Chapter 1 #2
“Don’t worry, Dr. B, I’m sure things will work out. Just because Lake Wakahanra’s clinic has all male vets who happen to look like models doesn’t mean they’re any good. You’ve been in the area a lot longer than them. Plus, they’re three times as expensive as us.”
I try to push away the feelings of fear welling up inside of me. We can’t afford to lose any more business. “I hope you’re right.”
“You know I am.”
My gaze travels to the medicine cabinets.
“I, uh, think I’m going to spend the rest of the morning working on inventory.
It’s been a good six months since we’ve done one.
” Not to mention it’s the perfect way to stay distracted.
Vicki frowns. “Don’t worry,” I reassure her.
“You’re needed up front. I can do this on my own. ”
“Did I ever mention you’re my favorite vet to work with?”
“I’m the only one,” I joke half-heartedly. “That reminds me. We’ll need to start posting job openings for a vet tech. We’ve been without one for a couple months now. It was fine when Dr. Conti was still here, but without him, I’ll need another set of hands.”
If I’m being honest, hiring a vet tech is stretching our budget—I wiped out half my life savings when I bought Dylan’s share of the practice—but it’s a necessary evil.
Vicki cocks her head to the side. “Do you want me to post on places like LinkedIn?”
“Please.”
She fist-bumps me. “Just give me the details and I’ll type something up for ya.”
“Thanks.”
Vicki hesitates in the doorway.
“Was there something else?”
“Um, I was wondering if I could play around with updating our website and clinic flyers. Dr. Conti always insisted they were fine, but if you ask me, they’re fugly.
They look like something a middle-schooler threw together in Word the night before a project was due.
If you redid them and spent some money on marketing—”
I hold up my hand. “Vicki, you have my blessing to do whatever you want with them.” The flyers she’s talking about were done in Word.
Dylan and I may be vets, but neither one of us knew how to use any fancy design programs. We just needed something basic with our names, prices, and services on them.
Even though alarm bells are ringing in my head at the thought of spending money on marketing, if it means bringing in some much-needed clientele, I’m all for it. It’s my first official decision as the new owner.
“I won’t let you down,” Vicki shouts, hugging me tightly, causing the chair I’m sitting in to roll backward and hit the wall. “Oops, sorry.”
Our bodies shake with laughter. It takes us a moment to catch our breath.
I stand up and scoot the chair back into position. “When’s our next appointment?”
“At two. It’s Mr. Paul’s retriever. She’s due for her annual vaccines.”
“Got it. I’ll set a timer on my phone, but if you could let me know when it’s one-thirty, I’d appreciate it.” I tend to get carried away once I start a project.
“You bet.”
With that, I take a clipboard and notebook, walk over to the storage room, and begin going through the medicines we have on hand. If there’s one thing that calms my nerves, it’s organizing things.
“Dr. B?”
“Is it our Spanish friend again?” I call from the break room, waiting eagerly for the Keurig to hurry up and brew a cup of dark roast coffee. It’s late in the day, and I’ll pay for it later when I can’t sleep, but I need that caffeine boost to keep going.
“Uh-huh.”
I rub my temples. I don’t mind this guy calling, but it’s the fifth time.
It irks me a little that he hasn’t looked up the answers to his questions on the internet.
“You know the drill,” I finally answer. The coffee machine makes a clicking sound.
Coffee in hand, I cross the hall to my desk and pick up the phone. “Hola.”
“Hola, Dr. B. You speak Spanish?”
“Un paquito. Just a little. I took it in high school.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” The deep male voice laughs. “You have a good accent.”
“Thanks. How can I help you?” I take a swig of my coffee. Ick. It’s bitter without any creamer or sugar, but it’ll do the job.
“I know the last time I called I said it would be the last time, but something’s come up.”
“Sure. What’s your question?”
“It’s the turtle this time. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feed him. I’ve used the last of the food my friends left me yesterday. I tried calling them, but no answer. The pet shop owner said crickets were the way to go, but he hasn’t touched them.”
“Do you know what type of turtle it is?” I twirl the cord of the phone over my pinky.
“Ugh, no.”
“Can you email or text me a picture?”
“Sí.”
“Great. Most turtles are omnivores, but there are a few species that don’t care for insects.
” I rattle off my cell number to him and take another sip of my drink while I wait.
A moment later, my phone chimes. “Got it.” I open the message and enlarge the image.
It has a high-domed shell, a hooked jaw, and webbed feet.
“Hmm . . . it looks like a box turtle to me. They usually enjoy a diet of small insects and veggies like lettuce, carrots, and celery. When did you offer him the crickets?”
“An hour ago?”
“Just like with your friend’s cat, give the turtle some time. He’ll eat when he’s ready. Does it have a sunlamp and access to water?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Just make sure it’s on during the day and off at night.”
“Gracias, I will. Thank you again for all the help. This time is the last time, I promise.”
“You’re welcome.” I stand and stretch, knowing this time, he’s right.
“We’re getting ready to close the clinic, but if you think of something else, feel free to text me.
You have my number now.” I just hope I don’t live to regret it.
I know it’s something I shouldn’t technically do, but this guy truly needs help.
“I’ll try hard not to bother you.”
“You won’t—and oh!” I snap my fingers together. “Before I let you go, there is something I wanted to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“What’s your name?”
I hear a laugh on the other end. It’s rich and gives me a few goosebumps. “It’s Fernando. Fernando Alvarez.”
We chat for a few more seconds, then end the call. “Fernando,” I muse to myself, replacing the phone in the cradle. “That’s the perfect name for a guy with a voice like that.”
Does Fernando have dark hair or light hair? Is he tall or average height? Does he wear glasses? Have any tattoos? As I finish my coffee, I daydream about what he might look like. However, I keep circling back to one image: Dylan’s.