Page 4 of We Can Stay
“Good to know.” She smiles, and I notice she has a dimple on her left cheek. Just one. “I’ll guard my wallet.”
“Oh, he’s not interested in money. Gerald’s tastes run more toward shiny things and anything that smells like food.” I close the door behind us, sealing out the chaos of the waiting room. “Last week he stole Mrs. Desmond’s sandwich right out of her hand. Still haven’t figured out where he hid the pickles.”
She laughs, the sound bright and genuine despite her obvious stress. The kitten meows in her hand indignantly at the sudden disturbance of being jostled.
“Let’s see what we have here.” I gently take the kitten from her, our fingers brushing in the transfer. It’s nothing. Just incidental contact. Happens a dozen times a day with clients.
So why does it feel like static electricity racing up my arm?
Get it together, Blum. You’re a professional. A thirty-five-year-old veterinarian, not a teenager with a crush.
“You’re welcome to wash your hands while I look at her,” I nod to the sink in the corner.
“Thanks.” She gives me a grateful smile before walking over to do just that, and I can’t help my eyes straying to her retreating form as she turns away.
Hearing the water shut off shakes me out of my daze, and I return my attention to the reason Flick’s here. The kitten squirming in my hands. The little thing hisses at me as I tighten my hold so it can’t wiggle away, and I carry it over to the table for a quick exam.
The kitten is in worse shape than I expected. Female, maybe six weeks old, definitely separated from mom too early. Dehydration, fleas, some bites look infected.
“Oh, sweet girl,” I murmur, examining her with gentle hands. She hisses again weakly, all fury and no force. “You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?”
“I found her under a bush by the docks,” Flick explains when she steps up to the other side of the exam table. “She was just crying and shaking. I couldn’t leave her there.”
“Lucky you came along.” I set the kitten on the exam table, where she immediately rushes back to Flick and tries to hide in her jacket. Gerald chatters at her, apparently offering comfort or possibly to aid in her escape. “Definitely too young to be on her own. Maybe six weeks old?”
“Is that bad?”
“Not ideal, but she’ll be okay with some TLC.” I look up at Flick, and momentarily forget what I was going to say next. She’s watching me work with such focused attention, those hazel eyes tracking every movement. There’s something endearing about the way she’s nibbling her bottom lip, clearly worried about a kitten she just met.
Gerald saves me from my temporary brain freeze by trying to steal my stethoscope.
“Gerald, no. We’ve discussed this. Medical equipment is not toys.” I untangle him from the tubing. “Sorry about him. He’s usually better behaved. I think he’s showing off.”
“For the kitten?”
“For you, actually. He’s got a weakness for pretty women.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Flick’s eyes widen slightly, and I feel heat creep up my neck. Did I just call a client pretty to her face? What is wrong with me today?
“I mean—he likes everyone. Very social. Ferrets. They’re... social.” Stop talking, Sebastian. Stop talking right now.
Trying to re-shift my focus back on the task at hand, I reach for the kitten before she can complete her escape. She hisses and spits at me in all her fierceness as I wrap her up in a small towel, noticing how she looks like a very annoyed burrito. Gerald has relocated to the counter, where he’s sorting cotton balls by size—a weird habit he picked up from watching me organize supplies.
“He likes to help,” I explain, catching her stare.
“I see.”
“So here’s the situation. She needs medication for the fleas and those infections, plus she’s malnourished and dehydrated. But with some good food and care, she’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I’m not keeping her,” Flick says quickly. “I just found her. I thought maybe the shelter...?”
The hope in her voice makes what I have to say next even harder. “The island shelter is full. Has been for weeks.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “What about the mainland shelter?”
I hesitate. No one wants to hear this part. “They’re pretty overwhelmed too. And they’re not a no-kill shelter.”
“So if I take her there...”
