I grip the steering wheel, a startled laugh escaping me.This is from an app that promises love and understanding, a partner who gets you.
The laugh dies in my throat as I squint through the windshield.The shadowy figure is moving closer.And is he crouching?Making a strange sound?
“Co, co, co.”
It could be a coyote with bronchitis.Or a serial killer rehearsing his holiday-themed monologue.Either way, I’ve watched enough true-crime shows to know this is where the narrator says, “She never saw it coming.”
Where is Dante with his“touch her and die”intensity when you need him?A fictional man ready to burn the world down for his love sounds pretty good right about now. Something about the approaching figure makes my stomach clench in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with déjà vu.Great.Even my fight-or-flight response is having flashbacks.
My Bluetooth comes back to life.“Hello?Hello?You’re freaaaaaaaaaaking us o—o—out.”Julie’s voice goes up two octaves.
Unbothered, LoverBoy stretches and settles in the carrier like he’s lived here forever.For a dog I almost ran over, he seems alarmingly trusting.
I glance at him, at Blanche, at Dorothy.Three sets of eyes staring at me like I know what I’m doing.Dangerous assumption, but I’ll take it.
“I’m okay.”I’m not even sure my friends can hear me at that point.Not that it matters when my definition of“okay”includes being stranded in a horror Christmas movie with a cursed Honda Civic, three dogs, and a potential serial killer doing his best seasonal ASMR.
Where is my emotional support pickle when I need it?In the backseat, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Proof 1001 I’m not Hallmark material.
But Lifetime?Oh, I’m your final girl… armed with trauma, a push-up bra, and one shot at myProve-It-All-Without-Falling-Apartera.
Fa-la-la-la?
Chapter four
ADAM
Findthedog.Getto Wes’s early dinner.Finish my bags to hit the road tomorrow.That’s the plan.
“Co, Co, Co,” I mutter, aware I sound like Santa in need of a doctor.
Trust Mrs.Clark to convince me that chihuahuas respond to chicken calls.Apparently, it’s the exact pitch for“come here, you’re safe”in tiny dog language.Eight years of school (including vet school) and not once did anyone teach me to cluck at small breeds.Go figure.
The thermometer on my phone reads twelve degrees.Cold enough to worry about a four-pound dog with more attitude than body mass.LoverBoy’s probably burning through his glucose reserves trying to stay warm in this weather.Hypothermia in small breeds happens fast—one minute they’re shivering, the next they’re drowsy and fading.
“LoverBoy, you pain in my ass.”I sweep my flashlight across the shoulder, following paw prints barely bigger than quarters.“You couldn’t wait until tomorrow to make your grand escape?When I’m officially off-duty?”
“You’re doing wonderful, Adam dear,” Mrs.Clark’s voice crackles through my phone.The same woman who’s been dropping off“found”animals at my clinic since I was the gangly kid cleaning cages during summer breaks.The one who brought me homemade cookies after my first scary surgery.
I exhale, watching my breath cloud and dissolve.Last month, I signed away the clinic I built from scratch.Six years of convincing farmers to bring in animals.Of renovating that old paper mill into a place with proper surgical lights and recovery kennels.Of midnight calving emergencies.
And today was my last day before moving.
Dr.Chen had practically bounced as she signed the final papers, her wife already measuring for new blinds in my—her—office.“We’re keeping the name,” she’d said.“Pine Creek Animal Hospital has a good reputation.”
My signature is fresh on the Soundside Community College contract too.The teaching position I’ve been circling for years, always finding the perfect excuse.Can’t leave during parvo season.Can’t leave during calving season.Can’t leave during whatever convenient season kept me rooted here while classmates built research careers and wrote textbooks.
Dad hadn’t even looked surprised when I told him.He nodded like he’d been expecting it, like he’d been waiting for me to finally admit I wanted more than being Pine Creek’s animal savior.“About time,” he’d said, bourbon in hand.“Your mother’s already planning which cruise to drag me on when you’re not here for her to fuss over.”
So much for being irreplaceable.
My phone buzzes with a reminder: “New Hires SCC Orientation – January 4th.”The teaching program needs someone with rural experience.Someone who knows what it’s like when the nearest emergency clinic is an hour away and you’ve got a Great Dane with bloat on your table.Someone who can train techs to handle what’s coming through those doors when the nearest vet is too far away.
And the vet office I’m reopening part-time in Sandwich Bay is the perfect place to continue training those vet techs.I’ll get there tomorrow if I drive straight through Pine Creek to Massachusetts, start cleaning the day after.Set up the small apartment above the clinic.Reopen after the holidays.
It gives me plenty of time to get settled.Plus, I have a business association meeting to attend and an invitation to the Daniel Weber’s Inn for a dinner with colleagues from the Cape.
