Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Olivia
When The Dream Is .
. . Not What You Expected
There’s something truly poetic about chasing a lifelong dream, uprooting your life for it, and instantly realizing you may have made a terrible mistake.
Like, soul-crushing, gut-churning, hyperventilating-in-the-parking-lot levels of regret.
However, let’s rewind.
This was meant to be the beginning of something wonderful.
I had everything planned out—acquire a charming old vet clinic in a quaint small town, win over the locals, and ultimately, finally, be my own boss.
Instead, I’m standing in my clinic, staring at a gurney with a missing wheel and a wall that may or may not be growing its own ecosystem.
It’s like my new house and this clinic are competing for the biggest disaster, and honestly, it’s too close to call.
A groan climbs up my throat, and I press both hands to my face.
“It’s fine, Liv,” I say out loud.
“Everything is fine.”
Except it’s not.
The air conditioning wheezes like it’s gasping for its last breath, the front desk computer is running on an operating system so ancient I wouldn’t be surprised if it were powered by a hamster on a wheel, and the retired vet who sold me this place conveniently forgot to mention that the entire back storage room floods whenever it rains.
So, yeah. Maybe I should’ve done a tiny bit more due diligence before signing my name on the dotted line.
But that’s not even the worst part.
The worst part is the giant, neon-flashing, doom-laden ticking clock hanging over my head.
Because if I don’t start pulling in clients soon, I won’t have a clinic to run.
I exhale sharply, running my hands through my hair.
“Okay. We can fix this. We just need a plan.”
I grab my clipboard of doom—an actual clipboard because I believe in lists, structure, and writing things down to avoid spiraling into existential dread.
TO-DO LIST:
? Get exam tables.
? Upgrade front desk system.
? Hire a part-time vet tech.
? Fix literally everything.
? Sell and beg for my old job back.
Okay, maybe that last one is an exaggeration.
But what if I can’t fix everything?
What if I spend all my time and money revamping this place only to have every pet owner in town still drive an hour away to the next clinic?
Because the good old veterinarian’s client list—the one I paid for—hasn’t been updated in five years.
And when I do have money, the first thing I’m doing is filing a lawsuit against that lying, cackling retiree.
But right now? Right now, I have bigger problems.
Like the very minor issue of money.
Which I do not have.
And the equally minor—but far more aggravating—issue of owing money to my ridiculously smug, insufferable, obnoxiously attractive neighbor.
Who, in a feat of absolute audacity, paid for a brand-new fence two days ago without consulting me first. I wasn’t even home to object.
Right on cue, my phone buzzes.
Lucian.
I scowl at the screen, already bracing myself for whatever nonsense he’s about to hit me with.
This guy is . . . I don’t even know yet, but he’s everywhere.
He moves through life like a walking live wire—unpredictable, always buzzing with something.
And he likes attention.
No, he thrives on it.
Maybe it’s some middle-child syndrome thing.
Or perhaps it’s just a deeply ingrained need for admiration that makes him so fucking arrogant.
Lucian: Are you alive?
Olivia: Barely. Why?
Lucian: Because I drove past your clinic, and you were outside staring at it as if you have lost all hope.
Olivia: I probably have.
Lucian: Should I be concerned?
Olivia: Only if you care about local businesses failing before they reopen its doors.
Lucian: Well, that’s dramatic.
Olivia: You know what’s dramatic?
Owning a clinic where my only client today was a woman who came in to ask if I could take her ex-husband’s dog out of spite.
Lucian: . . . did you do it?
Olivia: No, obviously.
I told her we were closed for renovations.
Lucian: A missed opportunity.
You should’ve charged double.
I let out a strangled laugh before stopping myself.
No, you don’t laugh at his nonsense jokes.
Then I write in my to-do list: No laughing.
No enjoying Lucian Crawford’s insufferable humor.
No humoring him, like ever.
If I do, madness will follow me, and I don’t have time for that.
I glance at the time and groan.
I need caffeine. Now.
Olivia: I’m going to get coffee.
If Sarah follows me, I take no responsibility.
Lucian: First of all, Sarah is in the car with me.
She wouldn’t and couldn’t follow you.
Second . . . taking my dog is dog-napping.
Olivia: She’s the one doing the napping.
I’m just facilitating her best life.
I tuck my phone away before I can see his response and grab my purse, locking the door behind me.
I just need coffee. That’s it.
Nothing more.
Nothing in the world can’t be fixed—or at least temporarily numbed—by an iced vanilla latte and a ridiculously large berry-yogurt muffin.
I exhale, finally starting to feel human again.
Sarah is curled up under my table, blissfully snoozing like she didn’t just ditch Lucian without a second thought.
Okay, fine—she technically didn’t ditch him.
He’s sitting right across from me, nursing .
. . water.
Who walks into a coffee shop and just drinks water?
Lucian Crawford, apparently.
He’s that bold.
It’s not even that he didn’t buy anything—he’s the one who paid for my coffee and muffin.
I should be grateful, but all I can think about is .
. . what does he want from me?
Because in my world, no one acts solely out of the kindness of their heart.
Perhaps that makes me a bit jaded, but can you blame me?
Nothing has ever come free to me.
Even when I do pay, I end up with a moldy animal clinic and a house that looks like it belongs in a haunted real estate listing.
I should’ve realized that beneath the old furniture and frames, there were many more issues than just the need for a lick of paint.
Lucian takes a slow sip of his very unnecessary water before casually saying, “So let me get this straight—you’ve been painting your clinic all week . . . in scrubs?”
I frown.
“What?”
He gestures vaguely at me.
“I’ve seen you come and go at least twice in scrubs that look like they lost a fight with a laundry basket.” He scratches his chin.
“What’s up with that, Doc?”
Oh, this guy.
It’s like he has to know everything.
Everything.
“Those days I was at the shelter.” I break off a piece of muffin and fidget with it while considering my response.
It seems rather silly to work elsewhere when your clinic is in desperate need of attention.
In my defense, I had already agreed to cover some shifts before realizing how much work I would have to put into my new business.
“I volunteer when I can. Giving back to the community and all that.”
Lucian leans back, assessing me like I just revealed that I moonlight as a superhero.
“So, on top of running a barely functioning clinic, you’re also working for free?” He exhales dramatically.
“And you’re personally overseeing all the renovations?”
“Yes, Lucian,” I reply, suppressing a sigh.
“Because some of us don’t earn millions by throwing a ball around.”
He ignores my dig, because he hates it when people think he’s a quarterback—he’s not.
He doesn’t just look pretty on the field like his older brother, at least that’s what he says.
“Why not just hire someone to do the work, Liv? It’d be faster.”
I blink at him.
“Wow. That never occurred to me. Maybe it’s because my bank account is teetering dangerously close to single digits?”
Lucian taps his fingers against the table as if he’s genuinely contemplating my financial ruin, which is both unsettling and unnecessary.
“I’ll loan you the money,” he offers.
I nearly choke on my coffee.
“No, thank you,” I say firmly.
“You’re a stranger, and I don’t believe in loans.”
He frowns like I just confessed to kicking puppies.
“That’s . . . everyone needs a loan from time to time.”
I arch a brow.
“Do you?”
Lucian smirks.
“No. But I could if I wanted to.”
I groan, rubbing my temples.
“That’s not how loans work.”
“Sure it is.” He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a fascinating puzzle he has to solve.
“So, what—you just don’t trust people?”
“Oh, I trust people,” I say sweetly.
“To disappoint me.”
He whistles low under his breath.
“Damn, Doc. Who hurt you?”
I break another piece of my muffin with perhaps a little more force than necessary.
“Life, Lucian. Life hurt me.”
He grins, utterly delighted by my suffering.
“Good thing I’m here to restore your faith in humanity.”
I stare at him for a long moment.
If I wasn’t enjoying this amazing muffin, I would simply stand up and take Sarah with me.
Maybe we would go somewhere we can talk to someone less annoying, like a tax collector or an aggressive door-to-door salesman.
Lucian sighs, dragging a hand through his hair like I’m the one being difficult.
“Fine. I won’t loan you the money. I’ll just offer you some of my handy skills.”
I arch a brow, crossing my arms. “Is this some kind of euphemism?”
His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he leans a little close, crowding me just enough to make my pulse stutter.
“Depends. You ever been truly satisfied by a man’s hands before?”
My throat goes dry.
“I—what?”
Lucian smirks, his voice dropping to a slow, low tone .
. . so husky I’m almost bursting with need.
“Because I’ve got a reputation, you know. Precision. Strength. Stamina.” He flexes his fingers, watching me like he’s savoring every second of my flustered reaction.
“I know exactly how to handle every inch. How to make sure every stroke is just right. Never rush the job. Always make sure you’re completely satisfied.”
Heat creeps up my neck.
My brain short-circuits.
My mouth works, but no sound comes out.
Lucian grins, leaning even closer as if he’s about to deliver the final blow.
“So, what do you say? Want me to come over and—” his voice dips low, almost a growl, “—paint your walls?”
I shove his shoulder, face flaming.
“Oh my God. You’re the worst.”
He chuckles, completely unbothered.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes, Luc. I need you to paint my walls and add some magic with your hands.’”
“I so don’t sound like that.”
He taps his ears twice.
“In my ears, you do, sweetheart. In my ears, you sound just the way I like, and those moans. They’re music to my ears.”
“Have I mentioned you’re infuriating?”
“A few times, but I believe it means ‘I’m so happy we met. This is going to be the best friendship ever.’”
If I didn’t need help, I would ditch him right now.
Not that he would leave.
Somehow, he keeps appearing no matter what I do.
The question is, what’s his motive?
It’s not like I can give him anything.
Seriously, I have nothing to give in return.
He should just walk away.