Chapter 13
Willow
Handling an emergency
First crush
A flock of geese honked as they passed overhead, and a few monarch butterflies flitted over wildflowers lining someone’s front walk.
I’d never known my grandfather—he’d died when I was a toddler, but Cruz always described the natural beauty of Iowa when he’d spent time with our grandparents as a kid, and I slowed down to look around and take it in.
Gus momentarily pulled me until he caught on to the new pace.
He really was the best trained dog. Deacon had said he’d considered training Cupcake the same way, but he’d fallen for her “fuck it is the new hustle” attitude.
It was cute to see him doting over her. His soft side always surprised me, like the way his smile got a little wider when he told me about spending time with the neighbor kid.
Deacon had a way of always somehow surprising me.
There was red paint on my fingernails from the last touch-up I’d done that morning.
I hoped to show off the finished room, but inviting him to check out my bedroom sounded like something Zoe would encourage me to do.
The memory of painting and sharing dinner with Deacon, especially of how it felt to practice getting ready for a kiss with him, had been distracting me for three days.
I’d promised him I’d bake for him next time as a thank-you for the help.
Gus gave a single tug on his leash and looked at me expectantly, as if I’d forgotten we were on our way to the park.
Willow: You up?
The dots bounced, showing an incoming reply, and I glanced up to see Gus sniffing around a tree.
Cruz: Please never send me that message again.
Willow: It’s not like I asked what you were wearing.
Cruz: I should have been an only child.
Cruz: Everything okay?
Willow: All good. You?
Cruz: Quiet now.
I called out to Gus and then snapped a photo of his face before he returned to the base of the tree. His ears were perked up, tongue lolling out of his mouth. I sent it to Cruz.
Willow: I’m taking good care of your boy.
Willow: Could you send me Mom’s cookie recipe? I want to make them for Deacon as a thank-you.
Cruz never wrote down the recipe. He’d just tap his temple and tell me it’s where all the good secrets were, but I always craved chocolate chip cookies when I missed him or missed her. I liked the idea of sharing them with Deacon.
Cruz: Thank him for what?
Willow: He helped me paint your house. Color on the walls!
Cruz: Send pics—I want to see!
Cruz: Do NOT send pics after asking “You up?” again, though. I cannot stress this enough.
Willow: I know. I know. You only want those kinds of photos from Zoe or G!
He’d been seeing this guy on and off for a couple years, but he never told me much about his love life.
I’m not sure I would have even known that he was interested in men at all were it not for a night we got fall-down drunk on what would have been Mom’s birthday and he told me how hard it was to keep part of himself from the guys and how Deacon was the only one who knew.
Cruz: No more G—don’t ask.
Willow: No! You were so into them. What happened?
Cruz: I literally just said don’t ask (but I’m fine).
There was a symmetry I didn’t love in both our relationships ending this year, but my brother would never admit to wanting comforting or even an emoji hug, so I wasn’t surprised when he changed the subject.
Cruz: And I politely declined Zoe’s offer.
Cruz: Tell her the attempt at patriotism is appreciated, though.
I chuckled and sat on a bench, releasing the tethered lock on the leash so Gus could wander relatively freely in the park. I sent back the saluting emoji and waited. I wanted to ask about G, but I had no idea who Cruz was around, so I let it drop for now.
Cruz: There’s a stack of boxes from Mom’s place in the basement. Recipe book is in one of them.
Cruz: Haven’t gotten around to going through them yet.
Willow: Want me to?
Cruz: Sure. Most of it’s probably junk.
Willow: On it. I love you.
Cruz: Love you, too.
Cruz: And Gus is adept at finding trouble in that park. Watch out.
Willow: I don’t believe that. It’s like you put him through basic training. He’s more of a rule follower than you.
Cruz: I’m telling you, keep an eye on him.
My head snapped up as I heard a yelp from Gus. I shoved the phone in my pocket, running toward him. I stopped short at the sight of a whining, large-eyed Gus, his mouth and snout covered in spiky quills.
“Oh, shit,” I said, approaching and searching for what had stuck him, only to see what looked like a porcupine scampering away.
I didn’t even know they had those here. Gus whined, and when my hand neared his face, he yelped and I jumped back.
“No. No. No,” I said to myself. “Please let me help you, boy.” How could I have broken Cruz’s perfect dog?
And despite being pre-vet in college and doing years of undergraduate research with an animal science professor, my knowledge about immunodeficiency in cattle was not helpful here.
“Best not to touch them,” a low voice from behind me said, approaching slowly. I turned to see a tall figure with glasses and the jawline of a Greek god approaching—what was it with all these hot men in Des Moines, Iowa? I’d never seen such a steady stream of drool-worthy guys in one stretch.
“It just happened,” I said, my focus returning to Gus. “He won’t let me near him.”
He held out his hand to me. “I’m Theo.” He smiled and looked kind and sweet, and then he spoke to Gus and my heart melted a little at how he coaxed the dog forward. “Who do we have here?”
“Willow,” I said.
“How’d you get into so much trouble, Willow?” He held out his hand for Gus to sniff as he visually inspected all the quills.
“Oh, no, I’m Willow,” I said. “Obviously, you wanted the dog’s name. This is Gus. Gus the dog. Willow the human. I shed less.” The human who needed a muzzle to stop her from saying stupid things.
“Well, Gus, you’re going to be okay.” He shifted his smile to me.
“And Willow the human who sheds less, if you don’t mind some company, I’m a veterinarian.
” He pointed to the clinic insignia on his jacket.
“I would be happy to help.” He looked back to Gus, petting and inspecting his paw for quills before cutting his gaze back to me.
Was he flirting with me or was I just so out of practice that dog examination could be mistaken for flirting?
“I’d love company,” I said. “I mean, the assist. I didn’t know who to call. Is he in a lot of pain?”
“I imagine so,” he said, checking Gus’s body over more thoroughly. “And I’m happy to help. No need to call anyone else.” He gently set Gus’s paw back down.
“Um, yeah.” And I was three for three on intelligent comebacks.
“Let’s get Gus taken care of.” He lured Gus forward, and I followed, still grasping the leash. “And after he’s patched up, you can get my number so if you need someone to call later, you can call me.”