Nate leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, expression somewhere between smug and entertained.
“I mean, technically.” He gestured between the two of us. “You both deserve it. Rosie's was pretty rough, too.”
“What was your story?” I asked.
“Oh.” She waved her hand. “Not important.”
“You were about to win.”
“And then you showed up with something better.”
“Rosie.”
“Cal.”
Emily pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. Abby had given up entirely and was grinning openly. Evan looked at Nate, who shrugged as if to saydon't look at me, this is their thing.
I broke the brownie in half and put one piece in front of Rosie. She looked at it. Then at me. Then picked it up and took a bite without another word of protest, which told me more than she probably intended.
I ate my half. It was good. Dense, slightly bitter, exactly what I needed.
The conversation continued around us—Nate mentioning something about a house foundation, Evan pushing back on a timeline, and Emily cutting them both off with a counter-argument that ended the discussion in about thirty seconds. Abby laughed. Rosie leaned her chin on her hand and listened with the easy attention of someone who genuinely liked being in a room with people.
Nobody asked me anything for a while, and I found I didn't mind. The noise of the diner settled around me—the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, two teenagers in the next booth arguing over a menu, Frank humming something tuneless behind the counter. I'd eaten here maybe a dozen times in four years, always alone, always with something to read. It had never occurred to me that the same room could feel this different.
Frank brought coffee cups without asking, the way he did for people he'd decided belonged in his diner.
Rosie caught my eye across the table and smiled, small, private, like we were in on something together. I held her gaze for a moment too long, looking away before she could read whatever was on my face.
“So how does a guy end up running both a vet clinic and a dog rescue?” Evan asked, looking at me. “Is that like a natural extension of the vet thing, or...?”
“Not exactly.”
“What happened?”
“I found a dog on the highway about a month after I bought the practice.” I wrapped both hands around my mug. “A stray, mixed-breed. Someone had hit him going too fast.”
Abby winced. Rosie set her coffee down.
“Both back legs were badly damaged. I could save one. The other one—” I shook my head. “Wasn't an option.”
“Oh no,” Rosie said.
“He did fine. Dogs don't sit around grieving a missing limb. He woke up from surgery, figured out the new situation in about forty-eight hours, and moved on.” I paused. “We could all learn something from that dog.”
Emily laughed softly. Rosie was watching me with her chin still propped on her hand.
“So I started calling around. Shelters in the county, a couple of rescues down toward Denver.” I turned the mug in my hands. “Nobody had room. And the ones that did said three legs made him harder to place.”
“That's awful,” Abby said.
“The barn was empty. Doc Hammond hadn't used it in years.” I shrugged. “I cleaned it up. Put down some fresh bedding, set up a crate. Just for him. Temporary.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. It wasn't temporary?”
“I found a pregnant Lab two weeks later,” I said. “Six puppies.”
Evan laughed, short and surprised.
