1. Felicity “Flick” Patel #2
Before I can process any of this—assistant? the ferret is an assistant?—the door to the back swings open with enough force to rattle the picture frames on the wall.
And I forget how to breathe.
A man emerges carrying two rabbits like they’re perfectly normal accessories, one under each arm.
The ferret—Gerald, apparently—immediately races up his leg, over his shoulder and settles around his neck like the world’s most unusual scarf.
But it’s not the ferret-wearing or the rabbit-juggling that stops me cold.
It’s the man himself. Damn. Mr. Hottie-Vet is totally droolworthy.
Dark hair that’s slightly mussed like he’s been running his hands through it.
Strong jaw with just enough stubble to look rugged rather than unkempt.
Blue eyes that seem to take in the entire chaotic scene with a combination of amusement and fond exasperation.
He’s wearing scrubs that should make him look medical and professional but instead just emphasize broad shoulders and. ..
Okay, Flick. Stop ogling the veterinarian.
“Gerald, we’ve talked about this. Stealing is wrong, even if the keys are shiny.
” He plucks the keys from the ferret’s mouth and tosses them back to their owner with the kind of casual accuracy that suggests this is a regular occurrence.
“Sorry about that, Mrs. Lattimer. He’s got a magpie complex.
Last week it was Mr. Paxton’s hearing aid. ”
His gaze sweeps the waiting room like a general surveying troops.
“Okay, let’s see. Beaumont, stop trying to overthrow the government.
” He addresses the parrot, who squawks indignantly.
“Titan, all four paws on the floor, buddy.” The Great Dane immediately sits.
“And someone please catch the flying Wallendas before they discover the bird cage.”
Two vet techs materialize from the back to wrangle the racing cats while Sebastian—Dr. Blum—deposits the rabbits into a pen that I hadn’t even noticed before. The whole thing takes maybe thirty seconds, and order is more or less restored.
Well, except for my heart rate, which is doing something medically inadvisable.
Hannah wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, she undersold it. This isn’t just attractive—this is romance novel cover model who decided to become a veterinarian for fun. This is every terrible romantic comedy where the heroine meets the perfect guy while looking her absolute worst.
Which reminds me—I definitely have kitten pee on my shirt. I can feel the wetness settling against my skin. Gross.
His eyes finally land on me, and something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe? Or interest? The kitten chooses that moment to meow loudly from inside my jacket and I unzip it a little and see a tiny gray head pop out.
“Let me guess,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not a typical morning for you?”
“How could you tell?” I manage, trying to sound normal and not like my brain just short-circuited.
Gerald chatters from his shoulder perch, tiny black eyes studying me with unnerving intelligence.
“Call it a hunch. That, and you have the shell-shocked look most people get when they first visit during morning hours. It’s usually calmer in the afternoons.
” He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne—something woodsy with a hint of vanilla that absolutely should not smell as good as it does mixed with eau de veterinary clinic. “I’m Dr. Blum. How can I help you?”
This is it. This is the moment where I act like a normal, functional adult who definitely didn’t practice pickup lines in college and definitely doesn’t still remember them.
“Hi, Dr. Hot—Dr. Blum.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Shit. Did I really just call him Dr. Hot?
To his face? In front of witnesses? The parrot is probably going to start repeating it.
I’ll have to move off the island. Change my name.
Start a new life selling insurance in Nebraska.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes crinkle with suppressed laughter. “I’ve been called worse. Usually by Beaumont there.” He nods toward the parrot, who squawks what sounds suspiciously like “QUACK DOCTOR!”
“He’s got opinions,” Dr. Blum—Sebastian—continues easily, like I haven’t just made the most mortifying Freudian slip in the history of veterinary medicine. “And you’ve got a kitten there.” Nodding to my chest where the kitten is still nestled in my jacket.
“Huh? Oh...yes.” I stammer out. Somehow, I forgot what I was holding. “It peed on me.” I can feel my face flushing as he chuckles lightly.
What in the world is wrong with me? It’s like I suddenly forgot how to carry on a conversation. Real smooth, Flick.
Reaching up to pat Gerlad, his eyes quickly scan me and I can’t help wondering what he sees. “Seems it’s been a rough morning for both of you. Let’s get you cleaned up and take a look at this little one.”
He gestures toward a door marked Exam Room 2, and I follow on legs that feel like overcooked spaghetti, clutching the kitten like a lifeline. Behind us, I hear Rach mutter to another tech, “Did she just call him Dr. Hot?”
“Yep.”
“About time someone did.”
Kill me. Kill me now.