Page 7 of Lassoed Love

As I rush to get dressed, my legs become entangled in the fabric of my pants, and I nearly trip over. With a string of muttered curses, I manage to wrestle into my clothes, hastily pulling on my scrubs with record speed. I shove my feet into my favourite worn brown steel-cap boots and clip half of my unruly hair up—a desperate attempt to rein in the disarray of both my thoughts and appearance.

Bustling into the kitchen, I snatch a banana from the bowl in the middle of my kitchen island, reducing brekky to a grab-and-go necessity. Not ideal—but I am so fucking late.

I stumble out the door, the gravel driveway crunching beneath my hurried steps. My metallic grey 2008 Volkswagen Golf, parked out front, awaits me as the morning sun beats down relentlessly. I hop into the driver’s seat; the engine roars to life as I put the key in ignition and shift the gear stick into drive. My tires crunch on the loose stones as I accelerate, leaving behind a trail of dust in its wake—the chaos of the morning disappearing along with it.

Iarrive at the clinic at exactly 10 am, thanking my lucky stars that I don’t live too far. The proximity to the clinic was precisely why I chose the apartment in the first place—a decision I am currently praising the universe for. Exiting the car, I tap out a quick text to the girls in our group chat.

Claire responds almost immediately—Imogen follows soon after.

Claire just responds with a shit ton of laughing face emojis. I stifle a laugh.

Yeah, I remember that one.

Smiling to myself, and probably looking like an idiot doing so, I shove my phone into my pocket and make my way to the clinic's entrance. As I approach the front desk, where Katy, the receptionist,sits, I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for my tardiness.

“I am so incredibly sorry,” I apologise hurriedly, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s not like me ever to be late.”

Katy, a woman in her fifties with dark brown hair styled into a short bob, looks up from her desk, her warm smile instantly putting me at ease. Thinly framed glasses rest on the bridge of her nose, adding a touch of sophistication to her appearance.

I’ve only worked with Katy for a few weeks now, but there's a sense of comfort around her, one that unexpectedly reminds me of my mother.I miss her so much.

“It’s all good, Isla, honestly. We’ve all had those mornings. And besides, the clinic has been surprisingly quiet today, apart from Henry vomiting up his meds this morning. You haven't missed much,” she replies.

Henry was our foster Italian Greyhound with Hip Dysplasia in his back legs. He was left outside our clinic about two weeks ago inside a cardboard box, and since then, we’ve been looking after him. Katy offered to foster him,bless her,so she takes him to and from the clinic every now and then.

“Oh, no! Poor fella,” I exclaim and glance up at the clock on the wall above the reception desk.

“Let’s wait another twenty minutes or so before giving him another dose of Cartophen. That'll settle the discomfort.”

Katy nods and turns back to the computer.

“Your coffee is on your desk inside, by the way,” she says without looking away from the screen. I sigh with relief, genuinely gratefulfor her understanding and attentiveness. “It’s probably cold by now, though,” she adds, to which I just give her an apologetic shrug.

“Thank you so much, Katy. I appreciate you more than you know. I’ll make it up to you. My shout tomorrow.”

I make my way to my office, the aroma of coffee welcoming me. As I settle into my chair, I pick up the takeaway coffee cup, which is now, in fact, cold, but nevertheless, I take a sip of it, anyway, the bitter taste instantly relieving the stresses overwhelming me.

Placing my coffee down, I dive straight into today’s paperwork, familiarising myself with important documents for the clinic.

Twenty minutes pass, and my mind, ever the multitasker, reminds me that Henry needs his tablet. A quick glance at the clock reminds me that Molly, my assistant nurse that I hired recently, would be arriving for her shift at 10:30am. Strategically, I contemplate allowing Molly to deal with the administration of Henry's tablet.That’ll buy me a few more minutes to sort through this bloody paperwork.

Just as I move to rise from my chair to head to the back, the tranquillity of the clinic is instantly shattered by the sound of screeching of tires outside. A large man hops out of his truck and hurries in, shouting, “Is there a vet available? My horse…”

His voice trails off as he registers my presence, his hurried steps coming to an abrupt halt. His eyes meet mine in the most intense stare, green orbs glinting with an emotion I can’t quite decipher. Brows furrowed, his gaze pierces into mine, leaving me momentarily breathless.

I pause outside my office, unable to move on the spot. Shockcourses through me as I register the familiar face standing before me.

Xavier Mitchell.

Xavier fucking Mitchell—the bane of my high school existence—is now standing right in front of me. Someone I hadn’t seen in years, and certainly not someone I expected to encounter so soon. His rugged features hold an unreadable expression, and for a moment, I’m lost in the memory of our shared history.

Maybe he won’t recognise me. I mean, it has been what, over twelve years now? The air crackles with tension as our eyes continue to stay locked on each other.

“I-Isla?” His brows furrow, confusion written all over his face as he stammers.

Fuck.

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