Page 6 of Growing Into Love

And now this. This stupid text that sums up our entire relationship:I’m sorry Jaz.

What’s worse is, I’m the one who keeps letting her back. I’m the one who keeps saying yes when I should say no. Theresa was never happy on her own. A serial monogamist, Cass called her. Don’t think Cass likes Theresa much. Not sure Declan does either, but he’s my best mate, so he’d put on a happy face whenever she was around. Cass never puts on a happy face about anything unless she’s actually happy.

As I stare at Theresa’s thread, I see three dots appear on my screen, then disappear, then reappear. Then nothing.

My head throbs like I’ve got the beginning of a migraine. I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s the same old pattern time and again. Suppose I’ve just been so lonely. And I was never the one who wanted to end things in the first place. It felt good to hold her in my arms again, to feel her warm curves in my hands. To feel like maybe what Theresa and I had together hadn’t all been a waste.

But it was. And now for the fourth time, I’ve ended up the fool. It feels like I’ll never find someone to settle down with, someone to love. I’ll never have what my parents have. I’ll be the bachelor farm vet forever. It’s hard to go on dates when you’re on-call basically twenty-four seven. And girls don’t much fancy hearing about donkey placentas or the consistency of alpaca poo. I’ve got no suavity like Virgil, and I don’t have Declan’s dumb luck, a perfect match showing up on my doorstep. I get tongue-tied on dates, words crowding halfway up my throat or sticking to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter.

Mum calls it my Conversation Cat. Like a cat’s caught my tongue. Theresa used to get so frustrated when I couldn’t find the words. But she was wrong—I could find them just fine. Only they’d get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

I sigh, put my phone in the pocket of my hoodie, and leave the toilets. Clive is standing there grinning.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” he says as we head to the exam room. Clive thinks everything is exciting. He’s the first assistant I’ve ever had—only graduated from the University of Nottingham a year ago, but I need the help and he came cheap. Technically I’m a farm vet, but that doesn’t stop the population of Hart’s Crossing from bringing their house pets to me and honestly, I need the money. Plus, dogs and cats are far easier to wrangle than an enormous Highland cow or a stubborn donkey. With so much work, an extra pair of hands has been an enormous relief. And Clive is a skilled vet despite his inexperience.

I hang my hoodie on the back of the exam room door and try to banish Theresa from my thoughts. I can’t keep letting her fuck with me like this. Godiva, Mrs. Pritz’s golden retriever, lays on the table amid fresh towels, panting up at me.

I stroke her head, her eyes big and brown and trusting, then check on the progress of her labor.

“That’s it, girl,” I say softly. “You’re doing great.”

“I think I see the first pup coming,” Clive says eagerly.

“Give her a bit of space,” I tell him. “She knows what she’s doing.”

There’s a sudden ping from my phone, still in my hoodie pocket. It sends a jolt through me, a sudden burst of nerves. Theresa again, no doubt. Part of me is desperate to see what she’s said. As if maybe this time will be different.

But it won’t be, and I’ve got puppies to deliver.

“That’s your phone, Jaz.”

“Yes, I know, Clive.”

“Want me to check it for you?”

“No, thanks.”

The last thing I need right now is another hollow apology from Theresa.

“First pup is out!” Clive exclaims, and I hear the tiny wail of new life.

It wasn’t right of her to come storming back into my life only to vanish again. I wish there were someone I could talk to about this, but Dec’s been gone the past few days, and before that he was busy with lambing at the farm. I’ve never been particularly close to Virgil, so he’s not an option. Wonder if Cass would have any dating advice. I’ve never known her to have a boyfriend, but surely she’s gone on more dates than Declan has.

Two more pups come out.

“Almost there, Godiva,” I say soothingly. She makes a little yowl. “I know. You’re doing great.”

“Don’t think she can understand you, mate,” Clive says with a chuckle.

“She might not understand the words,” I say with as much patience as I can muster, “but she understands the tone. Animals are deeply intuitive.”

Unlike most humans, I think. My phone pings again, a reminder of Theresa’s text.

“Sure you don’t want me to check that?” Clive asks.

“I’m sure,” I say through gritted teeth.

Three more pups are born and I would hazard a guess that the dad was a beagle. I’ll have a better idea in a few days. I make a mental note to text Cass my theory since she asked.

---