Page 5 of Animal Instincts
“Is everything—oh.” He rushed across and stared down into Oliver’s lap. “I’m so sorry. I’ll refund the cost, and issue a voucher for a free hot drink and cake of the day.”
Joss raced up behind him, brandishing a handful of paper towels.
“I’m really, really sorry.” Joss’ voice shook. “Kermit and Bugs were getting into a fight and—oh god, I’m so, so sorry.”
Oliver raised his hand, and Joss fell silent.
“It was an accident. I think I fumbled taking the plate, so six of one, half a dozen of the other…”
Oliver glanced up at Joss as he picked the last pieces of cake off of himself.
Oh fuck. How could an adult man look like a puppy, kitten, and a baby bunny all rolled into one?
Oh, please, don’t cry…
Oliver took the paper towels and cleaned himself up as best he could, as Declan cleared away the mess.
“You must think I’m such an idiot, but at least it wasn’t the coffee…” Joss waved an arm towards Oliver’s lap.
“So at least you didn’t burn my balls off, you mean?”
Joss’ face burned crimson. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard. His eyes glistened, but he held Oliver’s gaze.
“I mucked up, and I’m sorry,” Joss mumbled. “If you wish to make a complaint to the owner, Mr. Charles De Lacy, I quite understand.”
Oliver shook his head. “No. Accidents can happen to anybody, at any time. We’ll say no more about it.”
“Thank you.” Joss’ smile was small and watery.
Oliver nodded as he got up and walked out with as much dignity as he could muster, for a man with a very large and very visible wet and sticky crotch.
FOUR
For the next couple of days, Joss kept his eyes peeled for the guy he’d tipped cake all over, cringing at the thought of running into him after the shambles in the café. He hadn’t seen him anywhere around the village since The Great Carrot Cake Disaster, and Joss didn’t see him today, as he headed towards the harbour.
The guy wasn’tanyguy; he was Dr. Oliver Strachan, Love’s Harbour’s new vet, or newish, as he’d been around for the best part of three months.
Joss had seen him around the village and he didn’t only know his name, he also knew Oliver came from London, where he’d had his own large and successful practice. Joss knew it all without ever exchanging a single word with Oliver before The Disaster, because this was Love’s Harbour, where everybody knew everybody else, and their business. His gran called it being friendly, a place where people looked out for their neighbours; he called it nosey and interfering.
Oliver Strachan kept himself to himself, and Joss had been surprised to see the man the village’s more generous minded residents called reserved, and the out and out gossips called standoffish.
Dr. Strachan wasn’t like old Dr. Price, they said, who’d served the pets of Love’s Harbour selflessly for over forty years. Joss snorted. It was a kind of collective amnesia.
Nobody mentioned Price having to be physically restrained from stripping off after getting plastered in The Fisherman’s Arms, declaring at the top of his voice that it was his human right to walk the Lord’s good earth as naked as the day he was born. At least the newish vet didn’t do that. Or not yet, because being stuck in Love’s Harbour was enough to drive anybody crazy.
The vet… Oliver Strachan… Oliver.
Joss had been surprised to see him in the café earlier in the week. Surprised, but pleased, because the vet was serious eye candy. Tall, broad shouldered, and whose dark hair was streaked with a few silver strands. And as for those eyes… grey and brooding, like the storm clouds that rolled in off the Atlantic.
Yep, serious eye candy, no doubt of that, or he would be, if he ironed out the scowl that seemed to have taken root on his forehead. Joss winced. Maybe that was because of the sticky cake he’d had dumped on his groin.
Joss emerged onto the harbour and headed for the bus top. He had to push all thoughts of Oliver Strachan from his head, because today he was on a mission. Joss glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes until the Exeter-bound bus arrived, and the first leg of his journey to Bristol.
The bus would take the best part of two hours to get to Exeter, as it wound its way through the twisting, winding Devonshire lanes, stopping at one out of the way hamlet before making its way to the next. A cab ride would take a fraction of the time, but cabs were an expense he couldn’t run to, so the long and bumpy bus ride was his only option.
Although it was still early, all around him the village was waking up. The greengrocer — or organic farm shop as it called itself — was taking in its daily farm fresh deliveries. At The Fisherman’s Arms, his friend Ryan was helping the drayman with the beer delivery, much of it coming from small local breweries. Joss breathed in deep, drenching himself in the delicious, warm, rich yeasty scents wafting over from Beryl’s Baps ’n’ Buns, which was doing a good trade in freshly baked bread.
Joss gazed out at the boats bobbing in the harbour, a mix of working fishing vessels, and pleasure craft. There was still a small commercial fishing industry in the village, bringing in their catch in the early morning to be snapped up by the new restaurants which had opened up in Love’s Harbour and some of the other villages along the coast.
