Page 11 of Her Greatest Mistake

My coat is hanging off a hook on the wall beside my framed vet degree, and I take off my cardigan, exchanging it for the coat, and then brush my thumb over the stitched name like I do every morning.

Dr. Braxton Heights. Pride fills my chest.

I grab my stethoscope and loop it around my neck before sticking my hands in the pockets of my coat and heading back out. It took six years for me to finish school and another two to move back home, but this place . . . thisclinicwas a surprise. I’m proud of myself for everything I’ve accomplished in my life, and while I might have decided to take a risk as a business owner with hopes of impressing my father, I’m hoping that I’ll grow to love it more and more each day.

It’s the beginning of another journey. One I hope will turn out better than the one that pushed me to leave Vancouver eight years ago.

* * *

“I wantto see Whiskey again in about three months for a follow-up shot, but for now, he’s right as rain,” I say, scratching behind the ear of a totally loveable chocolate Lab. From my crouched position, we’re at eye level, and he doesn’t hesitate to give me a slobbery kiss from my jaw to my eyebrow.

His tail wags excitedly and thumps against the wall as his owner, Cindy—an older woman with a silver bob and kind eyes—smiles at me and nods along.

“Whiskey, don’t drown the poor doctor,” she half-heartedly scolds.

“It’s totally okay. I don’t have a dog of my own yet, so I’m all for a bit of slobber.” With one more ear scratch, I pat Whiskey’s head and stand, my feet sore from the long day.

“You said you don’t have a dogyet. Does that mean you’re looking for a dog?”

“I would like to. I only moved back to Vancouver a few months ago and just haven’t had the time yet,” I tell her.

Cindy gifts me another genuine smile and hooks Whiskey’s leash back to his collar. “Well, I wish you a great experience looking for your new best friend. Dogs are such amazing companions. I wouldn’t know what to do without mine anymore.”

“He looks like he would be a great cuddler. I’m sure he makes great company.”

She laughs softly. “He’s a bed hog, but it’s just me, so I don’t mind.” Her happy tone dips ever so slightly, and I get the feeling she’s been through tough times in her life. I want to reach out and hug her but decide against it. “I should let you get back to work, I suppose. I’ve let myself get chatty again. Thank you for the great checkup. We will be back in three months.”

I reach around her and open the exam room door. The waiting room is empty, with Cindy and Whiskey being my last appointment of the day. The promise of a long, hot bath and a glass of wine has kept me pushing through the rest of the afternoon when the soles of my feet started to whimper.

“It was my pleasure,” I say and lead the way to the front desk, where Micaela sits waiting. She grins when she sees us. “These two need an appointment for three months from now.”

“Sounds good. Come on over and we can figure out when works best.”

Cindy reaches for my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before leading Whiskey over to the desk. Micaela gets right to work figuring out the bill and when they should book the next appointment while I leave them and go to my office to start getting everything cleaned up and organized for tomorrow.

It’s only just past five, but as soon as I sit in my chair and fire up my computer, my stomach grumbles loud enough I’m sure the people walking along the sidewalk outside could hear. That will teach me to skip lunch again.

“Hungry?”

I snap my head up and flush when I see Marco standing in the doorway, his paw-printed black scrubs fitting his body a little too nicely. He’s a handsome man, with light blond hair the colour of hayfields in the summer cut short on the sides and just slightly longer on top. His eyes are a pretty shade of blue that I like to look at, but that’s as far as my interest goes.

In all the years that I spent away at university, I’d only ever officially dated a couple of guys. Not a single one of those relationships was anything to write home about. I wasn’t their type, and as soon as they realized that they weren’t into chubby girls, I was last week’s news.

“I’m starving. I worked through lunch.”

“You work too hard. Take a break every once in a while. You deserve it,” he says.

I collect my unruly curls in my hands and drape them over my back, wishing I had a hair tie handy. My smile is weak, exhaustion mixing with hunger. “I keep telling myself that too, but I never actually do it. Right now, all I want to do is eat one of those massive burgers from the diner down the street.”

He taps his knuckles to the wall and stands up straighter. “Let’s go, then. I’m on my way out, anyway. Let me buy you dinner.”

I fumble my reply. “Like a co-worker dinner?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Or not.”

“Marco . . .” I start before my phone starts to ring from my desk drawer. It’s a fight to keep the relief from showing on my face. I’ve always had expressive features—it’s bitten me in the ass a few too many times. “Sorry. It could be important.”

“No worries. I’ll be by the front desk when you’re done.”

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