Page 30 of Healing You
She grabbed her pen, making a note before leaning back and tapping it against the table top. “I avoided Latte Da this morning. Thought I was doing you a favor by coming here instead.”
He gave a breathy chuckle at that. “I go to Lex's for the good stuff—lattes, baked goods. But the straight up drip coffee here? Elsa's got the damn best in town.” He stood up from the chair. Then, leaning over and grabbing her pen, he crossed Starbucks off of her list. “You might as well strike that one right now,” he winked before grabbing his coffees.
She shook her head, dark curls bouncing at her shoulders. “Right. Good call.”
He tapped her notes. “You'll figure it out. I think you're right—there's got to be a compromise in there somewhere.”
“It's good to see you again, Steve. I hope we can be... friends.”
He nodded, backing toward the door. “Friends I can do—for now.” He pointed at her, narrowing his gaze playfully before shouldering the door open, an extra skip in his step as he walked back over to his practice.
As he walked in, Amanda lit up at the extra iced coffee, but he shook his head at her with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry... it's not yours today.”
Amanda jerked her neck back, giving him some playful attitude. “Then who in the hell is that for?”
As she asked the question, Yvonne entered, Gatsby's leash wrapped around her wrist. Steve held out the iced coffee, presenting it to Eve. “Oh, wow. This is a full service veterinary clinic, I see.” She took a sip and gave a satisfied moan.
Amanda grunted, going back to her paperwork as Steve slid her a look. “Oh, calm down. I'll bring you one from Lex's tomorrow.”
“With one pump of caramel,” she added.
“Fine. And if you pass your summer finals this week, I'll get you iced lattes every work day for a month.”
“And if I ace them?”
“We'll add a little whiskey to those coffees after work.”
Yvonne smirked, shaking her head. “Some things don't change... still motivating your team with alcohol, huh?”
“Only now I've upgraded from Natty Light, and I'm not seventeen, passing them out to my friends on the sidelines at football games.” Gatsby jumped up on his hind legs, placing two giant paws just below Steve's lapels. “Well, hey there to you too!” He smoothed his palm over the top of Gatsby's head, curving his hand around the back of his ears.
“Gatsby!” Even though Yvonne was scolding, there was a sort of lightness to her tone. “He never does that.” She gave a gentle tug on his leash and he hopped back down, sitting at her feet.
“Oh, I don't mind.” Steve bent, giving him a treat from his pocket before looking back to Yvonne. There was a rippling feeling in his chest that surged down his arms at the sight of her bright eyes locked onto him. When he was awarded with that smile of hers... damn. She was just breathtaking. That same crippling nervousness that he hadn't felt in years until now—until she entered his life again —was back. Would she ever come around to him? Would she ever accept his apology? Or would he die trying? The questions bubbled in his mind, percolating, threatening to spill out his mouth. Instead, he only asked, “How's his appetite been?”
“Amazing. Eating and drinking so much. I have to come home to let him out a couple of times a day.”
Steve cringed at hearing that. It was the biggest complaint he heard when a dog started on pre-chemo treatments. “Yeah, that's the steroid. It's an amazing drug, but they drink a ton of water while on it.”
“I don't mind. I'm fortunate enough to make my own schedule most days. It's not usually a problem.”
Man, she loved these animals. He could see the kindness and love radiating off of her any time she was near them. And it, in turn, just made him appreciate her more, too.
Steve led them into one of the exam rooms and Yvonne took a seat as he pulled Gatsby onto the scale. “Wow, you are a big guy, huh?” he said, making a note of Gatsby's ninety-two pounds.
“He's always had a big appetite.”
“That's good. We want to keep his weight healthy for as long as possible. When he loses his appetite, I have some tricks for getting him excited about food.”
He heard Yvonne's swallow from across the room. “When?” Her voice was so small, meek and mousey, and so unlike her usual 'in-command' nature.
“Or if,” he added. “It's pretty typical both in the beginning and toward...” He cleared his throat.
“And toward the end,” she finished for him.
Steve nodded, setting the clipboard down. “But hopefully that's a long way away. Gatsby's aspirates came back and it was confirmed as lymphoma. The good news is that it's B-cell lymphoma, which is a less lengthy regimen, and typically dogs have a higher success rate. We use a series of four drugs—doxorubicin, vincristine, steroids, and cyclophosphamide, along with the protein enzyme from last week and mix up what we use which week so that the cancer doesn't come to expect it—”
“Steve,” Yvonne interrupted his rehearsed explanation. The one he'd given a hundred times to dog owners through the years. “What you're saying—it's—I can't even follow it.” Tears filled her eyes and she swiped a finger where one tear escaped down her cheek. “Just... talk to me. Not at me.”
