by Emilia Finn
That brings me up short. “I… didn’t ask. But I think not.”
“Is he hot?”
“I’m absolutely not answering that question.”
“Which means he is!” she laughs. “Whew-ee, Tabby got herself a hot thirty-year-old boss who likes smut. This is going to be fun. When can I meet him?”
“Um…” I make a show of seriously thinking. “Are you free the Thursday after hell freezes over?”
“I sure as shit am!” Grunting, she pushes up off the couch and makes her way into the kitchen. “Beer, wine, or chocolate milk?”
“Wine.” I snuggle in and lift my feet to the cushions. I’m exhausted but wired. Completely and utterly spent, but my brain swirls with everything that happened today. “I need wine to help my mind relax.”
“On it, sis. Big glass or extra-big glass?”
“Just a regular big glass,” I murmur. “And Ashton Kutcher.”
“Hmm…” She makes a sound of disappointment in her throat. “Much like Mr. Marsden, Kutcher is also married and has kids. Try again.”
“I meant I want TV.” Groaning and peeling my eyes open, I search for the remote and find it just a foot away. I grab it and flick the television on. “Wine, TV, my sister and snuggles. Then I’m going to bed.”
“It does my cold, dead soul good to notice Mark didn’t make that list.”
I roll my eyes and slump back into the couch. “He’s gonna call me later, smartass. He’s part of the list.”
“Bummer.” Jen slams the fridge door and makes her way back into the living room. “Someday, you’ll see what I see.”
“Okay.” I accept my glass of wine and take a sip to get my brain-numbing started. “Can you order something for dinner? I need food, but without the thinking or doing.”
“Sex without the thinking or doing is also quite pleasurable. In case you were wondering.”
“Ugh!” I kick my sister, and whimper when icy cold wine drips onto my leg. “Stop being gross.”
“Dr. McDreamy into sister threesomes?”
I snort and let my eyes droop. “Ya know, I would lay good money down on the answer to that being yes. Rosa seems the type.”
“Really?” Jen glances across to me with awe. “You serious?”
“Uh huh. Now you just have to get yourself a different sister.”
“Lame!” She smacks my leg and elicits a grunt from somewhere deep in my soul. “By the way, I said ‘Dr. McDreamy’. It was you who connected that name to Rosa. Not me.”
Stunned, I let my eyes open again until they meet hers.
Jen smirks and glances at the TV. “Uh huh.”
Beckett
Perfection
“Tabby?” I call from my examination room and count only a single second before my new assistant—and possibly the best assistant in the history of all assistants—stops in the doorway.
She’s been here a week; my clinic is more organized than it ever has been, and though my appointment books are consistently full, the waiting room rarely is.
“Yeah?” She holds her pen and notebook. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her write in it, but she brings it everywhere she goes anyway.
“It’s my sister-in-law’s birthday dinner tonight. She’s a couple years older than you, an inch or two shorter than you, blonder than you, and legions louder than you.”
“Ohhhhkay.” She stands with that pen poised. “What do you want me to do with that information?”
“Help me figure out a gift. I want her to feel like I’ve put a lot of thought and consideration into it. But if I buy her lingerie, my brother will beat me up.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Huffing, she leans against the doorframe opposite Mrs. Trueman, the long-snouted owner of a long-snouted dachshund who waits as I inspect Gordon’s teeth.
Gordon is the dog.
“I need help, Tab. You’re a woman. You and Nadia have similarities… in that you’re both female,” I laugh. “Now help me brainstorm.”
“Perfume?”
I give it consideration for a moment, only to end on a shrug. “She already smells nice.”
“A new hat?”
Taken aback, I shake my head. “She doesn’t wear hats. She fusses with her hair, so a hat would ruin that hard work.”
“A new purse?”
“I don’t think she cares too much for those.”
“A new frying pan!” Tabby grows frustrated quickly. “A new mattress. A new lamp for beside her bed? Tampons?”
I glance up and lift a brow.
She makes an exasperated noise. “You said she fusses with her hair?”
“Yep. It’s always shiny and smooth.”
“So maybe a day at the salon,” she answers. “That stuff can get expensive. Allegedly,” she sniffs. “Buy your sister-in-law a day of pampering. She’ll love it.”
“Deal.” I bring my stethoscope to my ears and press the diaphragm to Gordon’s chest. “Please take care of that. Then pick up a card from the store. I’ll slip her gift certificate in the card, write something nice, then we can take it to dinner later.”
“We?” Tabitha’s voice lifts several octaves. “Huh?”
“We. This is my family, and you’re my new Martha—but, like, better. You’re Martha 2.0, with upgrades. And you’ve talked to every single one of my siblings at least once in the past week. That means you’re invited to Nadia’s birthday dinner.”
“But…”
I take the tips from my ears and swing my stethoscope back around my neck. “No buts. This is part of your job.”
“My job is to attend your family dinner? That’s not possible!”
“It really is,” I chuckle. “Check your contract.” Then I look to Mrs. Trueman. “Gordon is in perfect health. I’m gonna get him set up with his vaccinations, then you’re good to roll.”
“Thank you, doctor.” The elderly woman crushes the straps of her handbag between wrinkled hands. “You still do senior discounts, right?”
I look to Tabby and grin. “We do. My assistant will ring you up. If you wanna follow her, pay at the front and book in for next year, I’ll take care of Gordon’s needles. Then you can be on your way.
“Tabitha,” I add before she walks away with a roll of her eyes—something she does a lot. “Get the salon day thing sorted, please. And a card. I’ll write in the card as soon as you get back with it. Then dinner is at seven.”
“I seriously have to go?” she whimpers. “Truly?”
“Truly. It’s for the greater good. Trust me.”
“How can it possibly be for the greater good?” she exclaims. “It’s your family dinner.”
“And my family needs to know who the new girl is. It’s best we do it this way, so we can avoid having them all in here, messing up our space and disrupting this awesome new routine we have going. Get it done, Tabby.”
“Fine.” Growling, she spins out of the room and leads Mrs. Trueman to the front to take a little cash and keep this place functioning a little longer.
“It’s never as bad as it seems,” I murmur for Gordon. “Like needles, I suppose.” I take one from the drawer beneath my examination table and prepare the dose from the bottle Tabby already brought in for me.
I meet the sparkling, black eyes of a nervous dog, then with a fast slide, I move the needle through his fur and inject his small body with the medication that’ll keep him safe for another long year with the sweet, old Mrs. Trueman.
“See? The worry is worse than the actual needle.”
Tabby and I leave Lakeside at just after seven—we’re already late for dinner—and though I suggested she ride in my truck to save taking two cars, my formidable and headstrong assistant declared she would do no such thing.
So she follows me as we drive just a few streets over, then pulling up to the curb outside my youngest brother’s home, I cut the engine and watch in my rearview mirror as Tabby pulls up behind me.
She’s endearing in how serious she is. Challenging and humorou
s. Headstrong, but sweet at the same time. She’s not who I thought I would need in my day-to-day life, and I’m man enough to admit—to myself, anyway—that women like Carmel are more my type. But perhaps that’s what makes Tabby perfect for me.
She’s more interested in doing her job well than she is in impressing me or making me want to look twice. And since Tabby has that Mrs. Trunchbull thing going for her, albeit in a much prettier package, I’m able to focus on my work.
Our teamwork has resulted in a smoother booking system for my patients, more revenue for the animal hospital, and more appointment slots filled, but because there’s no disorganization, I don’t feel like I’m working harder. In fact, I’m ending each day with more energy than I ever had prior to Tabby’s employment.
The only black spot on all of this is that she has her sights set on my job. She’s a vet, by education and by heart, so though she accepted a position sitting at a desk, she won’t stay there forever.
No self-respecting independent woman will stay in that position when she knows she has the brains and potential for so much more.
My job now is to keep her busy and help her forget she has such aspirations.
Grabbing my sister-in-law’s gift envelope and sliding out of my truck, I tuck the gift and my phone into my back pocket and slam the door shut.
We’re here for Nadia’s birthday, and Nadia is newly married to Mitch, but we’re at Nixon’s house, since his is the one we all go to for social gatherings.
“Five siblings?” Tabby climbs out of her car while somehow reading my mind, and meets me at the front of her little hatchback. “There are six of you?”
“Six total.” I gesture her onto the lawn and toward the front door. “I’m one of five boys. Troy is the oldest, then Corey, me, Mitch, then Nix.”
“This is Nix’s house, right?”
“Yup. And we also have a baby sister, Abigail, and she’s married to a dude named Spence. I’m telling you now, prepare to look up.”
“Up?” Tabby’s lips shimmer in the waning sunlight. “I don’t get it.”
“You will. As soon as you meet him, you’ll understand. So there’s Abby and Spence. Abby was a sick kid, so she’s small. But she’s healthy now, so all is right with the world. Then you have Mitch; he’s married to the birthday girl.”
“The paramedic and the florist?”
I chuckle and place a hand at Tabby’s back. I don’t touch—I’m not actually fond of sexual harassment—but I lead her up the steps and onto the porch. “Yeah, the paramedic and the florist. Nix is our resident firefighter. He’s with Idalia, the Italian hotel owner and mom to five-year-old Max. Idalia has a wicked accent, and Max is… quiet. He might talk to you, he might not. Don’t take it personally.”
“Okay.”
“Corey and Troy are the oldest two. They’re cool. Neither are married nor in anything committed. They may have brought a date tonight, they may not have.”
“And on this night where Abby brought her husband, Mitch brought his wife, Nixon brought his Italian seductress, and the other two may or may not be accompanied by dates, you brought me… why?”
“Because I’d rather bring you and enjoy a night of decent conversation, than bring someone like Carmel and have to pretend she isn’t touching me under the table.”
“She…” Tabby’s accusatory eyes whip to me. “What?”
I lift my hands and shrug. “I’m not the toucher. There’s a time and place for that, and family dinner isn’t it.”
“Your life must be truly difficult,” she rolls her eyes. “Attractive women throw themselves at you, and you want a there-there pat on the shoulder.”
“I didn’t ask for sympathy,” I snigger. “I was only giving you context.”
I don’t knock or wait to be let in to Nix and Idalia’s home. I simply open the front door and hold it wide for Tabby to pass.
Tabby smells of… well… soap, I guess. Even after a long day at work. There’s no overpowering waft of perfume, no assault on my lungs where I can’t decide if I like the scent of frangipanis on a sexy woman, or if I prefer actual clean oxygen. There’s no overwhelming tickle of her hair on my chin as we walk near each other. No incessant click-click-click of her heels on the tile flooring.
Tabitha Lawrence is comfortable in her own skin, happy with her own scent, and though her hair is a luscious blonde, it comes naturally to her, and has the added bonus of never having regrowth or a full day in a stylist’s chair.
A large part of me is crushing on the innocence and confidence my new assistant possesses. Not a wanna-pin-her-against-the-hood-of-my-truck-and-chew-her-panties-off kind of crush, but something purer… something deeper and soul-entwining.
Fuck.
As soon as we step inside Nix’s home and close the door, the sounds inside batter us in waves. A dozen people in one house, dinner on the stove, a birthday party for an already loud woman who will, no doubt, be wearing a plastic tiara tonight.
When Tabby’s smile dims, and the nerves of meeting new people make her wilt, I step closer and finger the lapel of her coat. “Let me take this?”
“Um…” She glances over her shoulder with those eyes of steel. They’re so innocent, and yet, powerful. Pure, but electrifying. “Sure. Thanks.”
She shrugs out of her coat and remains by the door until I deposit it on the couch, then she steps forward when I gesture her closer. “There are a lot of people here.”
I press a hand between her shoulder blades—I do touch this time—and lead her through the room. “Those are just their voices,” I tease. “Wait till you see them.”
“Scary?” she whispers. “Are they terrifying?”
I nod solemnly. “None more than the birthday girl herself.”
I lead Tabby through the dining room and past the table, set for a dozen with silverware and sparkling plates. Stopping at the kitchen entrance in silence, I allow Tabby a minute to acclimatize to the jungle scene in front of her.
Nixon stands at the stove, and Idalia swirls a glass of wine a single foot away. They’re touching, attached, and not sorry for it. Nadia, the birthday girl, sits on the island counter in—I called it—a plastic tiara. Though, the feathery boa around her neck is new. She holds a glass of wine in her left hand, and uses the other to pick at a bowl of snacks. Mitchell makes out with Nadia’s neck—the bits not covered in faux feathers—and at the stools, the itty-bitty Abby leans into her man and laughs at the things he whispers in her ear.
“The big guy,” Tabby murmurs. “The one beside the small chick…”
“Uh huh.” I avert my eyes and look at anything except them. “I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t like to think about it.”
Tabby presses a hand to her mouth. “The one with the feathers…”
“That’s Nadia,” I murmur. “Birthday girl. You spoke to her that time on the phone about Milo. Mooch expects free veterinary care, since she knows someone with the appropriate degree.”
Smiling, Tabby nods and continues to study the pairings. “Does she get the free vet care?”
“Of course,” I chuckle low and almost silently. “How can a man say no to that kinda cuteness?”
Snickering in response, the muted sound Tabby makes brings my sister around to face us.
From a look of polite inquisition to a megawatt smile, Abby shoves away from her man and slides off the stool. “Beckett!”
Abby is hardly more than five feet tall, and even if she jumped into a pool, layered in every winter outfit she owns, she’d barely hit a hundred pounds heavy. But the happiness she exudes is enough to encompass an entire room.
“I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.” She slides into my arms and wraps hers around my hips for a tight hug. “Oh gosh, Beck. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“It’s been a day,” I tease. But I bend and press a kiss to the top of her hair. “I missed you too, Cadabby.”
“Oh great,” Mitch pulls away from Nadia’s neck and narrows his e
yes at me and Ab. “She tells me she’s done seeing my face, but you guys go a whole twenty-four hours apart, and she acts like you’ve just come from war.”
“Jealousy is an ugly color on anyone,” I tell the brother we’ve all affectionately named Bitchy Mitchy. “Abby Cadabby,” I pull back, but keep her hands in mine. “You look beautiful.”
“Aw, thank you,” she preens. “I’m wearing mascara.”
“That’ll do it,” I laugh.
“Uh, excuse me.” A loud, obnoxious throat clearing brings everyone’s gaze back to the tiara-wearing diva. “Perhaps you forgot to wish me a happy birthday.”
“Didn’t forget to say it,” I tell her. “I simply forgot it was your birthday at all.”
I pull away from my sister, but before moving too far, I glance back and make sure Tabby is okay. She’s somewhat terrified—more so when Corey and Troy come into the kitchen from wherever they were hiding—but when our eyes meet and she mouths something that may look a little like ‘If you leave me, I will tear out your jugular,’ I flash a fast grin and make my way toward the rest of the group.
“Nadia Reynolds. Did you change your last name yet?” I step around my brother and press a kiss to his wife’s cheek.
She scoffs. “Why does no one ask Mitchell the same question? Two people said ‘I do,’ yet no one asks Mitch if he’s changed his name.”
I shrug and reach back to the envelope in my pocket. “We all have money on how this is gonna end. Also, happy birthday.”
“Oh, a gift!” Overly excited, Nadia makes a big deal about opening the envelope with a torturously slow slice of the paper.
Troy leans against the counter with a beer in hand, watching his new little sister make a show about every damn thing she does. She’s the anti-Mitch. He’s quiet, and she enjoys megaphones. He’s introverted, and she likes to wear feather boas. Troy finds the woman as cute as the rest of us do.
Carefully pulling the card from the envelope, Nadia opens the cardboard and catches the gift certificate that slides out.
I stand here imagining hair salons, wine glasses, fresh new blonde coloring, and a day spent away from the rest of us so the guys and I can have a few hours of quiet, but when Nadia squeals about books, books, books! I lean in and take a second look.