2. Sebastian Blum #2
“Yep. That’s right. I work there part-time a few days a week, helping her out and if I’m not there, I’m working from home. I have my own yarn-dying business and make some how-to videos.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.” I dig in the cabinet for a bag. “So, you’re some kind of internet celebrity?”
Flick shakes her head reaching for the kitten. “Hardly a celebrity. I just have a small business and make some videos.” Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it with a slight frown before putting it away. “Actually, small might be generous. Microscopic business.”
“Hey, we all start somewhere. I opened this practice five years ago with three clients and a ferret who kept stealing their credit cards.” I pile supplies into a bag with the clinic’s logo. “Speaking of which—Gerald, drop it.”
The ferret reluctantly releases a pen he’d been hoarding.
“So,” I continue, adding my cell number on the notepad paper, trying to keep my voice casual, “I’ll stop by after work tomorrow and I promise not to bring Gerald. Mostly because he’s already planning to rob you blind, I can tell.”
Gerald chatters indignantly.
She hesitates, and I see the moment she decides. “That would be really nice. Thank you.”
She takes the paper from my hand, glancing at the numbers. “Is this the main office here or an after-hours number?”
“Actually,” I clear my throat suddenly feeling nervous, “it’s my personal cell. I want to make sure you have what you need if you have any problems.”
Flick’s eyes jump to mine and widen slightly in surprise. I don’t blame her. It’s not like I go around giving out my personal number frequently. But with Flick, there’s something special there, I can tell, and I want to make sure she can reach me for any reason.
“You, um, you give your cell to all your clients?” She smiles sweetly, a slight blush staining her cheeks.
“Only the ones who find kittens and call me hot.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. Flick laughs, and I immediately backtrack: “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional. I’m not usually—Gerald, help me out here.”
The ferret ignores me, too busy trying to steal a tongue depressor.
“It’s fine,” Flick says, still smiling. “I’m not usually the type to blurt out embarrassing things to veterinarians either. Must be the day for firsts.”
“Good firsts, I hope?”
Our eyes meet and hold for a moment that stretches just a beat too long. The kitten breaks the spell when she rushes Flick and jumps on her arm, then starts climbing.
“Hey,” Flick tells it. “Stop, you…”
“She might need a name,” I chuckle.
“Yeah, I guess I need to call her something. So, I’ll call her…” She plucks the kitten from her shoulder and looks it in the eye. “Cat.”
“I can’t think of anything more fitting.”
“I should give you my number too, in case something comes up,” She offers and reaches for the pen and notepad, quickly jotting down her cell. “I should let you get back to your circus,” she says, gathering Cat and the supplies.
“Right. Beaumont probably has the whole waiting room organized into a poultry revolution by now.” I walk her back out to the front, Gerald draped over my shoulders, reluctant to let this end. “See you tomorrow?”
“Sure. See you tomorrow.”
I watch her walk through the waiting room, where Beaumont is indeed leading some sort of bird uprising from atop his carrier. She pauses at the front desk, and I hear her ask Rach, “He single?”
“Honey, he’s so single his ferret has started setting him up on dates,” Rach replies without missing a beat. “You interested?”
I should probably be embarrassed by this conversation happening ten feet away from me, but I find myself straining to hear Flick’s response.
“I—no. Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t dated in... a while.”
“Well, he hasn’t either, so you’d be perfect for each other.” Rach winks.
Flick glances back over her shoulder, catches me watching, and quickly looks away. But she’s smiling as she leaves.
“Why are you seeing her tomorrow?” Rach walks up to me, eyebrows raised.
My eyes are still on Flick, walking across the street through the window. “I’m bringing her some stuff for the kitten.”
“Oh. We do deliveries now?”
I look at her, unsure of what to say. She smirks, though, and pats me on the shoulder.
“Relax,” she says. “It’s good to have a crush. God knows you need something to focus on
other than work.”
“Hey,” I exclaim, offended. “I have plenty of things to focus on.”
“Sure, you do. You realize she’s perfect for you, right? Pretty, funny, rescues kittens, and she literally called you hot to your face. That’s like finding a unicorn.”
“I don’t date clients.”
“Since when?”
“Since... always.” Since the divorce. Since I realized I’m married to this job and that’s not fair to anyone else.
“Uh-huh.” Rach gives me a knowing look. “Well, when you’re done lying to yourself, maybe remember that you deserve to be happy too. Novel concept, I know.”
I retreat to my office between appointments, but I can’t focus on charts. All I can think about is hazel eyes and strawberry scent and the way Flick looked holding that kitten like it was precious cargo.
Tomorrow. I’ll see her again tomorrow.
I haven’t looked forward to something this much in years.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of routine appointments. Vaccines, nail trims, a particularly ornery cat who takes offense to having her temperature taken. Normal, predictable, safe.
Nothing like the jolt of electricity I felt when Flick’s fingers brushed mine.
By the time lunch rolls around—or what passes for lunch when you’re booked solid—I’ve checked my phone approximately seventeen times. No text from Flick. Which makes sense. Why would she text? She’s probably busy with her yarn business. Her microscopic business that has her working constantly.
I know the feeling.
“You gonna eat that or perform an autopsy on it?” Rach appears in my office doorway, nodding at the sandwich I’ve been dissecting without realizing it.
“Thinking.”
“About the pretty kitten lady?”
“About tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Liar.” She drops into the chair across from my desk. “You know what your problem is?”
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“You’re so busy taking care of everyone else, you forgot you’re allowed to want things for yourself.” She leans forward, serious now. “When’s the last time you went on a real date? And coffee with that accountant where you spent the whole time talking about tax deductions doesn’t count.”
I wince. That had been a particularly awful attempt at dating. “I don’t have time?—”
“Bullshit. You make time for what matters. You made time to offer a house call tomorrow, didn’t you?”
“It’s for the kitten,” I say weakly. “She’s hesitant about the kitten, and it needs stuff.”
“Riiight.” She stands. “Your one o’clock is here.”
The afternoon crawls by. By the time I’m locking up the clinic at seven—only an hour late—I’m exhausted. But instead of heading home to my empty house, I find myself driving through downtown, past the yarn shop where Flick works sometimes.
Knit Happens. The lights are on, and through the window I can see someone moving around inside. My foot hovers over the brake. I could stop. Check if it’s her. Make sure Cat settled in okay.
But that would be weird. Stalkerish. I’ll see her tomorrow.
I drive home instead, to my too-big house on Lighthouse Road. The disaster of a garden mocks me as I pull into the driveway. Five years I’ve lived here, and I still haven’t managed to plant anything that survived more than a season. I just don’t have the extra time to maintain it.
Inside, the house is exactly as I left it this morning.
Clean, organized, empty. No pets of my own—ironic for a vet, but when you’re never home, it doesn’t seem fair.
No plants—see: disaster garden. No signs of life except for the stack of veterinary journals on the coffee table and the surgery textbooks I keep meaning to read.
I reheat leftover Chinese food and eat standing at the kitchen counter, scrolling through my phone.
There’s a text from my brother asking if I want to grab beer this weekend—declined, I have emergency clinic Saturday and Sunday.
An email from a pharmaceutical rep about a new heartworm medication.
A reminder about the veterinary conference next month that I should attend but probably won’t.
Nothing from Flick.
Not that I expected anything. We’re not... anything. Just a vet and a client who found a kitten.
A client who called me hot.
I grin despite myself, then catch my reflection in the microwave door. When did I start looking so tired? So worn down? When did the job I love become the only thing in my life?
When Jessica left, my brain supplies helpfully. When I proved that I couldn’t balance a relationship and a career. When I decided it was easier to just focus on what I was good at—fixing animals—and forget about the rest.
But tomorrow, for the first time in longer than I can remember, I have something to look forward to that isn’t work-related.
I fall asleep on the couch, still in my scrubs, Gerald’s antics playing on repeat in my mind. But it’s not the ferret I dream about.
It’s hazel eyes and the way Flick said “See you tomorrow” like it was a promise.