Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Callum
“We're doing this for you two. Not me. I'm perfectly happy never attending social events.”
Daisy wagged her tail so hard her entire back half wiggled. Hank gave me a look that clearly said I'm fine. You're the one stalling.
Fair point.
I adjusted my grip on both leashes, watching Daisy's nose work overtime as we walked down Main Street. Every lamppost deserved investigation. Every patch of grass required thorough sniffing. Hank trotted beside her with dignified patience, like a grandfather indulging an overexcited toddler.
“Listen, I need you both on your best behavior today.” I kept my voice low. A couple passed us on the sidewalk, and I nodded in greeting. “Daisy, that means no begging. I know you think those sad eyes are irresistible, but we need someone who won't spoil you rotten.”
Her tail wagged harder. No promises.
“And Hank.” I looked down at the old scruffy terrier. “I know crowds aren't your favorite, but try to give people a chance. You're a good dog. Someone out there is going to see that.”
Hank's bushy eyebrows twitched. He'd been with me for three weeks now, long enough that he'd claimed the corner kennel in the barn as his territory, growling at any dog who dared venture too close.
Long enough that I'd learned he slept better with an old fleece blanket tucked around him.
Long enough that leaving him in someone else's care made my chest tight.
Which was exactly why he needed to find a home today.
The farmers’ market was already bustling when we arrived at the town square. Vendors set up booths under white canopies, arranging produce and baked goods and handcrafted items. The scent of Mrs. Thompson's cinnamon rolls drifted from her bakery booth, making my stomach growl.
I scanned the square, looking for—
“Cal!”
Rosie waved from a booth near the center, and I forgot how to breathe.
She wore a red and white dress, the pattern reminding me of a picnic blanket with all those neat little squares.
The dress fitted her waist before flaring out, and her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders with the top half pulled back.
Sunshine caught the loose strands, turning them honey-gold.
And her lips. Red.
I was staring.
Stop staring.
Daisy barked, lunging toward Rosie's booth hard enough that the leash nearly slipped from my hand. The pull jerked me back to reality. Farmers’ market, adoption event, not staring at Rosie like an idiot.
“Sorry.” I shortened Daisy's leash as we approached. “She gets excited.”
“That's perfect! Excitement is exactly what we need.” Rosie crouched down, letting Daisy lick her hand while Hank hung back behind my legs. “Oh my gosh, you're the sweetest thing! Yes, you are!”
Daisy soaked up the attention like she'd been starved for it her entire life. Which, considering I fed her twice daily and gave her puzzle toys and took her on regular walks, was insulting.
Rosie laughed, bright and genuine, as Daisy's enthusiasm nearly knocked her backward.
She steadied herself with one hand on the ground, the other scratching behind Daisy's ears exactly where the dog loved it most. The smile that spread across her face could have powered the entire town—wide and unguarded and absolutely radiant.
She made it look so easy. Like joy was just her natural state.
But I knew better. I'd seen that brightness flicker and die in the clinic, watched her shoulders curl inward as my careless words landed. The memory made my chest ache.
Never again.
“And who's this?” Rosie's voice softened as she noticed Hank pressed against my legs.
“Hank.” I glanced down at the terrier. “He's... not great with new people.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.” Rosie's eyes flicked up to meet mine, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “That's okay. We'll take our time.”
Rosie held her hand out toward Hank. He watched her for a long moment, then glanced up at me like he was checking if this was allowed.
“Go on,” I murmured.
He took one cautious step forward. Then another. His nose touched her fingertips, sniffing carefully before he allowed her to scratch under his chin.
“Good boy,” Rosie whispered.
Hank leaned into her touch for another few seconds before pulling back. He trotted to a shaded spot beneath Rosie's table and settled down with a sigh, his head resting on his paws.
Rosie straightened, brushing her hands on her dress. Her smile reached her eyes—soft, pleased, like she'd just won something precious.
“We'll find him the perfect family.” Rosie looked down at Hank with the kind of confidence I wished I could borrow. “Someone patient who can give this sweet boy a chance.”
“I hope so.” I shifted my weight, Daisy's leash wrapped around my palm. “Older dogs are harder to place. Most families want puppies.”
“Puppies are overrated.” Rosie waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, they're cute, but they also pee everywhere and chew your favorite shoes. Hank's already past all that.”
“Tell that to the adoption applications I don't receive.”
“Then we'll just have to work harder.” Rosie's chin lifted, determination sparking in her eyes. “Besides, someone out there wants exactly what Hank is—calm, independent, perfect for quiet evenings. We just need to find them.”
Her certainty made something warm unfold in my chest. Like maybe she was right. Like maybe today wouldn't end with me loading both dogs back into my truck and trying not to feel like I'd failed them.
“Speaking of puppies.” Rosie's expression brightened. “How's Pudding doing?”
“Better.” I cleared my throat, trying not to think about how I'd woken up this morning because Pudding was snoring directly into my ear. The puppy had been curled on the pillow next to mine, one paw stretched out and resting against my cheek.
Which was ridiculous, because he had a perfectly good kennel in the barn. With soft blankets. And heating pads. Everything a recovering puppy needed.
Except he'd whimpered that first night. Just once. A tiny, broken sound that shot straight through my chest and lodged somewhere near my heart. So I'd brought him inside. Just for one night. Just until he felt safer.
Then he shivered on the kitchen floor, and somehow he'd ended up in my bedroom. For warmth. Medical reasons.
And when he scratched at the bed frame, those big eyes looking up at me like I was the only safe thing in his entire world…
The bed was plenty big enough for both of us.
You're a professional veterinarian, I'd told myself that night. This is completely inappropriate.
Pudding had yawned, showing me his tiny pink tongue, and promptly fallen asleep with his head on my arm.
You're weak, I'd amended. Pathetically, embarrassingly weak.
“He's getting stronger,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Starting to play a bit. Learning to trust people.”
Learning to steal my pillow and wake me up with puppy breath.
“That's wonderful!” Rosie's whole face lit up. “I'm so glad he's doing better. I've been thinking about him.”
Of course she had.
“You can visit him.” The offer came out before I could stop it. “At the clinic. If you'd like.”
What am I doing?
But before I could say anything else—
“Rosie!” Two women appeared at the booth, one blonde, one with dark hair pulled into a ponytail.
Both familiar. Both names hovering just out of reach in my brain.
“Hey!” Rosie beamed. “You came!”
“Wouldn't miss it.” The blonde surveyed the booth with an approving nod. “This looks amazing.”
“Brought reinforcements.” The dark-haired one gestured behind her.
Two men followed. One I recognized immediately—the blue heeler trotting beside him gave it away before I placed the face. Scout. Yearly checkup three weeks ago. Healthy dog, well-trained, owner who listened to my advice.
The other man was familiar in a different way. Tall, polished, the kind of expensive casual that screamed money. Where did I know him from?
“Emily, Abby, this is Cal Sterling.” Rosie gestured toward me with easy confidence, like she hadn't just rolled into town five minutes ago while I'd been here for four years avoiding exactly this kind of social interaction. “He's the town vet.”
The blonde—Emily—studied me with sharp blue eyes. Recognition flickered across her face. “Sterling Animal Clinic.”
“That's right.”
Emily's sharp eyes assessed me. “You bought Dr. Hammond's practice.”
“Four years ago, yes.” My hand tightened on Daisy's leash. She was sniffing Scout now, tail wagging in frantic circles.
“This is Evan.” Abby gestured to the man with the heeler. “And Nate.”
“Hey.” I lifted my chin toward the two men in what I hoped passed for casual acknowledgment.
Hey?
What was that? Some kind of universal bro greeting? Did I just... nod at people? Like we were in a truck commercial?
I didn't do this. I didn't have guys I casually greeted with chin lifts and monosyllabic sounds. I had clients who brought me sick animals. I had Sharon, who tolerated me. I had thirteen dogs in a barn who couldn't judge my complete lack of social skills.
This was a mistake. I should leave. Fake an emergency. Daisy could suddenly develop a limp. Very convincing. Completely believable.
“Hey.” Evan returned the gesture with the exact same chin lift.
Oh God, it worked. What did I do now? Was there a follow-up? A secret handshake? Some kind of sports reference I was supposed to make?
Nate offered a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”
Right. Normal words. I could use those.
Except my brain had apparently short-circuited somewhere between hey and the horrifying realization that I'd just attempted male bonding for the first time in four years.
I glanced at Rosie. She was smiling at me like she could smell the smoke coming from my overheating brain.
This is your fault.
Then she turned to Emily and Abby, launching into an animated conversation about her booth setup, and I realized with dawning horror what was happening.
I was supposed to talk to the guys.
Just us. Standing here. While the women who dragged us to farmers’ markets did their thing.
How do people do this?