Page 5 of A Cozy Holiday
My laptop is hot against my thighs as I scroll. Everything is booked, or too sketchy, or too cheery.
I just want a place where I can drink Parker’s expensive wine collection and maybe have a December fling. Maybe I could write a book about the new surgery technique I’ve used to remove gallstones in cats.
Make Parker see what he’s missing when it gets published inVeterinary Surgery.
That’ll show him. Nothing says “Fuck you”like academic acclaim.
After topping off my wine, I land on a Craigslist ad that stops me.
Temporary vet help needed for the month of December in exchange for living quarters.
Private Cabin.
Immediate start on December 1st. Last day: December 31st.
I hesitate, then drain my glass.
December first.
That’s tomorrow.
Is Miriam fucking with me?This is too perfect. I mean, except for the fact that it’s an ad on Craigslist, which means there’s a seventy-three percent chance I’m about to get murdered.
The clinic doesn’t open until January second, which means I can come back on New Year’s Day, find a new apartment, and get back to work.
I scroll through the pictures that feature a studio-sized cabin in Maine. It’s surrounded by snowy trees and has a fireplace, a big kitchen by New York standards, and a queen-sized bed that hasn’t been tainted by a cheating ex.
“This is probably a trap, right?” I turn my screen to Jubilee, who is upside down, fast asleep.
“It’s in a town called Cranberry Hollow.” I pull up the Wikipedia page. “Population eight hundred and ninety-eight. Jubs, there are more people in our apartment building than in this whole town.”
The bottom of the listing states:Must be experienced with large animals, preferably reindeer.
Damn. The closest thing to a large animal I’ve cared for is Hurley, a two-hundred-pound Saint Bernard with tummy issues. And that one month I spent externing at UC Davis, but that was nearly a decade ago.
But the listing has been posted for a month with zero responses.
I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to just apply. How many reindeer could one person have? Plus, I need to get out of this apartment by tomorrow.
I finish the bottle of wine, slap together a hasty email, and attach my résumé.
Ten minutes later, my inbox pings.
From: Jamie Wilder
Subject: Re: Vet Position Inquiry
Hiya Joy how soon can you get here?
I bite the edge of my wine glass while I reread the email. Is it blurry? I squint at the screen while I respond.
From: Joy Winters
Subject: Re:Re: Vet position Inquiry
Dearest Jamie,
You don’t want to call all my references to make sure I’m not a scam artist with a vendetta against people who post help wanted signs on the internet?
