by Emma Nichols
“I'm on call this weekend. I'll make sure he's comfortable.” Derrick turned his focus to Kacie and frowned. “If Jasper's fine, why do you look like you have bad news to tell somebody?”
Kacie glanced at her cell phone. “It's nothing.” She placed the device in the front pocket of her white coat and then let out a sigh, slow and sad.
“I'm your best friend. You know you're going to tell me anyway.” Derrick grabbed a thermometer from behind the counter. “Before I check the vitals on the cat in room #1, do you want to tell me what's got you down?”
A pang of self–doubt crept over her. Another patient had come to her vet clinic, and she didn't even know. How many patients did that make today? Four? Keeping the place open would prove difficult with so few. She wanted to make a difference to the animals of this community, but she was falling short. “I'll examine the cat.”
“Kitty can wait. He only needs his annual shots, and I haven't done vitals on him yet.” Derrick cocked his eyebrow and tilted his head. In an all–knowing voice, he asked, “What did Braiden do this time?”
She never kept anything from Derrick. Being one of the few employees she could afford, he always seemed underfoot. He was also her best friend. Of course, she was an open book and tended to prattle on about things that upset her.
And there had been many things upsetting her lately.
“Or is it what he didn't do?” Derrick studied her closely, leaning in and getting in her face. “Hmm? Which is it?”
In a lonely voice, she said, “Braiden's secretary told me that he's extending his business trip a few more days.”
“Typical.” Derrick put one hand on his hip; the other hand, still holding the thermometer, waggled the device in the air. “You can do better than that jerk.”
“He's not a jerk.” The pit of her stomach twisted as she once again defended her fiancé. “He's sweet when we're alone.”
Derrick's face pinched. “Hard to be alone when the man works late most nights and travels so much.”
Braiden left last Tuesday. It would be ten days by the time he got back. “You don't know him like I do.”
“I sure don't. The men in my life would never ignore me.” Derrick's hand waved across his body in a Vanna White impression. “I'm too much man.” He then stared at Kacie with a critical eye. “You're too much woman, luv. You need a man who appreciates you.”
A sad chorus repeated in her head. One she had heard too many times. “I'm happy with Braiden.”
“If I knew any straight men, I'd set you up in a heartbeat.” Studying her hair, he added, “Maybe after a new hairstyle, some fresh clothes…” He leaned in. “Some makeup.”
“I don't want to be set up.” Nobody understood that she was already in her late twenties. Her life plan—the one she’d made when she was a teenager—was off course. She wanted to be successful in business by twenty–five, married by twenty–eight, and having her first child by thirty.
Ultimately, she wanted two or three kids.
And what was this about not wearing makeup? She’d applied some this morning. She liked the no–fuss, natural style with a ponytail updo. Besides, her glasses usually covered up any eye makeup she put on.
“So tell me what makes Braiden so exceptional that you're willing to put up with his crap.” Derrick lifted his hand. “And don't say the man is good in bed. I've seen that boy dance.”
Sex? Her downstairs felt like cobwebs and mothballs. Two months had passed since Braiden had touched her, but she did not share that fact with anyone. She hoped the conversation would end, but then Derrick swiveled his hips in a robotic manner.
“Like. A. Stick. Up. His. Butt.” His legs twisted ungracefully, and then he let out a shudder.
She couldn't help but laugh. Moving a step away from him, she hoped the conversation would end.
His eyebrow rose, and he touched her arm, stopping her mid–step. “Well?”
The answers were always the same. “Braiden's handsome, successful, rich…” she said, counting on her fingers.
Derrick's eyes narrowed. “What about how much you love him or how much he loves you? They weren't listed in the top three answers there, luv.”
She felt backed into a corner. She didn't like the feeling.
“I wasn't going in any order,” she said, her voice defiant and strong. She had already invested five years with Braiden, and she didn't want to start over with someone else—that was reason number one if she went in order. Besides, where would she find the time to date?
Braiden had swept her off her feet in graduate school. His alluring personality had charmed her, and he had doted on her every whim. Their mature relationship had transitioned into one of comfort and security. There was nothing wrong with that.
“So why is his extended absence a problem? He's already been gone about a week.” Derrick's eyes widened, followed by a look of pity. “Do you think he's cheating on you?”
The air left the room, and her lungs deflated. The insecurity she sensed made her feel the heat in her now flushed cheeks. Braiden's potential cheating remained at the forefront of her mind lately, especially with his long work hours of late. But he didn't seem like the type. The walls pushed in. She squeaked out, “Of course, not.”
“Then why…?”
She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because my high school reunion starts this Friday.”
Shame grew within her, slimy and thick, making it hard to breathe. She wanted to scream, “Because Braiden said he'd be here,” or “Because he's missed so many other important things over the last five years,” or even, “Because if he cared for me, he'd know how important this reunion is to me.”
Instead, she walked to the hand sanitizer unit on the wall and squished out a ball of gel into her hands.
“You've been talking about this reunion for the last two months,” Derrick said, his voice opinionated and shrill–sounding. “Some beach shindig and something at the Hilton?”
She shrugged and looked at the floor. “There’s a get–together on Friday at the Leaning Pine, and then Saturday we have a barbecue at the beach, and then the Hilton on the big night.”
“Your man can't take a hint.”
She smeared the gel over her fingertips and palms, noting how dry her hands felt because of her profession. She had attended every dance during high school alone, and every party—even the graduation shindig at the end of her senior year. She wouldn't be the same non–datable girl that she was in high school—she couldn't.
“I'm not going to the reunion alone. I’ll skip it. Besides, Braiden always says to put the past behind and move forward. Going to the reunion is…” She paused, looking for the right word and finally settling on the word Braiden had used. “…stupid.”
“Stupid things are worth doing, girl.” The grin that spread across Derrick's face—impish and devious—told her that he had a plan.
His plans usually didn't end well.
His eyes lit up. “You have a few days. You should get a new hairstyle, get a sexy–as–hell dress, and at least go to that party at the Hilton like you own this town.”
Her hairstyle had remained the same since middle school. A sexy dress? Blue jeans and a T–shirt seemed more her style. “I don't think so.”
“Build the life you want, Kacie. Don't settle for what is easy.”
2
Greg Bisset sat on the corner of his bed, staring at his phone as a tingle of pride radiated within him. The bank app showed the transfer of funds he had been waiting for.
He couldn't remember the last time he had been this happy.
“The sale is final. I now own my parent's old house, the home I grew up in.” He glanced up from the phone and stared at Ashley, his lips curled up into a proud smile.
“Uh–huh.” She walked across the bedroom of the apartment, holding a dress in front of her. She stopped in front of a full–length mirror. “God, I hate everything I own.”
“Did you hear…?” he asked, turni
ng the app around so she could see the bank statement.
Ashley threw the dress onto the floor and stormed into the walk–in closet, only to return with another outfit. She twirled it around, halfway dancing in front of the mirror before that frock met the same fate as the first.
While she swore in the closet, he glanced at the app again. It also showed the automatic child support payment to his ex–wife. The amount was more this month since he also paid for his son's karate lessons and his daughter's ballet classes. His ex–wife called it, “buying your child's love.”
Buying their love? Since moving thirty minutes away from them, he had only seen his kids twice this year. Father's Day and Christmas.
The little time he got with them wasn't enough, but he couldn't help that his last job had taken him out of town for business. He was doing his best, even accepting a permanent position in his old hometown so he could see them more often.
He inwardly sighed. His children, now eight and six, called him by his first name and not Daddy these days. The oldest had started doing it nearly a year ago. That's when Greg had noticed them moving apart even more.
“Greg! I swear you have no idea how to focus,” Ashley said, her voice becoming so booming and loud that she woke their sleeping dog, Skipper, who began to bark.
She threw the dress she held down on the bed where Greg sat. “That damn dog.”
Greg tapped his leg. “Come here, boy.”
Skipper stopped his barking and obediently jumped up onto the bed, tail wagging, wanting to cuddle.
“See? The training classes are working. You certainly can teach an old dog new tricks.” Greg rubbed Skipper behind the ears. “You're a good boy.”
Ashley scowled and gave him a sneer that only a teacher catching you misbehaving could pull off. “I don't know why you took in such a beast.”
He wasn't sure if an eight–year–old, midsized golden retriever mix could ever be called a beast, especially when he licked you nonstop and loved on you. “Skipper got startled, that's all.
“…maybe even the king of the beasts…” Ashley continued, muttering to herself.
Skipper had been a spur–of–the–moment decision, one that Greg would never regret. The dog enjoyed hiking with him, curling up in his lap, and always seemed eager to hear about his day.
Rubbing the dog's ears, Greg realized there were many benefits of a dog over an upset girlfriend.
Ashley stamped her foot and glared at him. “Yes, or no?”
He needed to pay more attention to her daily rants. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he said as politely as possible to avoid further argument.
“Whatever.” Ashley rolled her eyes and picked up the dress from the bed. “What do you think of this dress for Saturday night? I finally found the perfect outfit for the party at the Hilton.”
He stared at the frock, which was low–cut in all the right places, and higher cut in others. It looked perfect and was apparently new since he felt confident that he'd never seen her wear it before. He didn't see any tags, though, so figured she had bought it specifically for the reunion. She had probably performed the entire closet tantrum just to cover up her shopping spree.
And if she needed to hide the purchase, how much did the dress cost?
“So this is the dress for Saturday.” She placed it next to another outfit on the bed. “This outfit will be for Friday night and the shorts outfit will be for the barbeque Saturday afternoon.”
This thing was going to take up the entire weekend. “You sure you want to go both Friday and Saturday?”
Her look told him he was being stupid. Of course she wanted to do all of the events. “Whatever you want is fine.” He glanced at the bank app again.
Damn. The outfits must have been credit card buys—with his credit card.
Ashley was the beautiful cheerleader he’d never gotten a chance to date in high school, and she was still a size six with dynamite curves today. High–maintenance and in love with his bank account, but why should he complain? Showing up with her on his arm would make all the guys in the old clique jealous as hell. Maybe then, nobody would notice his failed marriage and the two children who never wanted to see him.
His lips parted into a devilish grin. “The outfits are perfect.”
3
“You're going to be fine, boy,” Greg said in a soothing voice as he petted Skipper, who hid under his chair.
The exam room reassuringly smelled of antiseptic. The place looked clean, but he should have done more research on this vet clinic. The building was located a few blocks from his new house, but with no patients sitting in the waiting room on a Saturday morning, just how good of a clinic could it be?
A knock sounded on the interior door, followed by a man entering.
“I'm Derrick. This must be our new patient, Skipper.”
Greg stood and shook the man's hand while Skipper continued to cower.
The vet tech held out his hand and allowed the dog to smell him. Next, he gently patted the dog's ears and coaxed him out from under the chair. “Poor baby seems scared.”
“I need to set up a new patient profile for him,” Greg answered. “Nail trimming and anal gland expression, as well.”
Before leaving the room to get the doctor, Derrick filled out the necessary paperwork with the usual information—what food the dog ate and how often he was fed, exercise habits, etc. The basic questionnaire seemed thorough, but Greg reserved making a final judgment on the place until he met the veterinarian.
“Super cutie in room #1 for you,” Derrick said when he found Kacie in the back office and handed her the chart.
“The new dog?” She took the paperwork and headed toward the door.
He touched his ring finger. “No. Single hot man alert. The dog is cute, too, though.”
“Stop.” Kacie opened the door to the exam room and walked in. “Hi. I'm doctor Kacie Preston—” She stopped her normal introductory speech and stared at the man's familiar green eyes. Her heart fluttered, and her lips spread into a smile—toothy and wide. “Greg?”
“Kacie?” he said in a surprised, what–the–heck–are–you–doing–here tone.
She hadn't seen him since they attended Linwood High School, and the twinkle in his cool green eyes told her that he remembered her. When he stood and stretched out his arms to hug her, she didn't hesitate.
The embrace appeared friendly, but then, they’d never dated. Being neighbors as kids, their mothers the best of friends, had caused a bond to form between them. If he hadn't moved away to college, they'd probably still be close.
“I didn't know you were back in town. My mother told me years ago that you moved to California.” Kacie set the chart down and allowed Skipper to smell her hand before petting him. “Practically as far as you can get away from Pennsylvania and still be in the continental United States.”
“I moved back a couple of years ago.” His gaze traveled from her head to her feet, and then back up to the ring on her hand.
“You look fantastic.” He then pointed to the diamond. “I see you’re married.”
She held out her hand so he could see the ring. “Soon.” She felt awkward presenting her hand to him. He wasn’t a gushing girlfriend who’d swoon at the size of the diamond and ask for all the details. Greg had always been more… she didn’t know the right word. Grounded? Secure? Not so easily impressed by huge rocks on a gold band?
“He’s a lucky guy.”
His voice sounded hushed and his eyes twinkled. They twinkled the same way when she had told him in high school that she had made AP honors in science. The same way they had shone when she announced she was going into medicine. The same way they always did when he was happy for her.
“I wish you all the happiness in the world, Kacie.”
She blushed. His voice sounded husky and deep, not the high–pitched timbre she remembered. His jawline had turned square and manly—the type that young boys grew into as they matured into their twenties and thirties
.
She liked a strong—Superman–like—jawline. And had Greg grown taller since she last saw him?
Silence spread between them a long, awkward minute, and Kacie could mentally hear the clock ticking in the dead lull.
She glanced at Skipper's chart. “He's roughly eight years old? Who was his previous vet?”
Greg's gaze now focused on his dog, who hid behind his legs. “I recently adopted him. I was volunteering on an adoption day, and he was the only dog without a forever–home. The shelter said it was his last chance to find a family before they,” Greg leaned in and whispered, “euthanized him the next morning.”
A bubbling hatred grew in the pit of her stomach, threatening to rush out in a scream. “I hate those places. They treat animals like objects.” She set the chart down on the exam table with a thunderous thud. “I want to start my own animal shelter. No–kill.”
He smiled and said, “That’s a great idea, Kacie.”
She knelt and held out her hand so Skipper could sniff it. Instead, he lifted up his paw as though completing the ‘shake hands’ command.
“He’s such a good boy,” Greg said. “How could I not have taken him home and saved his life?”
How not, indeed. She wondered what other Superman qualities the man held.
4
Greg's day had taken a turn for the better.
Kacie held the same pretty, girl–next–door appeal and heart of gold she had in high school and was willing to meet him for coffee once the clinic closed at 11 a.m. There was so much to catch up on, and bumping into her had been a fluke.
Or, as his mother would have said, it was fate.
Mom always did have a special place in her heart for Kacie. She was like the daughter his mother never had. Greg still remembered Kacie walking around his living room in high heels for the first time, his mother having lent them to her for a dance in middle school.
And how many bake sales had his mother contributed to, with Kacie in the kitchen helping out? Too many to count.