Page 4 of My Accidental Holidate

“Sorry, some douche made me take his order even though it’s not my table. So, who’s this Lulu grandma has been going on about?” he asks, brushing crumbs off his black vest.

I chuckle and slow the pour allowing only an inch of foam to settle on the amber liquid.

“I was telling Grandma about her this afternoon,” I say breaking into a huge smile and looking at him. “She’s been in the hospital and just got cleared to leave. She’s absolutely beautiful. A little bit wild, which suits me just fine. She has a gentle soul though. I don’t think I can live without her, Peter.”

My brother frowns as though he’s considering what I’ve said carefully. “You’ve never mentioned her, but it sounds like you’re really in love.”

“Yeah, I am. I didn’t want to get the family’s hopes up. You all know I’ve been looking for so long. I needed to know it’s a sure thing before I said anything.”

Peter loads the glasses and bottles onto the tray, and I find my gaze drifting back to the first woman to make my cock twitch in quite a while.

He turns with the tray but looks back. “I’m happy for you, man. You shouldn’t keep your girlfriend a secret much longer though. Mom and Dad were just talking about wishing you’d meet someone. Mom’s even talking about blind dates.”

That’s not happening.

“Okay,” I say focused on the sullen beauty as I watch her date pay more attention to his phone than her.

Dude, it’s Valentine’s Day, show some respect.

“Wait, what?” I ask, just registering what Peter had actually said. But he is gone. Drinks in tow, dropping them off at various tables.

I shake my head and chuckle. Realization dawning on me that Grams thinks Lulu is a woman and not the mastiff puppy I’ve been nursing back to health. I lean against the back of the bar and look for my bewitcher again. The feeling of a puzzle piece sliding into place once I find her. I watch as she people watches, expecting her gaze to quickly scan over me like it has with the rest of the waitstaff.

But I wasn’t prepared for it to settle on me. To lock with my own. For the world to muffle and fall away. To be completely consumed by her. It’s instantaneous and it packs a powerful wallop to my gut.

I blink, and when I open my eyes, she’s turned around facing her date as he full on smiles down at his phone.

What is wrong with me? She’s on a date. Hell, that could be her husband!

Maybe it has been a while… like months, since I’ve had the company of a woman. But when I’m not taking care of animals at the clinic, I’ve got my own farm at home and they demand attention galore.

I pick up a water glass, pretending to examine it for water spots. Through the glass, I see the man stand up and place a hand on the beauty’s shoulder. I can tell by the way her body goes ridged that his touch isn’t welcome. He says something to her and almost skips to the door. Her shoulders fall and I practically see tension whisked away with him.

Curiosity in full force, I consider going over and finding out what happened. And as soon as the thought pops into my head, I can’t get it out. I need to know for some reason. Is he a doctor and got called away for a surgery? Did he double park or need to feed the meter? Or is he gone gone? And what could that mean for her.

And for me. For us.

Peter drops the food off at her table and the man doesn’t come back. Before I can question myself, I quickly fill the glass with some ice and water. A perfectly good reason to scope out the situation.

Taking a deep breath, I weave around tables and waiters. I’m barely at her side when she turns to me. My greeting dies on my lips when she practically rips the water glass out of my hands, her face splotchy. And I want to kill the douche for making her cry… except her face isn’t wet and she’s also got blotches and specks all over her neck and arms.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, concern and panic starting to flood my system. Sick or injured animals, no problem. Humans, not so much.

“Wha… wass in the chimken?” she says, motioning wildly to the dish.

How the hell can her voice sound like Mickey Mouse just sucked in a lungful of helium?

“The chicken? I don’t know—” I shove a hand through my hair trying to remember what they said in the kitchen, my eyes searching the room like it held the secret. It did though because Peter walked out of the kitchen on a mission.

“Hey Pete! What’s in the chicken dish?”

“Tonight’s special is roasted chicken glazed with chamomile and honey, with fingerling potatoes and accompanied by a side dish of baby roasted carrots with chamomile flowers for a—”

He’s apparently oblivious because he launches into his practiced speech of specials. Not seeming to give two shits about the panic in my voice or seeing the way she’s swelling before our eyes. I make a promise to myself to kick his ass later as she tells us she’s allergic to chamomile. I didn’t even know that was possible. But I guess people are allergic to all kinds of things.

I’m mentally running through my knowledge of CPR and tracheotomies, breaking out into a cold sweat at the thought of preforming either of them on a human. Not just any human though, but onher. Black spots start dancing before my eyes, and I suck in a deep breath telling myself I will not pass the fuck out.

My thudding ears perk up hearing that the world will be righted with a simple antihistamine.

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