4. Sage
While Eloise heads out to run a few errands, I take Winnie to the kitchen for her breakfast. When my always-hungry dog refuses to eat, I start to worry something is wrong with her.
By midafternoon, I’m sure she’s really sick so I Google emergency vets in the area. Lucky for me, there’s one right up the road, so I pack up Winnie and rush out.
The vet clinic has a waiting room full of concerned pet parents, and I'm breathless at the counter, trying to explain how my dog is basically at death's door.
The woman taking forms is oblivious, indifferent, working through a paper pile that's swallowed the right side of the desk. Behind me, the pet parents waiting in their vinyl seats cast practiced looks of empathy and superiority like they can't decide if they feel worse for me or my unfortunate animal. Winnie lays it on thick, slumping into a heap of misery on the counter. Either she’s got one foot in the grave or she's giving Oscar-worthy work.
"Did you fill out the emergency intake?" The receptionist finally looks up, giving me about two seconds of eye contact before glancing at her watch. It's probably synced with the phones of the five people sitting around us, and none of them are about to croak.
"She's very sick," I say, shoving my paperwork into her uncaring hands. "It was sudden. She stopped eating. Laying around, listless. She's usually the best girl in the world and now..." I gesture to the furry ball of drama beside me.
She nods with a precision that's probably clocked too. "Someone will be with you as soon as they can."
The counter creaks as I sink into it. Don't they understand this is a crisis? Winnie moans and gives a delicate tremble, pulling attention her way. My poor baby is dying and this woman doesn’t care.
When the tech finally comes out, she’s holding a clipboard instead of a gurney, but at least she’s calling our name. I give the room one last look, broadcasting my concern to anyone still watching, and gather Winnie into my arms .
In the exam room, my panic ratchets up. I lean toward the technician as she examines her chart. "How long will it be?" I ask. I'm like one of the kids at the end of the school day, hopping from one foot to the other, desperate for the next thing to happen.
"It depends." She's not encouraging. She's also not impressed with the shivering mess that is my dog. “The vet will be in soon.”
After she steps out, I distract myself by thinking about Ian Hot. The man radiates cool confidence, which is why I can barely string two words together when he’s within fifty feet. Yesterday, he strolled into my classroom for Career Day in full firefighter gear, leaving me the most breathless I’d ever been in front of a bunch of eight-year-olds.
A full thirty agonizing minutes later, the vet pushes open the door, Winnie's tiny tail wagging furiously ahead of him. "Winnie?" he asks, flipping through some notes.
"Yes!" I say, louder than I mean to.
He slowly examines Winnie, and my little shit eats up the attention.
Before my eyes, the little faker goes from near death to perky and enjoying the attention. The vet looks up and regards me with a look of professional patience. "I can’t find anything wrong with her. She’s perfectly healthy. "
"But she’s acting so weird!"
"Her vitals are fine and her examination looks great. Probably just anxiety. Sometimes they feed off their owner's stress."
"I can’t believe she did this." I'm full-on backpedaling, knowing I need to take this as a win and get the hell out. I clutch my furry traitor to my chest and manage a polite thank you before retreating to pay my huge bill.
I fumble with Winnie's harness, nearly drop my wallet, and trip over my own bag on my way out. The fluorescent lights flicker as I push the door open, escaping the sympathetic eyes of everyone who knew my dog was faking all along.
In the car, I wait for my face to go back to its normal shade. I point the A/C vent at Winnie, hoping it improves her mood. "I’m going to be living on hot dogs and macaroni and cheese to pay for this little stunt," I tell her, replaying the scene in my head.
I let out a long sigh and find myself thinking about Ian again as I drive, contemplating the universe's little tests. I switch lanes and glance at my shaggy passenger. “We need some exercise.”
Deciding a walk in the park will do us both good, I drive past my apartment complex without stopping. Winnie gives a satisfied squeak, probably already planning her next little scheme .
The door of the car barely clicks shut before Winnie is pulling like she’s in the Iditarod. She's towing me past neatly trimmed hedges, down the sidewalk, all two pounds of her working the leash like a sled dog with a death wish.
When I pick her up, she snorts at me, defiant, tiny feet dangling and impatient. "Fine," I say, putting her down and trotting to keep up as we rush down the path. The sky is a pure and brilliant blue, and the warm air feels like we were meant for it, both of us soaking in the color and sunlight after hours in the clinic’s dull fluorescence.
Winnie's tail waves like a banner. She zigs and zags us past benches where moms and dads push strollers and snap photos of juice-stained toddlers. I'm grateful for the anonymity of my sunglasses, ducking behind them when I catch the eye of anyone who might know me.
Winnie's charging forward, and I take a shortcut across the grass. It's dotted with kids in swimsuits running through sprinklers, teenagers kicking soccer balls, and the occasional determined exerciser sweating it out. Riverbend Ridge’s finest, living their carefree weekend lives while I'm reliving my idiot moment from earlier. I almost pull Winnie back to make a quick exit, but then I see him.
Ian Too Freaking Hot in the flesh .
The universe does have a plan. It's called tormenting me at every turn.
He's on the opposite side of the field, about as close as we got in conversation last time we met. His hair's a little mussed like he didn't bother taming it after a shower, and he's not wearing a hat, which is unfortunate because it would have blocked out how handsome his face is. Instead, it reveals a slightly bewildered expression as he wrestles with two leashes.
I move closer, less because of him and more because of the wiry dachshund and portly pig hog-tying his legs.
I'm in range now, near enough that he's got to see me, but too far to pretend it doesn’t matter. I slow to a near crawl, digging my heels in to steady myself against Winnie's dragging and my own cowardice.
Then, before I know it, Ian looks up, right into my eyes. His hair flops over his eyes as the dachshund takes another circle, and I can't help laughing at his predicament. It's the pig that saves him. With a noise like a truck backing up, it plants its butt and stops the mess cold.
He finally untangles himself and starts over, towing the adorable animals. Winnie's dancing on her hind legs by the time he's in talking distance. "Fancy meeting you here," he calls. He's got that smile, the one that makes it impossible for me to respond without embarrassing myself .
"We were just out for a walk on our way back from the vet. I was late with her dinner last night, so I had a lot of making up to do," I blurt out, my words tumbling out faster than I can control as if pulled by an invisible force of attraction.
“Vet?” Concern flickers in his eyes, a magnetic pull as he looks down at Winnie, drawing me closer with its intensity.
“Winnie decided I needed a heart attack today,” I say, rolling my eyes but feeling the warmth of our connection ignite. “The little faker.”
His laughter is a soft rumble that sends a thrill through me, a spark dancing in the space between us. “I’m glad it was nothing serious.”
“It was nothing at all,” I grumble, though my gaze lingers on him, the air crackling with unspoken words. I nod toward the dog and pot-belly pig weaving around his legs. “Who are these guys?”
"This is Pork,” Ian points at the slightly overweight Dachshund, “and this is Beans," he then gestures to the black pot belly pig, our eyes meeting in a charged moment.
"They’re adorable." I chuckle, leaning down to give each of the animals a little scratch under the chin, my movements slow and deliberate, as Winnie sniffs them suspiciously. “And they have the perfect names.” Our laughter mingles, creating a shimmering current that binds us together.
“They came with those names.” He seems just as tongue-tied as I am. “A few years ago, my mom fostered them when their elderly owner died. My oldest brother, Beckett, fell in love with them, and the rest is history.”
When he steps close to me, Winnie chooses this moment to announce herself in her shrillest voice, which also happens to be her normal one. Ian jumps like he's the one who just got checked out.
"She’s definitely a little diva," he says, rubbing his ear.
She starts another round of howling, and I pick her up. Ian grins down at us, and I feel the crazy urge to drop everything and kiss him.
To control my urges, I bounce Winnie like the baby I always say she is, and the chaos around us reaches a nice level of cute. Beans grunts, Ian chuckles, Pork jumps, Winnie screeches, and I feel right at home. Just like the chaos of my third-grade classroom.
My stomach suddenly decides to cut in and growls loud enough to be heard above all the chaos.
"Would you like to grab lunch while these guys play?" Ian asks, pointing at the hot dog vendor in the parking lot .
“I’d love to,” I agree before I’m able to talk myself out of it.
He gives me the kind of look that turns my insides to goo. "Great."
There's nothing else to do but fall in step beside him and see where this goes.