2. Sebastian Blum
Sebastian Blum
“Right in here.” I hold the door open fo the woman and her kitten motioning for her to precede me. “I’m Dr. Blum. Sebastian.” Shit. Did I already introduce myself? I can’t seem to remember; like I can’t stop my eyes from roaming over her again as she passes by, her shoulder brushing my chest.
A charge from that brief contact rushes through me and I catch my breath.
I can’t believe I’ve never seen this woman before, and I know I would have remembered if I had.
Her beautiful hazel eyes and the way the color shifts from green to gold in the fluorescent lights.
Or how she smells like strawberries and rain despite being covered in kitten pee.
Or how the embarrassed flush on her cheeks makes her even prettier than the composed woman who walked in five minutes ago.
Dr. Hot.
I’m never going to live that down. Rach will have it on a name tag by lunch. Beaumont will probably learn to say it.
As she walks past me into the exam room, I catch myself checking for a wedding ring. Nothing. Not that it matters. I don’t date clients. It’s unprofessional and complicated and?—
“You introduced yourself out front.” She smiles and unzips her jacket completely, revealing the kitten. “I’m Flick Patel.”
“Flick,” I repeat, just to make sure I got it right. “Nice to meet you.”
“Is that... normal?” She points at Gerald, who’s rearranging himself on my shoulders for optimal mischief positioning.
“Gerald? He’s my assistant today. Better with small animals than I am, honestly.” I scratch the ferret’s head, grateful for the distraction from my wildly inappropriate thoughts. “Fair warning—he’s a pickpocket. But he usually returns things. Eventually.”
“Good to know.” She smiles, and I notice she has a dimple on her left cheek. Just one. “I’ll guard my wallet.”
“Oh, he’s not interested in money. Gerald’s tastes run more toward shiny things and anything that smells like food.
” I close the door behind us, sealing out the chaos of the waiting room.
“Last week he stole Mrs. Desmond’s sandwich right out of her hand.
Still haven’t figured out where he hid the pickles. ”
She laughs, the sound bright and genuine despite her obvious stress. The kitten meows in her hand indignantly at the sudden disturbance of being jostled.
“Let’s see what we have here.” I gently take the kitten from her, our fingers brushing in the transfer. It’s nothing. Just incidental contact. Happens a dozen times a day with clients.
So why does it feel like static electricity racing up my arm?
Get it together, Blum. You’re a professional. A thirty-five-year-old veterinarian, not a teenager with a crush.
“You’re welcome to wash your hands while I look at her,” I nod to the sink in the corner.
“Thanks.” She gives me a grateful smile before walking over to do just that, and I can’t help my eyes straying to her retreating form as she turns away.
Hearing the water shut off shakes me out of my daze, and I return my attention to the reason Flick’s here. The kitten squirming in my hands. The little thing hisses at me as I tighten my hold so it can’t wiggle away, and I carry it over to the table for a quick exam.
The kitten is in worse shape than I expected. Female, maybe six weeks old, definitely separated from mom too early. Dehydration, fleas, some bites look infected.
“Oh, sweet girl,” I murmur, examining her with gentle hands. She hisses again weakly, all fury and no force. “You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?”
“I found her under a bush by the docks,” Flick explains when she steps up to the other side of the exam table. “She was just crying and shaking. I couldn’t leave her there.”
“Lucky you came along.” I set the kitten on the exam table, where she immediately rushes back to Flick and tries to hide in her jacket. Gerald chatters at her, apparently offering comfort or possibly to aid in her escape. “Definitely too young to be on her own. Maybe six weeks old?”
“Is that bad?”
“Not ideal, but she’ll be okay with some TLC.
” I look up at Flick, and momentarily forget what I was going to say next.
She’s watching me work with such focused attention, those hazel eyes tracking every movement.
There’s something endearing about the way she’s nibbling her bottom lip, clearly worried about a kitten she just met.
Gerald saves me from my temporary brain freeze by trying to steal my stethoscope.
“Gerald, no. We’ve discussed this. Medical equipment is not toys.” I untangle him from the tubing. “Sorry about him. He’s usually better behaved. I think he’s showing off.”
“For the kitten?”
“For you, actually. He’s got a weakness for pretty women.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Flick’s eyes widen slightly, and I feel heat creep up my neck. Did I just call a client pretty to her face? What is wrong with me today?
“I mean—he likes everyone. Very social. Ferrets. They’re... social.” Stop talking, Sebastian. Stop talking right now.
Trying to re-shift my focus back on the task at hand, I reach for the kitten before she can complete her escape.
She hisses and spits at me in all her fierceness as I wrap her up in a small towel, noticing how she looks like a very annoyed burrito.
Gerald has relocated to the counter, where he’s sorting cotton balls by size—a weird habit he picked up from watching me organize supplies.
“He likes to help,” I explain, catching her stare.
“I see.”
“So here’s the situation. She needs medication for the fleas and those infections, plus she’s malnourished and dehydrated. But with some good food and care, she’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I’m not keeping her,” Flick says quickly. “I just found her. I thought maybe the shelter...?”
The hope in her voice makes what I have to say next even harder. “The island shelter is full. Has been for weeks.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “What about the mainland shelter?”
I hesitate. No one wants to hear this part. “They’re pretty overwhelmed too. And they’re not a no-kill shelter.”
“So if I take her there...”
“She’s young and adoptable. She’d probably be fine.” Probably. Maybe. The statistics aren’t great, but I don’t need to share that. “I could make some calls, see if any of the rescue groups have space?”
She looks at the kitten, who chooses that moment to yawn, showing tiny needle teeth and a pink tongue no bigger than a pencil eraser. I watch Flick’s expression soften, and I know that look. I’ve seen it a thousand times. It’s the look of someone who’s already attached but doesn’t know it yet.
“That’d be great. I... I don’t know anything about cats,” she says weakly. “I work constantly. I live alone. I travel for yarn shows.”
“Cats are easy to care for,” I offer. “They tell you when they need things. Loudly. At three in the morning.”
She laughs, but it’s strained. “That’s not really selling it.”
“How about a trial run?” The suggestion comes out before I can think it through. “Take her for a few days. See how it goes. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll personally help find her a good home.”
“You’d do that?”
I would do a lot more than that, apparently, because the next words out of my mouth are: “Sure. Occupational hazard—I’m a sucker for animals in need.
” I pause, then add, because apparently I have no self-control today: “Plus, it would give me an excuse to check on her. Medical follow-up to see how it’s going. ”
“I don’t have any cat stuff,” Flick says, but I can see her weakening. The kitten has started purring, a tiny rumble that sounds more like a bee than a cat.
“I’ll send you home with a few things for tonight.
We’ve got sample packets of food and I’ll throw in a litter box and a few toys.
” I check the calendar on the wall, my plan forming even as I speak.
“Then tomorrow I can drop by some more stuff, if that’d be okay?
I’d do it tonight, but I have a shift at the emergency clinic after the office closes. ”
Her eyebrows rise. “Wow, you stay busy. That’s a lot of extra work for you.”
“I don’t mind. I want to make sure you have what you need for this kitten to be well taken care of. And to give you a chance and see if things will work out.”
Also—not that I’ll be telling her this—I’d like to see Flick again.
“That’s really nice of you, but?—”
“Unless that’s too weird for you. I can arrange for some things to be left at the front desk and you could swing by, if you’d rather. I can understand why some people might not want veterinarians making house calls to deliver cat supplies to complete strangers who called them hot.”
Her face flames red again. “I’m so sorry about that. My friend Hannah said—I mean, she mentioned—Oh God, please stop me before I make this worse.”
I grin, suddenly feeling more relaxed than I have in months. “Hannah with the anxious golden retriever?”
“That’s her.”
“She’s great. Barkley, however, is a menace. Ate one of my shoelaces last visit.” I start pulling supplies from cabinets, Gerald watching with interest. “And for what it’s worth, Hannah called me ‘aggressively single’ last time she was here, so I think she’s trying to set us up.”
“That sounds like Hannah,” Flick mutters, and I catch her giving me a quick once-over when she thinks I’m not looking. The appreciation in her gaze makes my pulse kick up a notch.
“So, can I get your address so I know where to drop off the rest of the supplies?” I grab a pen and small notepad, waiting.
“Oh, right. I’m not far away actually. I live in the condos off Rosemary. Unit 1C.”
Nodding, I make a quick note of her address, starting to wonder again how I’ve never seen her around–then decide to just ask. Hopefully, Flick won’t think I’m being intrusive in any way. “I can’t believe I’ve not seen you around before.”
“Well, unless you’ve been to Knit Happens you probably wouldn’t have seen me.”
“Ah, no. I can’t say I’ve been there. That’s Hannah’s shop, right? I believe she’s mentioned it before.”