4. Sebastian #2
“Of course.” I stand quickly, needing distance before I do something stupid like pull her into my lap. “Can I get the plates? Napkins?”
“First shelf on the left. Thanks.”
I feel her watching me as I walk to the kitchen. The kitten trails after me, weaving between my ankles with dangerous precision.
“Watch it, little one,” I murmur, bending to scratch behind her ears. “Your mom would kill me if I stepped on you.”
The kitten purrs, then darts away to attack a piece of yarn that’s escaped into the kitchen.
Despite the feelers I’ve put out for a home, no one’s shown interest. Pine Island already has too many cats and not enough people wanting to adopt them.
Not that I’ve tried very hard. Some part of me knew from that first day—this kitten belongs with Flick.
“You know,” I say, returning with plates and napkins, “untangling the yarn made me feel calm, too. Just like watching that girl organize embroidery floss.”
“Me too. I never want to do it, but once I start, I kind of zone out. It’s meditative.”
“I’ll help you untangle your yarn stash anytime you need it.” I settle back on the floor, closer than before. Close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo—something fruity and light.
“I might take you up on that. What if we make plans to go out this week, and then, if you’re lucky, we can go to Knit Happens and organize the inventory.”
My heart stutters. “Sure. That sounds great.”
“Really? Which part?” She props her elbow on the table, studying me with amused curiosity.
“Going on a date with you...and organizing inventory. The first one is more exciting, though.”
“Great.” She shifts position, and her sleeve slides down, revealing what looks like a nasty gash on her forearm.
My stomach drops. “You’re bleeding. I’ll get my first aid kit.” I’m already halfway to standing.
“You carry a first aid kit?”
“Yes, in my car.” My hand is on the doorknob.
“Sebastian,” she laughs.
“What?” I spin back around, adrenaline making me jumpy.
She holds up her hands, and I finally see clearly. The ‘wound’ is purple and pink, obviously dye stain. “It’s dye. Just like on my hands. Remember?”
My shoulders slump as embarrassment washes over me. “Oh. Shit. I should have known that.”
I trudge back to the coffee table, feeling foolish. Some observant vet I am.
“It’s okay.” She’s still giggling, but it’s warm, appreciative. “You’re on top of things. Ready to rescue me from my dangerous dye injuries.”
“Yeah.” I shrug, trying to sort through my jumbled feelings. The instinct to protect her had been immediate, overwhelming. “I kind of have to be. Between my practice, the emergency clinic, and getting this animal sanctuary up and running?—”
“Wait. What?” She straightens, eyes wide. “Animal sanctuary? I didn’t know about this. Where is it?”
“I don’t have the land yet.” I shift closer as I sit, drawn by her enthusiasm. Our knees brush, and neither of us pulls away. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time, though.”
“You really love animals.” She rakes her fingers through her long brown hair, and my hands itch to follow the path. The strands look impossibly soft, catching the light as they fall back into place.
“They’ve always been my life. My parents own a petting zoo?—”
“The one across the bridge? In Portsmouth?”
“Yep. That one.”
“That’s cool,” she murmurs. “I’ve never been there, but Hannah took her boyfriend’s daughter, and she said it was awesome. So, you love animals, but you didn’t want to work there?”
“Kind of.” I lean back, organizing my thoughts.
“I do love the place, and I enjoyed working there and helping out when I was younger. But the most exciting thing for me was seeing the vet in action whenever she came out—which was a lot, given my parents’ tendency to take in every stray or surrender that came their way. ”
I pause, remembering Dr. Chen’s calm efficiency and her kind, attentive nature.
“She just seemed to know so much and had an answer for everything. Whenever we were worried about one of the animals, she was there with a comforting answer...even if the answer was that it was time for the animal to pass. She never made us feel stupid for asking questions, never rushed through explanations. She made me feel like caring that much was a strength, not a weakness.”
“That’s really touching.”
“Yeah.” I spread my hands, studying the calluses from years of work. “So. This is what I did. I became a vet.”
“What about your parents? What are they like?”
“Total hippies,” I say without hesitation.
She bursts into laughter, the sound filling the room. “That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Because that doesn’t seem like you at all. You’re so...” she gestures vaguely, “organized. Scheduled. I bet you iron your scrubs.”
“It’s not.” I grin. “I’m definitely the black sheep. My brother is more like our mom and dad. He named his kids River and Sage.”
“Is that hard?”
The question catches me off guard. No one ever asks about the complicated dynamics of being the strait-laced son of people who tried to name me Atlas. “No... Well, maybe? Sometimes.” I laugh, but it’s thoughtful. “I love my family, don’t get me wrong.
Sometimes they do drive me a little crazy, though. Like when Mom insists on reading my aura before letting me treat any of the animals. Or when Dad tries to prescribe crystals as supplements.”
“I think that’s what family is supposed to do.” She studies me for a long moment, those hazel eyes seeing more than I meant to show. “Now that we’re talking more, it really is crazy we’ve never run into each other...but I’m glad we did.”
My breath catches. “I’m glad too.”
The kitten chooses that moment to climb into Flick’s lap, mewing demandingly. She absently strokes its fur, but her attention stays locked on me. “All thanks to this little troublemaker.”
Her gaze is unwavering, pupils dilated in the soft light. Her lips part slightly, and I’m moving before conscious thought kicks in. She meets me halfway, and our lips touch gently, experimentally. She tastes like possibility, like coming home to a place I didn’t know I’d been looking for.
“Mew.” A tiny paw bats insistently at my shirt.
I pull back, chuckling. “Sorry.”
“Is this what cats are like?” Flick raises an eyebrow, but her lips are curved and kiss-swollen. “Always in the way?”
“Only most of the time. Are you sure you don’t want one?”
She shakes her head, but her hand is gentle on the kitten’s fur. “I don’t want to think about that right now. What I want is another kiss.”
Heat rushes through me. My hand finds her waist, steadying us both. “Your wish is my command.”
This kiss is deeper, more certain. Her lips part under mine, and the world narrows to this moment, this connection. My tongue traces?—
My phone shrills, shattering the moment. I pull back with a groan. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says softly, though her pupils are still blown wide.
“Let me just check that.” I pull out my phone, trying to calm my racing pulse. The clinic’s number glows on the screen. On my night off. This can’t be good. “Sorry. I need to answer.”
“No problem. Go ahead.” There’s nothing but understanding in her expression, though I hate myself for ruining the moment.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Sebastian,” Rach says, and I can hear the reluctance in her voice. “Sorry to call. We just need some advice. There’s a dog who’s been hit by a car. His leg—the bone is protruding, and Amy’s never handled a compound fracture this severe?—”
“I’ll come take a look.”
She hesitates. Rach would never call me in unless it was serious. She’s protective of my rare time off, which means this must be bad.
“I’ll be there in five,” I tell her. “Prep for surgery. See you soon.”
I hang up and turn to Flick, my chest tight with regret. “I need to go look at this dog. I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” She touches my forearm, and that simple contact ignites something deep in my chest. Walking away from her feels physically painful.
“I don’t want to go.” I duck my head, meeting her gaze. “Really.”
“I know.” Her smile is soft, understanding. “Next time.”
I nod firmly. “Oh, there will definitely be a next time.”
I help her to her feet, neither of us releasing the other’s hand as we walk to the door. “I’ll call you.”
“Please do.” She rises on her toes to brush a kiss across my cheek. I have to stop myself from pulling her to me and devouring her. There’s an injured dog waiting. Groaning under my breath, I pull back and step out the door.
“Bye.”
“Bye.” She gives a little wave as she closes the door.
I practically float to my car, grinning like an idiot. My phone is still warm in my pocket, and I can’t resist hitting her number.
“Hey,” she answers, laughter already in her voice. “Did you forget something?”
“I said I would call you.” I slide behind the wheel.
She chuckles. “And so you did.”
“Seriously, though, thank you for tonight. I really can’t wait to see you again.”
Silence stretches between us, and my heart pounds. Did I oversell? Come on too strong?
But then she says, “I can’t wait either,” soft and sure, and I can breathe again.
“Until then.”
“Until then,” she echoes.
I pull out of the parking lot, that smile still stretching my face. The emergency surgery waiting for me doesn’t dim my mood. Nothing could, not after tonight.
I don’t just feel like I’ve won the lottery.
I feel like I just became king of the whole world.