in his contacts.
He checked his phone between patients. No new messages, but he hadn’t really expected any. Grayson had just left. It would be weird if he texted right away, wouldn’t it? Or maybe it would be sweet. Ryan didn’t know. He’d never been good at reading these situations.
“You’re distracted today,” Janet said when Ryan passed the front desk for the third time in ten minutes.
“I’m not distracted.”
“You’re smiling at your phone.”
“I’m just checking the time.”
Janet raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Ryan hurried back to the treatment area before she could ask more questions.
The mastiff was awake now, watching him with wary eyes as he approached her kennel. Ryan knelt and spoke to her through the wire door, keeping his voice low and soothing. She didn’t move, but her tail twitched once. Progress, he thought. Small and slow, but progress nonetheless.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Ryan pulled it out so fast he nearly dropped it. A text from Grayson: How are they doing?
Ryan leaned against the wall and typed back: All stable. Pit bull is already wagging her tail.
The response came quickly: That’s good to hear.
Then, after a pause, How are you doing?
Ryan bit his lip. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Good. Tired but good.
When does your shift end?
Six.
Long day.
Always is.
Another pause. Ryan watched the three dots appear and disappear on his screen. Finally, I’ll let you get back to work. But I’m thinking Saturday for that coffee. If you’re free.
Saturday. That was two days away. Ryan typed: I’m free.
Great. I’ll text you details tomorrow?
Sounds perfect.
He saved the conversation and slipped his phone back into his pocket. His face hurt from smiling. The mastiff was still watching him, and he wondered if dogs could sense this kind of thing, the giddy, ridiculous feeling that made everything seem brighter and more possible.
“I have a date,” he told her quietly. “Sort of. It’s just coffee, but still…”
She blinked at him slowly.
“Yeah, I know. I’m being silly.”
But he didn’t feel silly. He felt light and hopeful and already counting down the hours until Saturday.
The rest of his shift passed in a blur of routine tasks and stolen glances at his phone.
He helped Dr. Sullivan with a dental cleaning.
He comforted a nervous chihuahua while she got her vaccinations.
He restocked supplies and updated patient files and made notes about the recovery progress of the three rescue dogs.
And he thought about Grayson. About coffee on Saturday. About amber eyes and careful hands and the way his voice had sounded when he asked.
By the time six o’clock rolled around, Ryan’s feet were screaming and his back ached from bending over exam tables all day.
He clocked out, grabbed his bag from his locker, and headed for the exit.
The evening air hit him as he stepped outside, cooler than the morning had been, carrying the smell of cut grass from somewhere nearby.
He pulled out his phone as he walked to his car. No new messages, but that was okay. He opened the conversation with Grayson and read through it again, savoring each word like something precious.
Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.