Chapter 5 #2
He's out of uniform—jeans, a soft gray henley that does absolutely nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders, boots that look like they've actually been worn and not just purchased for aesthetic purposes.
His hair is slightly damp, like he showered recently, and the late afternoon light catches his eyes.
"Hey," he says, holding out one of the cups. "Peace offering."
"For what?"
"Being annoying. Apparently I'm very annoying." His expression is hopeful, almost uncertain. "Also, I had some follow-up questions about the kennel specs, and I figured you might need caffeine."
I take the cup because my hands need something to do. The label reads Timberline Espresso. The handwriting on the side says oat milk, one pump vanilla latte.
"How did you know how I take my coffee?"
"You mentioned it to Dev. During the tour." He shrugs like it's nothing.
I mentioned that once. In passing. While being mildly irritated with him.
He remembered.
"Your follow-up questions," I say, because I need to say something and ‘thank you for remembering my coffee order you thoughtful bastard’ seems inappropriate. "What are they?"
"Right. Yes. Questions." He pulls out his phone, squinting at the screen. "Dev wanted to know about... enrichment protocol timelines. For the new equipment."
"That could have been an email."
"Could have been." He grins. "But then I wouldn't have had an excuse to bring you coffee."
Linda makes a sound behind me that she tries to disguise as a cough. I ignore her.
"I have paperwork to finish."
"I'll wait."
"That's not—you don't need to—"
"I'll be quiet. You won't even know I'm here."
He absolutely will not be quiet, and I will definitely know he's here. But somehow I find myself walking back to my office with Dean trailing behind me, and somehow I don't kick him out.
He settles into the chair across from my desk, long legs stretched out, coffee cradled in his hands. True to his word, he doesn't say anything while I finish my notes. He just... sits there. Present. Patient.
It's unsettling.
"You don't have somewhere else to be?" I ask, not looking up from my laptop.
"Day off."
"And this is how you spend your days off? Sitting in veterinary clinics?"
"Only the ones with interesting owners."
I glance up. He's watching me with an expression I can't quite read—curious, maybe, or careful. Like he's trying to figure something out.
"Tell me about the hamster," he says.
"What?"
"The hamster. I heard you on the phone earlier. Something about a pregnant hamster?"
"You were eavesdropping?"
"I was sitting in the waiting room. Sound travels." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Was it a surprise pregnancy? Hamster birth control failure?"
Despite myself, I laugh. "The owner thought she had two females. She did not."
"Classic hamster mix-up."
"It happens more than you'd think."
He asks more questions. About the clinic, about the weird cases, about the time a snake got loose in the waiting room and Mrs. Patterson nearly had a heart attack. He's genuinely curious—not performing interest to be polite, but actually listening, actually engaged.
I learn things too. That he's been in the Air Force for twenty years. That he flies cargo and transport, which he claims is less glamorous than fighter jets but more interesting. That his squadron thinks he's a disaster but loves him anyway.
That he's been avoiding his re-enlistment paperwork for three weeks and has no idea what he wants to do about it.
"Big decision," I say carefully.
"Yeah." He stares into his coffee. "My brother wants me to come home. Help run the family business. K9 training, security work."
"Is that what you want?"
He scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't know." He looks up, and for a moment the mask slips entirely. "I've been doing this for almost twenty years. Flying, deploying, following orders.” His voice drops. “I don't know what I am if I'm not that."
The honesty of it stops me cold. The admission hangs between us. No charm. No deflection. Just raw honesty I didn’t expect.
"You’ll figure it out," I hear myself say. "Eventually. It's terrifying and uncomfortable and sometimes you have to start over, but you figure it out."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Maybe."
He holds my gaze for a moment longer than comfortable. Then the tension in his face eases, something warmer taking its place.
"Thanks, Doc."
I glance at the clock. It's past five. The clinic's been closed for twenty minutes and I didn't even notice.
"Some of us have actual work, Bingo."
He winces at the name—reflexive, immediate—and something in my chest softens against my will.
"Some of us have already done actual work," he counters. "And are now relaxing in the company of a beautiful veterinarian who pretends to hate my call sign but secretly thinks it's charming."
"I don't think it's charming."
"Your eye's not twitching, so you might be telling the truth." He stands, stretching in a way that pulls his henley tight across his chest. Not that I notice. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Absolutely not."
"Day after?"
"No."
"I'll text you."
"You don't have my number."
"I have Dev's number, and Dev has your professional contact info from the consultation paperwork. I'm resourceful." He heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. "Thanks for letting me stay."
"I didn't let you. You refused to leave."
"Semantics." He winks. "Night, Doc."
The bell chimes behind him, and then he's gone.
I sit at my desk for a long moment, listening to the silence, replaying the conversation. The way he remembered my coffee order. The way he asked about my work like it mattered. The way his mask dropped when he talked about his future.
Lonely, Maggie said. Don't let the smile fool you.
I lock up the clinic and step out into the evening air, the mountains glowing pink and gold in the sunset.
I'm smiling.
I blame the coffee.