Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
ADAM
We Love Pickles Chat.
Me
I officially gave up my keys to the practice.
Kellan
Good for you, man. How are you?
Adam
I... Good. I think.
Mike
That podcast episode was great. And how you demolished Chuck Edison in a few words? Impressive.
Me
Thanks. Meet-up at the B&B for a drink, mocktail included?
Kellan
On the road, can't.
Mike
Busy.
Wes
Me, too.
Manuel
Not here.
Staring at my phone, I can't help but snort. These guys couldn't lie their way out of a paper bag. Kellan texted me about coffee this morning, and Mike's garage is closed on Tuesdays. But I don't have the energy to figure out what they're up to.
Eve's at work for the evening, and the dogs are at daycare. The three of them together are everything I never knew I needed.
Without anyone to help for once, I'm... restless. The practice keys still feel like a phantom weight in my pocket even though Dr. Chen's had them for hours. Six years of muscle memory.
Chuck has been dealt with, which was more satisfying than I'll ever admit to anyone but Eve. He’s been put on administrative leave. His father is trying to gather the missing pieces. And his mother is apparently starting therapy, initiating a divorce procedure.
The podcast with Maddie was unexpectedly fun.
Turns out being the expert voice on "Ethics and Boundaries in Small-Towns and The World" comes naturally when you've spent your career maintaining them.
My parents are out with friends, and for the first time in years, there's no emergency surgery waiting, no late-night farm call, no anxious pet parent needing reassurance.
Just me. Walking around Pine Creek, cataloging memories like I'm taking inventory of a clinic I no longer own.
There's the park bench where Mrs. Wilson and her rescue greyhound finally bonded. The corner where I treated the school secretary's parrot who'd developed a habit of mimicking fire alarms. The coffee shop where I'd grab four different orders every morning.
This will always be home. A part of me embedded in these streets, these people, these animals that shaped who I am.
I push the door to the B&B, the familiar creak welcoming me like an old friend.
The Travel Lover reviewer Sally's been anxiously accommodating is adjusting a photo angle of the decorated staircase.
"Dr. Harrison, I presume?" she says, extending her hand. "I've heard quite a lot about you from the locals."
"All good, I hope," I respond automatically.
She smiles knowingly. "Very. In fact, you're partly responsible for my decision to give this place five stars."
"Me? I'm just lucky to have stayed here. Sally's the one who makes this place special."
"Yes, but it's also the way you all care. It's about the stories that happen within these walls." She glances toward the back parlor. "You should probably head that way. I believe Sally needs help with something."
"Adam, can you come here?" Sally calls with that theatrical urgency. "I need help with the lights!"
One last favor before I go. But this time, I'm not letting anyone down to do it. I'm not letting myself down, either.
"Coming," I call back, ducking under one of Sally's mistletoe traps.
I push open the door to the back dining area and freeze mid-step.
"SURPRISE!"
The room explodes with faces turned toward me with grins that range from shit-eating to genuinely warm. Wes with Megan perched on his shoulders, Manuel and his husband, Mike and Jamie, my parents, Noelle, Dr. Chen, her wife, the volunteer firefighters—and Claire?
She stands beside Sally, dressed for travel, her watchful eyes assessing me with the same clinical precision Eve uses.
But it's the center of the room that knocks the air cleanout of my lungs.
Eve.
She's holding Blanche and Dorothy's leashes with one hand and what might be the world's most chaotic-looking cake with the other. LoverBoy sits at her feet wearing a ridiculous bow tie. Her eyes lock with mine, and that wide smile spreads across her face.
"What the—I thought you were at work—"
"I was working on this." She gestures around the room, then rebalances the cake. "Turns out planning surprise parties requires a lot of coordination. Very transferable nursing skills."
"You did all this?"
"With considerable help," she admits, nodding toward my mother. "Apparently organizing surprise parties for you has been on Margaret's bucket list for approximately thirty-four years."
Mike claps my shoulder. “You should’ve seen your face, man. Worth the price of admission.”
“Which was keeping a secret in Pine Creek for more than twelve hours So glad you made it, this time. And we could make it even bigger for you. Everyone wanted to be here,” Wes adds, as Megan waves frantically.
“Uncle A! I kept the biggest secret! I didn’t even tell Dorothy!”
I’m completely speechless.
Eve hands the cake to Sally and steps closer, her eyes searching my face. “Too much?” she asks quietly, just for me.
I shake my head, throat tight. “Just... unexpected.”
“Good unexpected or ‘I need to find an emergency that requires immediate veterinary attention’ unexpected?”
That startles a laugh out of me. “Good. Definitely good.”
The next hour slips by in a blur. Stories I wish they’d forget, toasts that make my ears burn, Manuel telling everyone how he decided to stay in Pine Creek after I helped save his prized rooster.
Noelle raises her glass. “Remember the ‘surgical shuffle’? Every time things got stressful, he’d bust it out behind the curtain. I swear that dance move saved lives.”
“I thought that stayed in the surgery room.”
“What happens in surgery stays in surgery,” she winks, “except at your going away party.”
Claire corners me. “So you’re the Adam from the videocalls.”
“And you’re the Claire who helped make sure Chuck was neutralized.”
“She’s been holding out on me. Those forearms are indeed impressive.”
I choke slightly. “Thanks?”
“Almost like Magic Mechanic Mike over there.”
Mike is staring at Claire, shaking his head, before turning away.
I chuckle. “Eve told me you’re going to be working for my dad?”
“Starting January 2nd. Part of his second chances program. I’ll be living in the small apartment above the practice, actually. The one you stayed in years ago. From one caretaker to another.”
“You’ll make it your own,” I say with genuine warmth. “And probably improve it.”
Mrs. Clark steps toward me with a Christmas sweater and alit-up antlers. “Remember that town council meeting when they tried to ban leashed dogs from the park?” she asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
And for another thirty minutes, everyone comes with more stories, more memories. As I refill my cider, I notice Claire and Mike in a spirited debate, their body language anything but adversarial.
“All I said was your engine sounded rough,” Claire is saying, eyes sparkling.
“And all I said was that diagnosing car problems without training is like me telling you which antibiotics to prescribe, “Mike counters, leaning closer.
Sally clinks her glass for attention. “Time for the formal presentations!”
“Presentations?” I mutter to Eve, who’s at my side, her fingers between mine.
“Just go with it,” she whispers. “Sally’s been planning this longer than we’ve been dating.”
“Which timeline?”
Eve’s elbow finds my ribs. “You’re hilarious, Harrison.”
“First up,” Sally announces after Wes’s toast, “the official adoption papers for LoverBoy!”
LoverBoy prances toward us with an envelope attached to his collar.
“We were going to wait,” Eve says quietly, “but it felt right to make it official before we leave. He’s officially part of our family now.”
“Our family,” I repeat, the words settling in my chest.
“And,” she continues nervously, “I’ve been thinking about something else too.”
Inside Noelle’s folder is a photo of Mama Bear, her black coat gleaming, green eyes staring with that mixture of wariness and hard-won trust.
“All her kittens have been adopted,” Eve explains. “But no one wants to take on an older cat with trust issues who needs time to let everyone see the real them. Sound like anyone we know?”
“You want to adopt her?” My voice comes out rough.
“If you’re okay with it, of course. But I noticed the way you were talking about it.
And we can discuss it if you want. I thought maybe she could use a family who understands that trust takes time.
That sometimes the most defensive ones are just protecting themselves because they’ve been hurt before. ”
“That’s... perfect,” I manage.
“And finally,” my father says, “something Eve and I have been discussing.”
“It’s preliminary,” Eve says quickly, “but we’ve been talking about integrated care facilities. I could continue brainstorming since the school nurse job is 65%.”
“Starting with pet daycare facilities adjacent to medical centers in Sandwich Bay,” my father adds.
“And emergency pet care for patients requiring extended hospital stays,” Eve adds, the words tumbling out like she can’t contain them. “We’ve started drafting an initial proposal for funding. Just the bones, really. There’s still a long way to go, but—”
“But it’s a start,” my father finishes, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And a damn good one.”
I look at Eve standing there with our dogs, planning our future, combining our professional dreams into something bigger than either of us imagined. Something that would help people and animals alike. Something that might have helped her years ago, when she was fighting.
“So,” she says, those whiskey eyes watching me carefully, “what do you think?”
I answer her the only way I can: I kiss her, right there in front of everyone, not giving a single damn who sees. Because some things matter more than being proper or maintaining distance or worrying what others might think.
When we break apart, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright.
“I think,” I say, voice rough with emotion I don’t try to hide, “that Sandwich Bay doesn’t know what’s about to hit it.”
The room erupts in cheers and whistles, and for once, I don’t mind the noise, the attention, the eyes on me. Because they’re on us. Together.
Mike raises his glass, his quiet voice somehow cutting through the chaos. “To Adam and Eve,” he says simply. “May your second chances be better than your first.”
“To second chances,” the room echoes.
And as Eve leans against me, our dogs at our feet and our friends surrounding us, I understand something I’ve spent years trying to figure out:
Sometimes the most healing thing you can do isn’t fixing others.
Sometimes it’s letting others see that you need fixing too.
Sometimes it’s standing in a room full of people who love you, holding the hand of the woman who knows every broken piece of you and loves you anyway, and simply accepting that you are exactly where you’re meant to be.
Not alone. Not the reliable one everyone depends on.
Just Adam.
Just me.
And somehow, finally, that’s enough.