Page 8 of Hellcat

Tania blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Cutie's owner. He's still here," said Amy. "I asked him if I could help when I passed in front of reception, ’cause, man, he is fine. He said he was waiting for you."

Tania refused to acknowledge the fact that her heart skipped a beat.It was too stupid for words.

"Oh, good," she said casually. "I'll speak to him while you get Cutie. It won't take long."

"Girl, take your time. I certainly would."

The words seemed so out of place from the bubbly mother of three in her mid-forties. Tania laughed goodheartedly, washed her hands, and headed to the front of the practice. She smoothed her white coat and tucked a curl behind her ear before walking into the reception area, smiling.

Holy shit. Was the sight of him going to hit her like that at every meeting? The man belonged on a magazine, not here in the real world. He looked like he'd been airbrushed.

"Mr. Summers."

"Ian," he corrected. "How are you doing?"

"Good, good. Come with me, please."

She headed out the door, ignoring the curious gazes of her colleagues following her.

"I wasn't sure you'd had the time to go through your stuff and see what plates you wanted to get rid of, but I figured I'd wait and ask. No pressure, I don't mean to seem pushy..."

She laughed. "I'm not one to go back on my word. Now, let me know if it's not your style. I have more stuff at home."

She unlocked the back of the work truck and pulled the large cardboard box forward with difficulty.

"I considered calling to ask what colors would work in your place, but that's not exactly what the client records are for. Besides, I figured we'd have Mr. Wayland's contact details in our system."

"I'm not fussy," he replied. "Yellow, pink, blue, it's all the same to me. Holy shit."

He'd unwrapped one bubble wrap and looked at one mug, eyes widened. "Damn, woman, you're good."

She didn't need a mirror to know that she was blushing like a stupid high school girl. Now Ian peeked further into the box, pulling various pieces and exclaiming appreciatively at each one.

"That's amazing. Seriously. And I can't take that from you for free."

She snorted. "You're taking it for free or not at all. I told you, I can't make a profit off these. Taxes."

Truth was, she didn't protest about being paid from the store where she'd started selling; donating it minimalized the issue. As there was no profit, the taxman considered it a hobby. She just didn't want money between them; not outside the vet practice. That was one way to make their interaction entirely professional.

"Well, I have to thank you, somehow."

"You don't—"

"How about dinner?"

Holy shit. Was he asking her on a date?

"Dinner out, somewhere in the city," he said tentatively. "Or in Lakesides, with the pride. I cook from time to time. And we don't bite." After a second, he added, "Well, most of us don't bite. Much."

She laughed. "That'd actually be really nice. I've been stuck at my dad's for months."

He winced on her behalf. "Ouch."

"I mean, I don't normally live with my dad...it's a long story. And they're probably waiting for me to get started on Cutie."

"Got it. Leaving you to it. If you give me your number, we can arrange dinner later."

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