Page 8 of Falling for the Veterinarian

A soft knock at the door steals my attention. “Sarah, it’s Aunt Michelle. I brought you breakfast.”

I rush over and open the door for her. She’s standing there with a smile and a tray full of chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, eggs, and freshly brewed coffee.

“OH YES!” I take the tray off her hands and practically skip to the cute bar-height table.

“Aunt Michelle, you are the absolute best. How do you always know when I need you?!” I ask while stuffing my face with big bites of bacon.

“It’s a gift,” she laughs. “I don’t know what you have planned today, but my old friend Lisa needs someone to help her out around the office and I thought you might like to see if it’s a good fit for you.”

“What kind of office work is it?” I ask and continue to stuff pancakes in my face. Not at all lady-like. If Rick were here, he’d make some joke about it.Rick.My heart sinks, but Aunt Michelle’s response snaps me back to the present.

“She a realtor,” she says with one raised eyebrow and sheepish grin.

“You read my mind. I was planning on asking if you two were still friends. Yes, I’ll go as soon as I’m done eating."

“Nate said to leave you the keys to his old truck. It’s not a super sleek ride, but it’ll get you to and from town safely,” Aunt Michelle explains and hands me the keys.

“You two are saints,” I say. “I mean seriously, this place is amazing, you’ve got a potential job lined up for me and a car to borrow. I can’t thank you enough.” I stand up and give her a huge squeeze.

Aunt Michelle brushes away the tear that sneaked down my cheek. “Oh Hun, we all need a little help sometimes. When your mother was still alive, she helped Nate and I get ourselves this beautiful little life we’ve built here. Helping you is an honor, truly.”

My heart squeezes at the mention of my mom. She died seven years ago, but the pain still sneaks up on me sometimes.

“I gotta get going," she sighs. "The chef was having a fit when I left, something about too much milk in the waffle mix and the wrong coffee beans. She’s always upset about something, but she makes the world’s best crumble maple apple pie.” She winks before closing the door shut.

I take a sip of the coffee. Blah.I GPS the closest coffee shop.

Excellent and mobile order is available! Big city luxuries in a quaint town.I order my absolute favorite drink—a honey-nut macchiato.

There’s a 1990 Chevy C/K1500 parked out front. I slide a hand around the fading red body. The beginnings of rust splatter the passenger side, but otherwise, the outside is in decent condition. No surprise there, Uncle Nate is a car guy.

I jump into the cab of the two-door truck. Hmm, stick shift.I haven’t driven a manual in years. Hopefully, it’ll come back.

It’s a little challenging at first, but eventually, it does come back. Luckily, the town is only 10 minutes away. After the rain last night, I expect it to be gloomy and overcast. Luckily, I am wrong. The sky is bright blue and clear, not a sign of smog anywhere. Fall is in full bloom in Moonridge. The leaves are gorgeous shades of red, yellow, brown, and green. They even canopy the two-lane highway to the town square.

The only person who loves fall more than me is Rick. Every year we’d grab a pumpkin and take those fun, expensive photos. We hadn’t gotten to it this year. An unwelcome tear slips down my cheek. How could he leave me? Without warning.

I scrub the tear away. But there had been a warning. We’d missed our photo and I hadn’t even noticed.

An old Ford truck zooms in front of me. “Hey!” I yell out. What a jerk. I spot the coffee shop up ahead, but the rude driver takes the last spot.Great.

The town square looks like a magazine cover. The town hall is the centerpiece with a tall steeple-type roof. The large grassy park in front is full of people getting booths ready. It is bustling this morning. A largeMaple Daysbanner spans across two of the vintage lamp posts. The large white gazebo in the middle of the grassy park is being decorated by a few townsfolk with painstaking care. As I pass by, the man with perfect hair and muscles struggling against his plaid long-sleeve shirt gets out of the truck with a side glance at me.Ugh, men!

With the area so busy already, parking is at a premium. I have to park a block away and hike up to the coffee shop. In the distance, I hear laughter and upbeat chatter amongst the crowd. Smiling to myself, I can’t help but feel a little lighter. As I get closer, the man who stole my parking spot leaves, coffee in hand. Ugh, I roll my eyes.The fact that he’s enjoying his coffee bugs me even more. He even has the nerve to smile at me. Why does he look familiar?

Brushing off the feeling, I open one of the wooden French doors to the coffee shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries surrounds me. I stroll up to the mobile order counter. I turn the cups but don’t see my name.

A woman in her fifties with a black apron comes over to me. “Can I help you, dear?”

“Yes, I’m looking for my coffee. The name is Sarah.”

“It should be here, I made it myself,” she says and starts inspecting the names on the cup.

“Oh no, looks like Doc picked up your coffee on accident,” she says showing me the cup with the nameDoc.

“He just left.”

“Was he the one in the blue Ford pick-up?” I ask.

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