Chapter 6 Daisy
six
Daisy
Six months later, I'm standing in the clinic's new back office running my fingers over the brass nameplate on my desk: "Daisy Sullivan, Practice Manager." The metal is cool and smooth, and I still can't quite believe it's real.
Sullivan. I'm still getting used to that. To seeing it on my driver's license, my credit cards, the wedding photos hanging in our living room.
The office smells like fresh paint and new furniture.
Rex picked everything out—the ergonomic chair because "you're going to spend hours here, baby, might as well be comfortable," the filing cabinets with labels already printed in his blocky handwriting, even the small coffee maker because "you're not skipping meals or running on empty anymore. "
Sunlight streams through the window he had enlarged, illuminating dust motes in the air.
Outside, I can see the newly renovated kennel area, the grooming station, the waiting room with its fresh coat of cheerful yellow paint.
Six months ago, this place was barely holding together. Now it looks professional. Successful.
Because of Rex. Because of us.
Dr. Mitchell appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his reading glasses pushed up on his graying hair. He's wearing his usual outfit—scrubs covered in cartoon cats—but there's something different in his expression. Thoughtful. Content.
"Got a minute?" he asks.
"Always." I gesture to the chair across from my desk and he settles in with a comfortable sigh.
"You know, watching you these past six months has been something else," he says, leaning back. "The way you've transformed this place. The new systems, the staff management, how you handle difficult clients. You're a natural at this."
"Thank you." I'm not sure where this is going.
"Makes me think about the future. My future." He smiles. "I'm fifty-three. Linda wants to travel. I've been doing this for almost thirty years, and honestly? I'm getting tired."
My stomach flips. "Are you... leaving?"
"Not tomorrow. Not even this year. But eventually? Yeah." He looks around my office. "And when I do, I want this place in good hands. Hands that understand what we've built here. What it means to the community."
"Dr. Mitchell?"
"I'm not asking you to decide anything today.
Hell, I'm probably two, maybe three years out from actually retiring.
" He leans forward. "But I wanted you to know—you and Rex should start thinking about it.
About what you'd want if you owned this place.
Because when the time comes, I'd want you two to have first shot at buying it. "
I can't breathe. Can't process. "You'd sell it to us?"
"If you want it. If you can swing the finances. If it makes sense for your life." He stands. "Just something to think about. Plant the seed now, let it grow. Talk to Rex. See what you both want."
After he leaves, I sit there for a long time, staring at the nameplate on my desk. Owning the clinic. Actually owning it.
My phone buzzes.
Rex: How's your day, baby?
I stare at the message, trying to figure out how to condense this conversation into a text.
Me: Dr. Mitchell just told me to start thinking about buying the clinic. Not now, but eventually. In a few years.
My phone rings.
"Tell me everything," Rex says without preamble, his voice that mix of commanding and concerned that still makes my stomach flip.
I do. Every word Dr. Mitchell said, the way he looked at me, the seed he planted about the future. When I finish, Rex is quiet for a moment. I can hear him thinking.
"What do you want?" he finally asks.
"I don't know. It's years away, and it's huge, and—"
"Daisy." His voice drops into that tone—the one that means stop deflecting and answer the question. "What do you want?"
I close my eyes. Take a breath. Think about what I actually want, not what seems reasonable or what everyone else might need.
"I want it. I want to build something that's ours.
Want to keep helping animals without destroying myself in the process.
Want to prove that I can run something important and still be. .. me."
"Then we start planning." No hesitation. Complete certainty. "I'll start looking at financing options, business models. We've got time to do this right."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." I can hear the smile in his voice. "You want it, we make it happen. That's what Daddies do."
My chest feels warm and full. "I love you."
"Love you too, baby girl. Now eat your lunch. I packed you extra protein, and I know you've been so busy you probably forgot."
I look at my desk—sure enough, there's the insulated lunch box I didn't notice before, sitting right where he must have placed it this morning when I was checking on the overnight boarders.
Inside: turkey and avocado sandwich on whole grain, apple slices, string cheese, trail mix, and a note written on the back of a receipt.
So proud of you. Eat everything. Check in by 2. - Daddy
I eat everything, texting him a photo of the empty containers at 1:47 PM.
Rex: Good girl. Knew you could do it.
The praise makes me glow for the rest of the afternoon. And tonight, I'm going to celebrate this possibility properly.
That night, the poker crew comes over for dinner. It's become a monthly tradition—rotating houses, partners included, more about the food and conversation than the actual card game.
John and Bunny arrive first, her carrying a container of fresh cookies that makes the whole entryway smell like vanilla and chocolate, him carrying her purse and both their coats because she claims "Daddies carry things."
"These are the maple walnut ones you like," Bunny says, pressing the container into my hands. "Made them this afternoon."
Marshall and Charlotte arrive next, her immediately beelining for the cookies. "Are those the maple ones? Bunny, you're an angel."
"Mason won't let me have sugar after eight PM anymore," she mock-complains.
"Because you get wired and can't sleep," Marshall says dryly, but there's affection in it. "Then you're exhausted the next day and try to work through lunch."
"One cookie won't hurt," Charlotte argues, already reaching for one.
Marshall intercepts her hand, redirects it to the veggie tray. "One cookie after dinner. If you eat real food first."
She pouts but accepts the carrot stick.
Garrett and Lily are last, her practically bouncing through the door in head-to-toe pink yoga gear that matches her personality perfectly. He's moving better than I've seen in years—no more of that careful, pained gait he had when they first met.
"Sorry we're late," Lily chirps. "We were finishing couples' yoga and lost track of time."
"You mean you were torturing me with warrior pose for twenty minutes," Garrett corrects, but his hand is gentle on her back, affectionate.
"It's good for your core," she sing-songs, completely unrepentant.
We settle in the living room with drinks—wine for most, craft beer for the men. Thor immediately makes his rounds, visiting each person for the mandatory head scratches and treats he knows they'll sneak him despite Rex's rules about feeding the dog people food.
"He's gained weight," Marshall observes as Thor plants himself in front of him with big, pleading eyes.
"Because you all spoil him," Rex says without heat.
"He's very convincing," Bunny defends, already slipping Thor a piece of cheese.
"He's a con artist in a fur coat," I add, watching as Thor moves on to Garrett, suddenly developing a limp—his old fake injury from when Rex used to bring him to the clinic for attention.
"Is he limping?" Lily asks, concerned.
"Only when he wants something," Rex says dryly. "Thor, knock it off."
Thor immediately stops limping, sits perfectly, and gives Rex his most innocent look. Everyone laughs.
"That dog is too smart for his own good," John says.
"That dog is why we're all here," Rex corrects, pulling me closer against his side on the couch. "If he hadn't been such a terrible actor, I might not have worked up the courage to actually talk to Daisy."
Thor wags his tail, clearly proud of himself, then settles at my feet with a contented sigh. Our two current foster cats—a bonded pair of seniors that Rex agreed to—watch from their perch on the cat tree with typical feline disdain for the dog's attention-seeking behavior.
"Tell them," Rex says once everyone's comfortable, his hand warm on my knee.
I do. The whole story about Dr. Mitchell's conversation, his retirement plans, the possibility of buying the clinic in a few years. By the time I finish, Bunny's actually bouncing in her seat.
"That's amazing!" She leans forward, sloshing her wine slightly. "You could own it!"
"Eventually. Maybe. If we can figure out the finances." I glance at Rex. "It's a lot to think about."
"We've got time to plan it right," Rex says, his hand warm on my knee. "Two or three years to save, strategize, make sure we're ready."
"That's what we're here for," Marshall says, his hand still on Charlotte's back in that constant, grounding way he has. "Making sure our girls don't drown in their own generosity."
Charlotte rolls her eyes fondly. "The library's tripled its programming since Mason started helping me say no to every single volunteer request that came through."
"You were teaching four story times a week and taking home work every night," Marshall reminds her.
"And now I teach two and actually enjoy them," she admits.
"The clinic's staff actually respects boundaries now," I add. "Because Rex taught me I'm allowed to have them. Jennifer doesn't call me at home anymore unless it's a real emergency. Mark doesn't expect me to stay late to keep him company. It's... better."
"Garrett made me raise my yoga prices," Lily says, tucking herself against his side. "I was charging fifteen dollars for hour-long classes because I felt bad asking for more."
"You're worth forty, minimum," Garrett says firmly. "And you're always booked now, so clearly I was right."