She Found Him

by Cranford, B.

  Rose: That works. Where should I meet you?

  He tapped out a reply—a suggestion for a small family restaurant not far from his clinic that he knew allowed dogs in their outdoor seating area, and which also had heaters in case it was a cool evening. Her response that time was much faster—another GIF accompanying her “yes,” this time a dog nodding emphatically.

  It was a little ridiculous, but then again, her use of GIFs through the whole conversation had been kind of cute. He had the feeling that ridiculous but cute was a great way of describing Rose herself.

  He sent one more message—a quick goodnight—then went to bed alternately smiling and cringing. He really needed to get better at the whole dating thing. Or not, considering he wasn’t exactly in the market for a relationship.

  He just needed to get better with Rose, and even then, only until he knew what this thing between them was.

  It could be nothing. Except, when his mind tripped over the way she’d gently touched his hair, his head, after easing closer while they talked, he couldn’t help but think it also could be something.

  God, but it had felt good. There’d been something about her from the first day and now that he’d stood face-to-face with her . . . Shit. He was turned on by just the thought of her long, dark hair, her accent, her gentle touch.

  He rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension that was forming there with every breath. But now that he’d thought about her touch, about the way it had made his skin react and goosebumps rise across his body, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  And more to the point, he didn’t want to stop.

  His eyes fell closed, and he let his mind play—the memories he had of her playing alongside the dirty thoughts that his brain conjured of its own volition and merging to become a fantasy that he couldn’t, wouldn’t shy away from.

  Sliding a hand down the length of his body, all the way under the waistband of his sleep pants to grip himself in a hard hold, he realized he had no choice.

  He had to do something about it—or he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Rose: Good morning, Liam the Vet.

  Liam: Never going to live that down, huh?

  Rose: Probably not, tbh. But on the bright side, at least you didn’t hit your date with a baseball bat.

  Rose: PS you never did tell me if you still had that bat.

  Liam: You sure do know how to make an impression on a man though.

  Liam: And no. But my sister might?

  Rose: Clearly that was my plan all along. All part of an elaborate ruse to win you over.

  Liam: It took an entire week and a puppy for me to see you again though.

  Rose: Don’t point out the flaws in my plan!

  Rose: It was a good plan! I was playing the long game.

  Liam: I have to wonder how long your game was intended to be.

  Liam laughed when a GIF of small child giving an epic eye roll popped up on his phone. It was obvious she was just teasing, but he was enjoying the unexpected banter, the out-of-the-blue messages.

  Except—why was she messaging him? He’d had fun texting with her the night before, when they’d confirmed their plans, and he’d been inordinately happy when he’d woken that morning and thought ahead to their date. Thought again of the way she’d reached out to touch his hair, as if she couldn’t stop it from happening.

  As if she’d been as drawn to him as he’d been to her that day at the march.

  Deciding to play it cool—or as cool as he could, given that he was not exactly a dating-pro, he tapped out another message.

  Liam: Are we still on for tonight? Or did you message to tell me that Liam the Truck Driver is replacing me?

  Rose: Ha, no. Liam the Truck Driver is in Utah rn. He’ll be back next week though, so . . .

  Liam: Shit, I’d better up my game then.

  Rose: :) I think your game is okay so far. I just wanted to let you know that I might be a little late tonight.

  Liam breathed a sigh of relief. Late he could handle. He was trying to think of an appropriate reply—preferably something that smoothed over the whole “Liam the Vet” thing, although Rose did seem to be having fun with that—when another text popped up.

  Rose: And that I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Liam the Vet.

  * * *

  Rose looked at the message she’d just sent and wondered if it had been the right thing to say.

  God, she felt nervous and there were still literal hours before she was meeting him.

  She’d sent the first message on a whim. Some sort of giddy high that had come after their flirty texts followed by a night of crazy dreams about home runs—the baseball kind, not the sex kind, thank you very much—and displays of dog and cat food collapsing toward her.

  Dream Liam had saved her, and she’d woken with real Liam on her mind.

  But the minute she’d hit send, she’d panicked. A flaily, uncomfortable panic that had overwhelmed her with the urge to rush to his office and snatch his phone, so she could delete the message before he ever saw it.

  Because, of course, that wouldn’t be awkward as hell. Just her rushing in, grabbing his phone, probably throwing it on the floor and stomping it for good measure.

  Totally normal behavior ahead of a first date. A first date that had been preceded by a bat to the head, a rescue puppy, a little light hair fondling and a couple of too-long silences.

  When she thought about it in those terms, she was suddenly sure that seeing Liam again was a Very. Bad. Idea.

  This. This is why I should never be allowed to make decisions without at least seven weeks of serious thought and three changes of mind. What had she been thinking acting on a whim?

  Her phone buzzed, the possibility of Liam’s reply to her message making her hands sweaty and her heart beat erratically. She was reacting to him in what seemed like an unending list of weird ways and gah, if Cosmo magazine could see her now, they’d for sure write an article about the 12 Best Ways to Scare Off That Hot Veterinarian You Just Met.

  Liam: If you’re late, I’ll wait.

  Liam: I didn’t mean to make that rhyme, but here we are.

  Liam: I’m just about to head into work, but . . .

  Liam: I’m really looking forward to seeing you too.

  She smiled at the messages that appeared one after the other, a feeling of relief overtaking the panic that had started to spread hard and fast.

  She wasn’t really going to be late—that’d just been a convenient excuse for messaging him. In fact, after those messages, she was so looking forward to seeing him, she might end up being early.

  Like, ten hours early.

  * * *

  “Rose?”

  Liam’s voice was just as sexy and as deep as she’d remembered, and she turned to face him, smiling at the way he immediately crouched down to say hello to Wilbur.

  “He’s happy to see you,” she said, laughing when Wilbur, who’d taken no time at all to slip into playful puppy mode, tried to scrabble his little paws against the knee of Liam’s pants.

  “And his owner?” Liam looked up at her before standing, maintaining eye contact the whole time. He looked serious, intense, but also so good she wanted to bite her lip and maybe, possibly, fling herself at him.

  She barely restrained herself from doing exactly that when he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, the brief, barely there contact of his lips on her skin making her want to giggle like a twit. “She’s happy to see you, too.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. Rose was happy to see him. More than, in fact, and therein lay the lie of omission. She couldn’t remember being happier to see anyone, and it shouldn’t be that way.

  Should it?

  Shrugging in answer to her own unasked question and earning a funny look from Liam in the process, she bent down to scoop her little pup up. “Come on, Mister Wilbur, let’s go get something to eat.”

  “He’s settled in remarkably well,” L
iam commented while they waited for the hostess to return from seating the family that had arrived ahead of them.

  “I know. It was like as soon as I got him home, he calmed down. And I swear, after we found his name, it was—I don’t know. Kind of like he’d always been there. Then, of course, he hyped himself all the way up.”

  “Of course,” he chuckled in reply. “Puppies do have an excess of energy.”

  She agreed, then thought more about how she’d found him and how well he’d subsequently settled in, asking, “Is that normal? It took me so long to get him out from under the chair, I thought he might never really warm up to me. And now he’s acting like yesterday never even happened and he’s just always been mine.”

  He shook his head immediately. “It’s not not normal.”

  “Oh, well. That definitely clears it up and I have absolutely no follow-up questions whatsoever.”

  Her sardonic response earned her a laugh that made Liam’s face transform. Yes, he was handsome already, but the way his head tilted, his eyes crinkled, his lips stretched into a wide smile—it was devastating.

  She felt like she was living in some strange fantasy land. Or like maybe she’d fallen into one of those Hallmark movies where everything went right, and everyone was beautiful, and every day was a dream existence.

  And there was an inn to save. She made a mental note to check Zillow and see if there was one she could steal at an unreasonably good price.

  It might even come with a handsome Civil War-era ghost.

  “Dial back on the sarcasm, Babe.” Liam was shaking his head, except with the remnants of his laugh still echoed in his face, she knew he didn’t really care.

  Still, she scowled playfully at the nickname, understanding that he was referring to their . . . incident with the baseball bat. “Don’t call me that.”

  “What? Why not? It’s a compliment.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, determined to keep the joke going, but the effect was immediately dulled by Wilbur wiggling his way up to reach her chin, making her laugh at his determination. “Settle down there, mate.”

  “Mate.”

  “Huh?” She settled Wilbur back on her lap and looked up at Liam, only for her breath to catch in her throat when he wrinkled his nose at her dog.

  It was an oddly sweet gesture, and not one she might’ve expected to see from him. Although, why not? He was a veterinarian, so he must love animals.

  “You called Wilbur, mate.” He pointed at Wilbur, who perked up at the sound of his name.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s a thing, I guess.”

  “A thing?”

  “An Australian thing?”

  He lowered his brows, as if thinking it over in preparation to ask a question, but before he had the chance, the hostess came over. She seated them outside, placing a small dog bowl on the ground beside Rose’s chair before leaving them to it.

  “He looks happy,” Liam commented, finally breaking the silence that had descended after the brief interruption. “And that’s totally normal for some dogs. His scratch was superficial and he’s found a friend that makes him feel safe—it’s a good thing that he’s acting like any other puppy might.”

  Wilbur barked then, as if he was agreeing with Liam’s assessment, and Rose decided to just go with it. “I’m in love already,” she confessed, running a hand over Wilbur’s baby-soft head.

  “I would be too, honestly. I mean, I’ve seen my fair share of really cute animals over the years, but there’s something about that one.” He smiled and reached over the small wrought iron table to scratch the dog under his chin. “So, you’re definitely going to keep him?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I’m pretty sure? I have to do some research about taking him home with me when I go back, but otherwise . . . I’d like to keep him. I’m sorry if that means no clinic mascot for you.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure it won’t be long before we get one. You don’t think he has a family?”

  “No. I don’t know for sure, I just have a feeling that he didn’t simply wander onto my porch. It was almost like he was left there.” She looked away, a little embarrassed by what she was saying, but believing it nonetheless. “Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but I can’t help but think that he was there for me to find.”

  Liam looked at her with an odd kind of expression on his face, which quickly morphed into a small smile. “There’s nothing wrong with a little wishful thinking, Rosie.”

  Rosie. The nickname settled around her, and she decided she liked it a whole lot more than Babe. Not that she really minded Babe.

  Not when it was coming from Liam’s lips, accompanied by a smile that said he liked her. A lot.

  Surprisingly, she’d never really been called Rosie—maybe she didn’t give off the playful, cute vibe needed for such a sweet little variation on her name—but she wasn’t adverse to it, either.

  “You think? What do you wishfully think about?” she asked, turning it around on him, afraid that he’d see the blush that was forming on her cheeks.

  He hesitated, then mouthed something that looked a whole lot like “Be honest.” She waited, keen to see if he’d respond or change the subject, but assuming he’d go with the latter.

  “I–err, umm,” he started, color rising in his cheeks.

  Somewhere behind them a car door slammed, and Rose watched with interest as he turned toward the sound. She got the distinct impression that he was using the distraction to his advantage.

  “I talked to my sister last night. Before I texted you.”

  “Oh yeah? Did she coach you on your opening line?”

  “Sadly, no. I could’ve used the help, huh?”

  Without hesitation, Rose shook her head. “No. I think you did just fine on your own.”

  He nodded, then cleared his throat. “She did coach me about honesty.”

  “So, you can honestly say . . .” She trailed off, wanting to see how or even if he’d complete her sentence.

  “You,” he said. “I can honestly say that for the last day or so, I’ve been wishfully thinking about you.”

  * * *

  Even though she was staring at him, mouth agape in surprise and cheeks a color that brought to mind the pretty flowers for which she was named, he didn’t regret his honesty. Sasha had told him to be honest—she’d pretty much implored it of him. And he’d decided to just go for it.

  Why not? He liked the woman sitting across from him. And he didn’t need to be able to explain to be able to accept it.

  Her reply, when it came, was a whisper. “I wishfully thought about you today, too. It’s kinda, sorta, maybe”—she shifted Wilbur in her arms so she could rock her hand—“why I really texted you this morning.”

  He didn’t say anything in response, deciding it was best to leave those declarations as they were and get on with the important job of getting to know her. After all, he might like her more than he should for having known her for a hot minute, but he didn’t know her yet.

  She might be a closet weirdo.

  Although, come to think of it, he might be a closet weirdo.

  Eh, he probably was but he didn’t care. There was nothing wrong with being a little weird. In fact, some people embraced it.

  If Rose was a little weird, he thought, I’d definitely still embrace her.

  Mentally chuckling at the direction of this thoughts, he started with a simple, getting-to-know-you question.

  “What brought you to the States?”

  From the way she smiled, it was clearly a question she heard a lot—and why wouldn’t she? It wasn’t like there were a plethora of Australians just wandering around, taking over the place.

  “Long story short?” she asked, waiting for his nod before adding, “I hated my job—and I mean hated it—and was basically having an early mid-life crisis, so I quit.” She frowned and did a little head bob-thing while blowing out a breath. “Except, I don’t really love my field—I never did, to be honest—and I have zero idea what I want to be when I
grow up—”

  “Grow up?”

  His interrupting question made her giggle. “You look horrified. I’m twenty-eight, you can relax. It’s an expression.”

  He ran a hand across his forehead, pretending to wipe away the sweat, which earned him another giggle.

  “Anyway, I don’t really have anything I want to do, and my aunt and uncle offered to sponsor me to come over here on this work visa specifically for Australian citizens. I figured it was worth a shot, and tada, here I am.” She splayed her hand out as she said “tada” and Wilbur looked up at her with an adoring look on his face.

  Liam wouldn’t have been surprised to see the same on his own. “Do you like it, working for your aunt and uncle? Wait, what is it you do for them?”

  “I do, but it’s not a forever job. I have a master’s in banking and finance, so I work with their numbers people. They—my aunt and uncle, that is—run a non-profit which works to help women and kids escaping abusive situations find their feet. In general terms.” She bit her lip. “I love feeling like I’m doing something to help, even if it’s mostly just behind-the-scenes financial work.”

  He nodded, because he had sensed that about her—that she had a gentle, caring nature. Why else would she have been at the March for Animal Rights where they’d met?

  Well, where her baseball bat had met his head, anyway.

  “So, how long are you here for then?” As soon as he’d asked the question, he felt a gnawing in his gut. She was leaving. Why it hadn’t really occurred to him before, he didn’t know. He’d recognized her accent right away, but not once had it crossed his mind that she might not be staying permanently.

  “Well, the visa is granted in two year increments.”

  “So, how much of your two years are gone?” He had a sick feeling that he wasn’t going to like her answer.

  Her eyes rolled up a little, and she looked like she was perhaps counting down months. “I have another couple months or so. I got here early last year and I leave in mid-December.”