Page 38 of The Quirky Vet

I wave Muir over as I make my way to it, and he follows close behind.

Kneeling down, I gently scoop up the butterfly, careful not to touch the fragile wings. It's a pale orange colour, with faded black speckles along its wings.

I glance up at Muir, who's still recording, and start explaining to the camera. "If you ever find an injured butterfly, the best thing you can do is place it somewhere safe, away from predators. Give it some sugar water on a cotton swab for energy, and if the wing damage is small, it may still heal enough for it to fly again." I wait a few seconds. "There, I think we got it."

Muir nods and tucks the phone into his pocket as he comes over, and we inspect the butterfly together.

"Poor little fella," he says.

After a few moments, the butterfly flutters its wings, showing more strength than before.

"I'm going to release him and see how he goes," I say.

Muir nods. "Good call."

With a gentle toss, I release it into the air and watch it rise and glide, disappearing into the bright outback sky. Muir's whipped out his phone, catching the butterfly in the air.

He looks at me with a smile. "Everyone loves a happily ever after."

"Yeah." I clear my throat and take a step closer to him. "They do."

His eyes intensify as he does the same towards me, the gap between us disappearing, and holy shit, what is happening? Are we about to kiss?

Again?

Here?

At the freaking farmers' market right in front of everyone? If Scuttlebutt had a newspaper, this would be tomorrow's front page right here.

Muir draws his head closer, and his warm breath hits my face?—

"Fitz! Is that you, sweetie?"

Muir and I pull back abruptly.

I spin around towards the sound of the voice. And yep, there's Mum dressed as a fairy godmother in a flowing, ivory blouse with billowing sleeves, a layered skirt adorned with shimmering silver and pastel details, a sparkling sash, and a tiara, all topped off with a whimsical wand. She's walking next to my dad, a.k.a. Scuttlebutt's tallest person. He's in a black leather button-up vest—no shirt underneath because why bother?—his huge muscles and inked skin on full display. The original odd couple.

"Donotfilm this," I instruct Muir when I see him reaching for his phone.

"I wasn't going to," he lies, his cheeks going red, the dead giveaway. "I was going to scratch my arse, thank you very much."

Before I can say anything else, my parents are upon us.

If people think I'm out there and wild, then my parents are on a whole other level. Mum's a wild, barefoot-in-the-garden, incense-burning, kombucha-brewing free spirit who swears by moon rituals and thinks crystals and 'mindful breathing' can fix everything—from bad vibes to my love life—while Dad's a massive, nearly seven-foot-tall wall of muscle covered in tattoos from his bikie days who deep down, is a total softie whose face lights up every time he sees Mum, like he still can't believe she's his after over thirty-five years together.

"Good to see you, son," Dad booms. "Thought you wouldn't be in any state to come after Wilby's wedding."

"Muir drove. We need to get back to work tomorrow," I say.

"Fair enough." He nods, then smiles at Muir. "Nice to see you, too, mate."

Muir smiles, shaking his hand, trying not to let it show how strong Dad's grip is. "And you."

Mum's oversized false eyelashes flitter between me and Muir, and a smile lifts her glossy lavender lips. "And how are you, Muir?"

"Yeah, good, thanks."

"We're not interrupting anything, are we?"

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