Page 3 of Animal Instincts
Oliver glanced up at the wall clock. Almost four-thirty. Mr. Peters and Tyson had been his last patients for the day. He could close early, and apply himself to the large stack of admin that never seemed to diminish. Oliver groaned. The ever-growing pile of admin… Was that all he had to look forward to?
“Screw it.”
He was done for the day. He’d had enough of being scowled at by both four legged and two legged animals. If anybody really needed him to patch up their pets, he wasn’t hard to find.
Setting the alarm and locking up, Oliver made his way through the narrow, picture postcard backstreets bedecked with hanging baskets of colourful early spring flowers he barely spared a glance for, as he headed towards the harbour. He didn’t know where he was going, or what he was doing, only pleased to have turned his back on the working day.
On the waterfront he paused and looked around at the cafés and restaurants, and the pub. Maybe a pint in the pub garden… Oliver ditched the idea before it had time to take root. Daytime drinking on his own would only sink his mood further.
His gaze settled on the sign hanging above the door of a wonky with age, half-timbered whitewashed building. Harbour Coffee. He knew the owner slightly, a friend of a friend. Before he allowed himself to change his mind, Oliver pushed open the door and disappeared inside.
THREE
Later in the day the café was quiet and, hunkered over his coffee, Oliver flipped the pages of a free West Country tourism brochure.
The area surrounding the village was beautiful, majestic. Rich green fields, rugged upland moors, and fresh sea air, all of it so different from London’s constant noise, stench of petrol fumes, and crowded and ill-tempered streets with their ever present threat of violence, just waiting for a spark to ignite the powder keg. Love’s Harbour, his friend James had persuaded him, was the perfect place to start a much needed new life.
Oliver pushed aside the brochure and sipped his coffee, letting his mind wander.
He’d been in the village for three months, pouring all his time and energy into establishing his practice. It had been easier than expected, but it had still been a lot of hard work. Love’s Harbour loved its dogs and cats, rabbits and hamsters, and the villagers were determined to keep him on his toes. It was the reason why he was yet to properly make the new life he’d come here for: he was too busy, he was finding his feet, he was… Full of bullshit.
Oliver’s shoulders fell. He wastoosomething, that was true, but thetoowas that he was too awkward and shy, and after the bomb blast of his life back in London, he’d lost much of the confidence he’d built up over the years.
Oliver’s gaze fell on a cork board attached to one of the smoother, less lumpy patches of wall.Love’s Harbour Events & Activities.It was covered in flyers and he narrowed his eyes to bring them into focus. The hiking group. He’d gone on one or two, but the hikes had been gentle ambles and with an average age of around seventy…
What else was there? His gaze roamed the notices. Pottery classes… A creative writing group… Zumba with Mandy… Learn to Cha-Cha-Cha with Dennis and Jean… Lonely Hearts…
Oliver clattered his cup down onto the table, sloshing coffee over the side.
Lonely, battered and bruised. It was exactly what his heart was.
Confident laughter caught his attention, and he glanced over at one of the tables. The barista who’d served him was chatting with a couple of customers, who were lapping it — and him — up.
The guy, Declan, was flirty, friendly, and popular. He’d even flirted with him. Oliver’s cheeks heated as he remembered the tingle of surprise in his chest that the attractive barista had thought him worth the effort, on the rare occasions he visited the café. Until Oliver had seen that Declan was the same with everybody. The tingle had fizzled out like the flame on a cheap and flimsy matchstick.
Oliver’s lips twitched in a humourless smile. A tingle, no matter how tiny. Maybe there was some glimmer of hope for him, after all.
He should get back, but the thought of the empty house and the groaning pile of admin kept him rooted to his seat. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that the last he’d eaten had been a piece of burnt toast, so early that morning dawn had hardly been breaking. A cake or a bun, with another coffee, would see him through to whatever frozen meal for one he could scavenge from the back of the freezer.
There was nobody behind the counter, but a quick press on the little silver push button bell would soon take care of that. As he waited for somebody to come and take his order, he eyed up the sweet treats sitting under the large glass domes.
There wasn’t much left at this time of the day, but the knobbly, rustic creations were obviously homemade. His stomach growled again and his eyes landed on a large slice of carrot cake, thick with frosting, and his mouth began to water. Scorched toast, cake, and whatever unwelcome surprise awaited him from the dark recesses of the freezer… No wonder he’d lost weight in recent months. He hitched up his narrow legged jeans, sitting lower on his hips than they should have been.
Still nobody had come to take his order, and he was about to press the bell again when a door markedStaff Onlyflew open with such force it clattered hard against the wall.
“Whoops, don’t know my own strength. Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get for you?”
Jesus…
Oliver’s throat closed, and he lost the power of speech as large hazel eyes, green and gold, and edged with thick, heavy lashes, met his own. A hank of dark blond hair flopped across the guy’s brow and he swept it aside. For a brief and blinding moment, Oliver wondered how those caramel strands would feel as they slipped through his own fingers.
The guy’s smile was bright and friendly, and Oliver’s gaze dropped to his full, plump lips. All the air squeezed from his lungs, and an almost forgotten dark heat spread low in his belly.
“If you need a few minutes to decide, that’s fine, but I can…”
The words crashed through Oliver’s paralysis. The guy — Joss, according to the badge pinned to his green polo shirt — was saying something Oliver had lost track of and he raced to catch up.
“Sorry?”
